shed hed

fall is here  in full abundance.  this afternoon, i am running, dancing outside the country home ,i am residing in monterefrasine, toscana,  full uv olive trees, and vineyards.  rolling my body on th bumpy cushy land, like a fallen olive into the fresh dough uv a pizza waiting to go into the wooden fire. 

 i am resting my head on the dirt, ears touching the earth, and listening.

 luv listens. luv leaves sheds clothes running naked water against skin swollen, opened, like grapes bursting to make wine.

 i listen to the stem.

 luv listens sempre sempre. (always always)

all ways all ways we go.

as all roads take us to rome. rewind. and one sees only wind returning the spit back, back to life, karma continues, and we start again.

gaining the wind rustling burnt leaves.

 keeps me company,

while my past wrestles with me.  nothing escapes us eventually. 

 i know this and am facing life with my feet on the dirt, wind blowing thru my hair,

 allowing me to blow lovers thru my digestive system,  a coiled snake in stomach,  stuck memories shuved in the shed.

sun breaks thru the small window pain in my heart

liquid  honey drops where there are memories waiting to be stirred to finally relax in the bed uv chamomile flowers i sip before i rest my head at night.

this mid- afternoon, i am rolling on the earth to create momentum, fire, to boil to boil, to b liquid as oil

i am looking for that space, the T time, intersection, cross roads 

 arrival uv when body will agree on the hour ( the hour to eat, sleep is precise in italy)

 to light the wick, put the wind on the flame,

leave the lame vine, and

  f 

a

l

l

 ascend into the roots to be next years wine

grapes delivered to make the holy spirit fly.

 i stand on tuscan ground, full uv bumps and small but sturdy trees,  

land that has equal up and down like two sides uv the same flower.  soft, gentle rolling hills, up and down, tell me they are uv the same oneness; tell me about the natural beauty inside my terrain, my body.

the grass is green on this side and on the other.

enough comparisons, i am sound, i am ground. rrrrrrrrrrrrrr tongue rolling my r’s italian r’s u use ur lingua, to be…

round here the collinas move in long wavy circles like yarn spilling on the ground after the little kitten has decided to play with what nonna was turning into winter socks.  i am dancing, spinning round round,  little girl, spilling my weight,  feet so ready to take the weight uv the world, not on her shoulders, but thru her powerful pelvic hips made to carry water with hands meant to build something stronger thru a spirit that is deliciously stretchy,  rolled out,  hand kneeded, olive oiled dough

 to make pizza. 

                                                                                                                                                                                                    here i am, contrary to the fall’s crisp wind

 ripping off my shoes,  circling the lines around my feet feeling my legs plant into a paradise for fruit to grow (especially the kind that makes wine).   

i walk into the mid-afternoon darkness

uv a small dirty shed, on the corner uv the farm adjacent the land i am living on.

 inside, i am saturated by a thick musky silence.  the grey dusty hue absorbs the loud murmur uv bull shit mind static. there is a smell the best manure to shed head.

inside, there are shovels to dig, buckets to carry, bunnies raised to eat.

hands clumsy, i fumble to open the latch of a tiny wooden window slightly higher than on tip toes, i can reach.

prrrrrrroooow, i manage and a gust uv wind pops it open

to let in the soft sweeping howling uv the wise green mountain side,

where a bell tower, on every half hour rings,

whisper

” u, u, u,

sweet  

luving luving u,

brrrrrrrrrrrrring it

 is time”.

tracks

luv is bright on the other side uv the tracks,
wood lines up,
wheels creaking streaming people across land.

train riding i am transported, eyes opening thru a port uv window.
luv luv luv the riding the
bringing me to the border uv the

infinite being within myself, the self that never ages,

on my way to wards.

i am alive  inside my eyes reach out across the plain.

old wrinkled luving hands uv rome’s tree tops reach back.

i see grand mother and mother, hands reaching across the table,
 i am inside my brown wooden dinner bowl uv salad, tossing up the oil and salt, licking the bowl to get  a tention from the green beneath me.

this land,  italia, is licking me from head to foot, like a dog, with a ball, ready to play.

 this play ground, i am here, and my bones can feel it, losse, bones attached to meat, meat, attached to air, air mixing with blood and the whirl uv encouraging juices

like the push uv hands uv great parents standing behind their little ones on a play ground so they can swing higher and higher on the swing set.  push me harder!  i am going to reach the highest point to  jump off  and land on my cat feet. 9 lives to come weeeeeeeeeeee!

my lifted heart being swirled with memories uv land i tracked “must be in past lives”, says the woman at the airport hair gently lifted exposing her soft all knowing forehead. “its the hairspray” she explains. easily in her sixties but far softer on the eyes than all the walloping twenty sumthings brooding thru bags to touch up their makeup.  she standing upright with a perk in one shoulder and a perk in one knee, waiting to grab her valice ( luggage).

her stance is speaking to me,  “hey, i am a mediterranean woman, we move even when are still.”

 oh, i must speak to her,  she looks like a glamorous actress, sophia loren, aging deliciously each year like wine, with a pair uv hot purple pumps pulling off a pair uv blu jeans dressed with artigiano jewellery and uv course confident italian flair.  so i approach her and within few moments she is already motherly, warning me, “attenzione, the men here will go crazy for a young woman like u, but… they are often married.!”.
(wow nothing gets by her)
“but ur parents are really good letting u come here on a one way ticket.”  “yes i can see that tu sei italian. but it is strange u know. u were born in vancouver. u really were italian in ur past life”.

strange, the second time, since i have arrived and another (non-gypsy) stranger is talking to me about my past lives.
regarding this pastlife buisness, i change the subject, in allegria, in happiness, i tell her how wonderful it is she now lives in london, a city i am now feeling affectionate about, and is able to go between londra e roma, and in celebration uv the nonrational behaviour i am bringing out uv my soul, the walking up to strangers, and sharing our lives for whatever time, even for a few moments, regarding my past life, i say no thing,
instead,
realizing i have set foot on new land where i can re enliven and begin to stir the gestural magic potion thru my body, i smile smile
and let my hands do the talking.

dark night in a purple haze

writing between time

if felt very important.

meeting strangers, strange meetings that are meant to be. what the heck does this mean? a stranger in the dark dancing upon my consciousness, keeping me aware uv the glad tidings.

his hands held my belly, put two warm teddy bears on each side as blu and red flowers absorbed a harmony uv violet help bring dark demons, bad people, bad to light. 

his pale white skin aglow, hazel eyes beating a soft sad pulse, a pretty boy whose clarity, a sign uv optimism, and strength is beguiling. whose intense ability to see inside is frightening.

it is true, his voice is light and clear as a bell and his touch  has a magical swooshness that puts sum sad thing to sleep, allowing the bad thing to breathe and burn fire to make sum new soft sweet thing grow. who are u?  when our eyes meet a magnetic pull lifts sum stirring thing inside me.

god is lightning my way. 

electric pull uv the moon and genius god boticelli is bringing up the sea woman from the dark shell, oyster her soul is sleeping in.

i sat in front uv the painting until the gallery closed.

shallow water hallow water allow allow the other.

 i realize it is safe it is safe to wonder, open up and say, ” u are good, u are good, what are u giving me? ” 

is it love?

i crack open the bad nut,  offer it

sum purple haze, sum meantime pearl, sum small thing that is

la la la light.

ded aroma uv la vender

sweet friend, sweet teapot,
boiling water at the base uv ur spine, to taste the honey.

 what is hot becomes steam or smoke, she says.   one chokes and flattens while the other removes impurities to taste a deep orange miele over a cup uv tea; allows distilled aroma uv lavender to penetrate the air; boils lemons to breathe a soft yellow.  moves a train across continents.

i am reading my dear friend’s blog “chara’s tea pot” and empathising about her discomfort, pain, lack uv mobiltity uv her lower back:  a north american problem, i thought, but she comes from europe.  did this start in vancouver i must ask her.

i feel it too at times, a strong burning sensation,  like a strong animal in cage, or money stuck in a piggy bank that needs to be slammed on the floor, broken, to get out.

what does this body spine need-  to be useful to be able to fulfill its function.  is there sumthing we are saving there for a later date only to find out suddenly that currency is no longer current like old lirra.

the lower back’s ability, usefull ness, the sacrum, i believe, is to support the centre, where all flows in and out uv.  life is born in the belly, the face uv the lower back.  

  the lower back holds the sacrum bone, the sacred bone.  it also holds energy the indians have known for thousands  uv years;  they call it the  mother kundalini energy.  only the queens and kings in india understood how to access it because the energy could be potently self empowering and this knowlege better to be kept away from regular folk.  in the seventies, however, kundalini yoga was brought to the west. 

a wonderful teacher and friend hanne, teaching kundalini yoga at unity yoga  on east 10th and commercial at 10 am every friday morning, taught me physical practises that have furthered my belief in the power we have within, and how we are able to summon and  access it, to bring it up and out and into this physical world.

today, thanks to a friend’s plight for lower spinal mobility, i am contemplating the value uv our belly and lower back, our center, our gravitational centre,  the circle, the value uv pi. the infinite irrational, the belly place where millions uv impulses live, are breathed each day, all the possibilities floating in the air because we are breathing it.   life, the exchange, the exchange, and what am i bringing, or rather breathing to it.  or what am i withholding?  saving to be used for a further day?  sticking in a tiny slot in the piggy bank, to find, i no longer can get it out and the potency, the potential has expired, poured into the drain to be taken out with the current…sea.  the stock market crash and i do not know where my savings have gone…

the financial crisis in the world is being felt on many levels.  where and what is supporting us is my question i pose?  the power, the lottery, the bank inside  has a beached whale, a fish out uv water, an unused resource: our ability to breathe, create, bake sumthing real, boil on a fire whatcomes from a higher place, a deeper knowledge. 

i propose to all the lower backs (including my own): it is time to support the everybody, through a new awareness, and investment in the real health and education, the kind that teaches us how to breathe, luv, and trust the natural creativity uv our ever renewing god created bodies.

a time to make a living

 with sum thing living…

mary recieving divine knowledge - the national gallery uv perugia

sum things come from nothing

dear dear darlings

wwwwww here does the circle begin

dreaming i am herefly fly fly, whispers the clock handle. in my cradled bed the hand reaches out to strike 12. a lucky number, the accumulation uv multiples uv 3.’s that turn false princess fairy tales into real zucca pumpkins to make ME become the sum uv pi.infinitely irrational i the accumulation uv pi. perfect number perfect challenging number.sweating and eating sweet pies sweating and eating sweet pies. sweet is it time to eat ? ”it is time,” the moon says,  ”time for a bigger piece uv the pi”how long have i been sweeping this voice under the bed?  i look under and there i find piles and piles uv scraps uv seaweed paper i had been rolling up wraping rubber bands around to hang up sum time in th future.  dreams scribbled then scrunched to be spread out sum time later. how about now? no i am not ready i respond. spread sum jam, sum jam, sum jam, kitchen retreat to eat toast, tea and pie. sum one responds, U, HOW about no WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW suddenly in my room there is a bridge uv double u’s , me and u, holding hands, holding the hand, looking at the clock,  re winding, while walking forward. holding hands, holding the hand, looking at the clock, re winding, while walking forward.  wind sweepS out from under the bed the sea weed letters written while wiping the weeping tears poured into white glass written to feel the weight one day, uv form that has mass mass mass.  all i see are the heavy word heavy words.i am whispering, as i cross my fingers, slip out uv the kitchen to tip toe along the double Us, the WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW bridge

i glance in my bathroom mirror, “find me a tide, just enough uv a current to catch sum thing coming from nothing”. no thing buiding a NOWWWWwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwWWWWWWWWWWWWWW thing”. 

t o pur chase a piece uv the pi on the other side uv the circumference, i must travel, i whisper, and to get around, i must cross thru a bridge in my mind begins to find a track, a new patch uv grass, a possibility uv a path thy will be built by strange universal patterns not even I can explain.would i miss the opportunity to be a part uv this confusion that belongs to harmonious order?  forget rational time, and take a leap,   a quantum leap, an organized gugun gugun uv a heart beat.here we go, double us, double u, in to the future WoW in the journey uv the mind, i   begin to fall in luv with bridges every where i go, i see the opportunities on the other side, the side crossed with our feet, built by our hands,  with the intelligence uv our body, the arches that naturally support the under side where live the magical men, whose water passes thru to release boats, fish, and uvcourse thoughts flow in and out uv.  thru a bridge, we learn a new pass word. luv a real opportunity to cross the women magical men, and other equations of 3.1345464360697069-592419820380`9828083908129348923WWWWWWWWWWWWWW  are passing thru            

who do we meet?