Inspiration

Ears, like handles on a jug, are odd but necessary protrusions. Their convoluted, sinewy shapes reach out to pull vibrations in to bounce on the tympanic membrane, then the auditory nerve, culminating in the membranous labyrinth of complicated sacs and tubes, filled with fluid, housed in the petrous bone.  The external ear helps concentrate sonorous vibrations on the tympanic membrane and set it vibrating.  The three bones in mid ear transmit these vibrations to the internal ear. What a journey for a single sigh, or syllable, to cover. Each word a small miracle in a complex transmission.  You’d think we’d choose them with more care, eh? There is far more where this complex connecting came from, but you get the general idea…It’s complicated.  So is listening to what is really being conveyed.  Hearing is a feminine act of receiving, considered a receptive talent.  But these days we are having to train ears, and eyes, to take on more levels of information, at a faster pace.  We have ears to the ground for incoming instructions, ears tuned to one another, and hopefully, ears vibrating to dictates of spirit. Presently, we have greater opportunity to hear the numinous, re-defined spiritual vibrations, to help us all move toward the wisdom of ‘One-ness.’  This is wonderful, but  not easy, for the new ear requires we pay attention all the time, and at very high levels of attention in order to understand hidden meaning relayed from this inclusive, sonorous spectrum. It is more important than ever to re-define and stengthen boundaries within self, as well as one another, as we absorb information with intuitive ears so the psychic heart can become a well-worn tool, not an abstract idea. Listening from old mind-sets, and out-grown grooves of assumption cannot take us to the next level.  If……

Paul Simon had it right.  “It is the time of miracles and wonder.”  The Universe is instructing us to let go, to devolve, to embrace divine discontent, and it doesn’t matter how we do it.  In this new ‘embrace,’ do we see how destructive we’ve grown, how carelessly we walk upon the earth, how intolerantly we stand against one another?  These are high surf warnings, but they are also part of the miracle-equation, for miracles are born of balancing anxiety and change.  We also demand them when on high alert in high surf. If “violence is anything that causes separation,”*  then hold on to hope for the wonder of miracles, for it is here we are most capable of change.  In extremes, we see what is toxic, and what is not. We are able to perceive ourselves as ‘separate from.’ Despite, great effort, we remain tribal.  This is about societies unable to rise above petty desire and small world- views.  When we cannot embrace ‘the other’ as self, division contaminates the country.  The issue is, we’ve allowed this violence within, otherwise it would not live without. When we shift from allowing the patriarchy to dominate- and begin equally trusting the feminine, when we learn to value feelings as well as logic, when intuition tells us as much as intellect, then we are on our way to the miraculous. We are on our way to union. It is in the balancing of the other, not in the dismissal of one over the other that we create wonderous possibility.  The masculine call  “to do” rather than “to be,” forces some of the speed we are struggling to master.  At a breakneck pace, we are only in our heads, going in the direction of will, with little-to-no fluidity.  The ability to listen to our feelings, to connect……

  SPRING EVENINGS ONCE HELD COOL PATIENCE AND DARK REDEMPTION OVER THE DAY’S DUST NOW, CLOUDS RUSH THE MOON SPEED-STREAKING HER LIGHT.  IN THE MORNING JUNE ROSES PUSH MAY ASIDE AND GOLDEN IRIS OF LUSCIOUS HONEYED-PETALS UNFURL TO DISINTEGRATE IN THE RAIN. WILL PAPPER-RED POPPIES COME AND GO BEFORE APPLAUSE? KA BLAM!    THE ALPHA AND OMEGA OF A LIFE GONE BUDS SURRENDERING TO BLOOM FASTER THAN THEIR SHELF-LIFE. WHAT ONCE HELD BREATHLESS IN BEWILDERING BEAUTY BOWS UNDER WINDS OF CHANGE NO SUSPENDED GLORIOUS EXPECTATION NO HESITATION NO MERCY.   THE MOON MOVES ON HER LIGHT NOW RISING GIBBOUS  ANXIOUS AND OVER- REACHING FALLING ON THE GARDNER LYING ON THE GRASS BLOOMS CLASPED TO HER CHEST.    

The Birder turned his head to better hear the call.  He listened as though his ears extended six feet, then smiled as the repetition of exact tone and glottal dissonance reached him.  I watched his eyes follow the sound, and though he could not yet see the bird, he stood in patience, waiting for feather and beak to emerge from shadowy greens.  Soon all would be known.  When he sighted the bird, he raised his binoculars and I could almost see his ears retract into his skull. Spying on him, I grew sad that I had not taken time lately to stop and listen.  In observing his utter pleasure, I felt enormous loss. I used to make daily quiet time to see that which was hidden, to meander over a foggy beach.  Now, I’m only distracted,  cruising at Mach 10, so it’s hard to hear anyone beyond a tweet, which ain’t no birdsong. How much richness are we willing to forgo?  To be truly rich- we need depth.  To hear, we must really listen, and for that we need to-be-here-now. How many Peony un-furlings, sweet cat-nuzzles, laughter with old friends, and pillow-talks with partners are we willing to ignore…never mind mysteries calling from ‘shadowy greens?’ There’s something to be said for dropping out, or at the very least- drawing a line in the sand beyond which we will not speed up.  Is that possible?  Stopping long enough to hear unspoken feelings, to absorb and offer feed back, may be a dying art.  It has certainly become a generous art, and when offered-no small gift.  Careening through the year, bouncing from one stop-gap measure to another, the receptive feminine has become ignored and abused.  She, that takes in and nourishes, is growing weaker and weaker.  Sensory overload is shutting down systems,……

Yoshiko Matamoro wrote, “Each moment of this precious life is a treasured vessel, ready to be filled with every grace and many blessings.” Nietzsche wrote, “You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.”  Does not every mother give birth to a ‘dancing star,’ a shining soul worth everything she has to offer…. her Grace AND her chaos, her light and her dark?  Do you perceive yourself as a ‘treasured vessel’ filled with blessings?  Or, do you feel that you are more ‘a messenger of chaos,’ perhaps dark with drama and danger…a fallen star,  not a ‘dancing star?’  Depending upon mother’s perspectives, as well as our own, derived in part from ‘MOM’, we formulate ideas of what life is about, how we might lead it, and who we might become. Emerging from the embryo, re-defined in a new cellular structure, mysterious, in fathomless layers of re-formed DNA, we are born.  Birth is such a chaotic, creative, physical-meta-physical, spiritual, magical event.  From each cocooning womb emerges a life, the majesty of what the feminine offers the Universe.  There has to be chaos for new life to emerge.  There must be destruction, fabric torn, and emotional dissolution to create anew. If we could reconcile ourselves to our own chaos, we might re-align ourselves more readily to another’s, namely- mother’s.  She is after all but one of our own conduits for magic and crazy, Grace and abandonment, terror and forgiveness. Whenever we honor the dark gods within it allows others opportunity to meet theirs.  Mothers so wish their off spring to be perfect, to be happy, to be safe.  Our chaos is terrifying to them, as theirs was/is to us. Mother’s Day is but one day out of all others to honor her years of struggle, with herself-and with……

We do not honor our great Mother.  We do not look to her future. We do not listen to her needs.  We only pay attention when she is really pissed off and blows a volcano, tosses a tsunami, or hurricane our way.  We do not offer sacrifices and bow in celebration every day, as she justly deserves.  If she were our child, instead of our mother, she would be dead. Being human means we are a strange lot, capable of inordinate greatness, and debilitating carelessness within the same body, within the same breath.  If there is an oxymoronic way of being, humanity is it.  When consciousness comes through the heart there is little we cannot do superbly.  But most of us move unconsciously, having no idea of consequences, except to self.  Our parameter of awareness moves out to a six foot circumference at best.  Beyond that lies uncharted territory, areas we think we are not responsible to, or for. Imagine we are lucky enough to receive an earth-incarnation.  Imagine it is the most magical place of choice in a vast Universe, filled with varieties of incarnations.  On Venus you take life as a rose.  On Mars, we are androids. With a Plutonian life, one is   a serpent.  And no, you are not downgraded.  With each of these choices come gifts, and detriments.  On earth, we receive lessons.  It is a short-lived home for souls who wish to learn and grow from mistakes, confusion, and pain, and our great mother has agreed to suffer the consequences of our learning. If we could but pick up the tempo of our lessons, along with the speed of technologies, we might grow consciousness exponentially.  Our ears might hear Gaia’s SOS.  We might make every morning a dedication to her well-being, if only to save……