How much courage is needed
to play forever,
as the ravines play,
as the river plays.

- Boris Pasternak, Bacchanalia

Love Letter to an Old Friend

A breeze on my skin.
More than a touch on the surface, really.
Rather, a sacred relationship where one meets the other.
No real boundaries can be found in this delicious meeting.
My skin rests and unwinds, exhaling and relaxing with its touch.

A gentle swirling of air, something felt but unseen.
Whispering, laughing, singing, howling, breathing.
The wind’s breath is an ever-present ebb and flow of full allowance.
It’s voice is one of full expression.
Never holding back.
Powerful and gentle. Strong and calm. Ferocious, graceful and clear.
A rhythmic, eternal friend.
It knows me.
I know it.
No introductions needed.
It’s always so easy between us.

In fact we’re such old friends,
we can’t even remember when we met.
A beautiful, relaxing familiarity.

The trees around are gracefully billowing, also playing with the wind.
They move not with the sheer force of the breeze,
but instead are bowing and dancing,
kissing it’s swirling presence too.

—-

For my Eco-Psychology & Expressive Arts class…

Do you think peace will come some other place than here?
Some other time than Now?
In some other heart than yours? 
Peace is this moment without judgment. 

—Dorothy Hunt

not—banksy:

IK

"If you need to visualize the soul, think of it as a cross between a wolf howl, a photon, and a dribble of dark molasses. But what it really is, as near as I can tell, is a packet of information. It’s a program, a piece of hyperspatial software designed explicitly to interface with the Mystery. Not a mystery, mind you, the Mystery. The one that can never be solved.” - Tom Robbins

I’m reading so much Jung these days. It’s delicious. I feel like I’m constantly floating and soaking in an enormous warm bath of beautiful information.

I was so thrilled by the first session of my Eco-Psychology & Expressive Arts class last night. I’m so excited about an academic process that looks at making art as a way to connect deeply with a felt sense of nature. We were asked to write a poem during class. This is mine…

Ode to the Rock Rose

In fours and fives
the petals hold the center.
The seed,
held by sheer wings wrapping in to form
a perfect
imperfect
sphere.
Puckered in the middle like the naval of the world,
a small hole lets me peek 
at the seed inside.
Black? 
One or many?
Delicate mysteries make me smile.
Joy in the little unknowns, joyfully remaining unknown.
The stem. Rough at first, 
smoothes into a fine stick.
Delicate. Graceful. Strong. Lean.
A thin, simple, unbreakable support.
My hand gravitates here. Enjoying its delicate, unbreakable strength.
Delicate strength holding delicate mystery.
I bow to your presence. 
Your mirror.
Your form.

Window on Eternity / The Liverpool Mandala, Jung, The Red Book

Window on Eternity / The Liverpool Mandala, Jung, The Red Book

"I am not, however, addressing myself to the happy possessors of faith, but to those many people for whom the light has gone out, the mystery has faded, and God is dead. For most of them there is no going back, and one does not know either whether going back is always the better way, To gain an understanding of religious matters, probably all that is left us today is the psychological approach.

That is why I take these thought-forms that have become historically fixed, try to melt them down again and pour them into molds of immediate experience.”

-Carl Jung; CW 11:par 148