The View From Ramapriya's Window

She sits at the top of the hill

looking out at city, sea and sky.

Below

planes take off and land,

Bart trains and busses,

trucks and cars

carry others about their busy business

while she

sitting with the birds

in the tops of the trees

lives a different pace

sips tea, eats fruits,

ruminates, meditates

processes

creates,

taking in

and giving out.

Being.

Anything Can happen Next

The beginnings of the majestic redwoods

of singing frogs

and dogs

and skunk cabbage

and peonies

and apples

lizards and lions

strawberries and grapes

herons and hawks

and sweet human babies

all from the primordial ooze.

Just imagine…

imagine the transformations.

Imagine all that has been.

How can you not believe in magic?

Imagine what might be next.

Beings of light?

Teleportation?

Pure love?

Free energy from the atmosphere?

Universal peace?

How can you not believe?

Anything …

everything can happen next.

Tapping the Underground stream

Don’t not be sad—

of course you are sad.

Go ahead.  Go there.  Feel it.

Explore the depths of the darkness

but let there be an undercurrent of joy

for in that sadness are the seeds

of something wonderful,

waiting to be born.

I Still See It

Still see the magic of that sweet baby girl

enchanted by fairies

blessed by the smiling moon

born of a love so tender and fierce

in my own young and innocent heart.

I saw it in the child with scabby knees

and scraggly hair

in the defiant teen

bursting with her own eagerness to bloom,

saw it in the new mother struggling

with parenting issues of her own.

I see it in the woman, now in her early forties,

bruised by life’s challenges

angry and in pain,

still see the magic

the enchantment in this being

whom I love with the same fierceness

as when I first held my sweet small babe.

If only…  if only…

I could hold the mirror

in just the right position

that she might see it, too.

Kung Fu Girl

I am waiting for Kung Fu Girl

to tell her story

waiting for the paper cranes to fly

spinning plates

balanced on long poles

poetry and apps

photographs and audio files

spinning plates

osito, Gramma’s Walk

publication inspiration

Moon Song quilts

swirling cranes

Kung Fu Girl

spinning plates

can’t let them fall

spinning plates

and waiting for the calm

waiting for the time to breathe

waiting for the words

of my next poem.

Beside me the candle flame

lights the serene face of Quan Yin

and I look to the sky

where rosy clouds drift slowly

calmly against the blue

and I

am breathing.

Give Us This Day

Drawn back day after day

to this morning dose of poetry

laughter, spiritual camaraderie,

I get a glimpse of why

the devout go to daily mass.

I am tempted to say it grounds me,

but that seems too earthy a phrase.

Anchors might be a better choice;

anchors me to my place in the matrix

which is no place and every place,

stirs my awareness of being

in the vast field where everything is possible,

every thought matters.

This sacred time informs my days,

nourishes my connection to divine beings

on this and other planes,

awakens my senses,

and keeps me humming

in tune with the universe.