OUTPOURING OF ANGELS

Sometimes Angels

wing their way into my mind,

reminding me

of my need to stay in the presence

of divine reality.

When times of physical frailty weigh my body

and vulnerability opens my sensibilities

to all manner of input,

thank Heaven the Angels come too.

They may come in the tender touch

of a gentle-eyed nurse

in the hospital where I am undergoing procedures,

or in the trustful lingering of a heron

as I gaze through my camera.

And in the Shearwater annex –

where I work among kind companions –

They can weave their way through the women’s laughter,

or waft their way onto a pitcher I have chosen to decorate.

This angel appears to be of the mothering sort…

for two plump cupids frolic

in response to her dance.

One hovers close to her mother’s watchful gaze…

reaching frequently for reassurance,

while the other is set free by love…

cavorting fearlessly beyond maternal influence.

As I hold

the pleasing weight of the pitcher

in my hands,

and accept the manifestation of angels

in my life,

I also accept my human vulnerability…

and my courage.

I know that the mothering angel is always near,

and I am free to go.

HEAVEN AND EARTH

So many inspirations

in the world I inhabit…

Daily I come upon magical gifts;

they open themselves before my eyes,

and my soul is amazed at the wonder revealed.

A dragonfly – as elusive as air –

is suddenly still…

five feet from my trembling heart.

For a timeless rapturous moment she stays,

as I press the shutter again and again:

Heaven has offered itself to me…

and I am receptive.

Earth comes in the form of a ravenous turtle:

weighty, substantial, and trusting enough

to eat from my hand.

This particular earth-form comes when I call.

“Hello Baby…”

has him climbing a tree

in his quest for banana and me.

Our morning encounters are grounding

to the airborne Gemini that I am.

Perhaps this explains why the turtle came first

on my most recently decorated pot.

His round weighted contours

settled  sweetly onto

the dear little vase

as my own earthy weight

settled sweetly into

the process of bringing him forth.

The dragonfly hovered and flirted,

teasing my mind with unattainable beauty…

before it flew into my hand

and out of my pencil.

Days later,

I held the vase in my hands,

 turning it slowly.

It was then I realized the balance

I had unconsciously brought into being.

I saw the air descending

in response to the earth’s ascent,

And I saw the earth ascending

in response to the air’s descent.

I held creation in the palm of my hand…

and all was well.

LIFEDANCE

LIFEDANCE: I borrow the name

from my autobiography,

written some years ago as a necessity

when I was stalled in life…in dance.

I needed to tell my story to myself.

Apparently I still do need to tell my story;

my most recent means is by decorating pots.

I have found that telling one’s story is an attempt

to integrate the various parts of self.

For me the various gestures of life

can become fragmented.

One part rejected as less acceptable…

can be split off,

and so the struggle to re-unite ensues.

The first two figures I drew upon this pot

were harmonious, balanced…and acceptable.

The third appeared: proportion all wrong,

her gesture heavy and reluctant,

unacceptable until…

I smiled at her awkward sweetness…

her trust in my eventual surrender.

I recognized the conflict…

and my own inevitable struggle before the flow resumes.

I know my dance reflects my life,

and life is happening.

And life unfolds…

I begin to see once more the various parts

that work together for the good.

The life, the dance, the story will be told.

Each gesture will invariably contain the whole.