ithinkitwastheriver

[ithinkitwastheriver]

When a parent dies, a daughter or a son loses, for a moment, their bearing in the world. They must reorient, and relocate themselves in the most intimate and visceral way. And every loss is unique, and every reorienting is a lonely, solitary journey. I don't think it matters one's age. We are children left alone to continue.

My dad was a rock, firmly planted in doing what is right. He didn't always understand his determined and driven daughter, Hell-bent for a path he couldn't see. He thought I could be an attorney, I didn't want to sit at a desk. His love never wavered. He told me plainly when he thought I was wrong, but love was unconditional. He was the foundation from which I grew.

From the time we were pretty young, we had the run of the creek and the hills and the gravel roads every summer, but when Dad stepped onto the porch and whistled, it was time to get home. You could hear that whistle for miles. He didn't ask twice.

He taught me to think. He taught me to see the world through eyes that understood it as a wonder, full of people whose ways of being might be different, but were deserving of dignity and the right to exist as they are. He understood that it is arrogance to believe all the world's people should live as we do, and that as visitors, we should be grateful and humble.

He had the perspective of a wise and learned world traveler, though he didn't get to be one. He was an avid reader, reaching for greater knowledge and seeking the truth, interested in History and Science and the world. He valued wonder & curiosity, he wanted to know how things worked. He understood systems before that was a field of study. He approached his work with the mind of an engineer.

Dad hauled us into the yard in the middle of the night one January when I was about 7, to see the Northern Lights. I can still see them. I've seen them 3 times since, and have always, will always remember that first time. I hear they were visible again last night. Perhaps God's way of saying "Well Done, and welcome home." I went out at 2am in hope of seeing them, but there were heavy clouds and it was raining. Dad telling me to go to sleep.

Dad and my brother were inseparable. From the time my brother was about 6 years old, they were wrestling, racing motocross, and tinkering in the shop. When Mike was old enough to work, he helped dad build a business, and bought it when Dad retired. They rode the big bikes together through Central Oregon only a month or so ago. It was their shared love.

Like all humans do, Dad made big, painful mistakes. He carried a lot of weight in silence. He rarely let people in. He won battles we can't ever know. He was strong and stoic in the face of pain, much of which I will never understand. He stood tall in a time when that was what men and Daddies were required to do. He had high, unbending expectations. We were, and still are, drivin to earn his approval and respect. He survived many Hells, many of them alone. And yet he came home from Vietnam with pictures of little kids wearing his boots, playing with toys he'd made from old ammo cans, and smiling.

He kept working when work was hard, and hard to find, and made big sacrifices to keep our home in place. He led by his example that if times get hard, you just work harder. My earliest memory is following him to the barn after work when I was about 4 years old. He'd work all day, and come home to milk cows, leaving those big cans for the creamery to pick up. The sound of his voice calling "Here Boss!" echoes in my memories...

For most of my life, he has been the smartest, most broadly educated person I knew, although he barely graduated high school because he had to go to work. He was wise. He could be fierce, but he proclaimed that Mr Rogers was something all kids need, because for most kids, no such kindness existed. He could build anything. I believed he could fix anything too. He picked up the guitar after we were grown and gone, and by 70 was playing in local jams. At around 65 he rode his Harley halfway down the Baja to the Sea of Cortez, from Oregon, alone, then called me from the beach to guess where he was. He rode from here to Fairbanks, Alaska. He made big loops through the Rockies from Oregon to Montana to New Mexico and back home. He was 78 and still riding big bikes on big circles.

He was healthy and brilliant and strong right to the end, and died with his leathers on. We all must be called home eventually, and to go in an instant doing what you love is a blessing. I pray that God has a few old dogs, big starry skies and smooth roads to ride waiting for him.

For those left behind, there's never enough time, so much left, aching to learn and know, and rarely a chance to say goodbye...

And oh, how it hurts. My brother and I are reorienting ourselves, relocating our place in the world as best we can. We are children continuing alone, and I am simply not ready for that.

[ithinkitwastheriver]

Choose to notice.

It's interesting, how what we give attention to is what we see, what we find, what appears before us everywhere we look. Although it may at first glance seem unexpected, this phenomenon is directly related to expectations. If we choose to expect conflict, anger, fear and hate, we will overwhelmingly notice that which looks like a threat, an opposition, a danger. If we place value on these things, by giving our attention to them, we will see them. Everywhere.

If instead we value love - the deep, hard, unconditional, "Greatest of These is Love" and "Love your Neighbor" kind of Love, and choose to give our attention to That, then That is what we find. What we see. What appears before us. Everywhere.

I miss that mark often, but I am trying to choose to notice something different. In doing so, I'm recognizing that I can almost always find a more generous and joyous thing to give my attention to.

Heart-shaped rocks are a thing I see almost every day, because I choose to notice them. They give me joy! I value them and the message they point to, and they remind me where to focus. I walk the same path every day, and yet there is always a new reminder to discover. Today, it was quite different... and I think it's beautiful.

[ithinkitwastheriver]

There are days

when the poets are silent

when the world overwhelms

even those who are called to decipher

even those who are called to absorb

Fear not, Love...

though quiet for now, they are here

they are watching, listening, preparing

readying their report

readying their report on the state of being

They are listening to their familiars

listening to their elders, and to the young

listening to the echo of a breath

or a footfall

or a heartbeat

or a memory

or a knowing that rises

with the Grace of the Beloved

[ithinkitwastheriver]

There was a big tom turkey

wandering on my street today

frantically calling

neck stretched, searching

looking for his mate

I never see him without her

I never see him alone

It can be overwhelming

the desperate need

to find what is lost

the fear that strikes

the fear you feel

that gripping sudden fear

you feel grabbing at your heart

when you wake up

and everything has changed

[ithinkitwastheriver]

How can I let this soften me?

Where can I find light?

How does it shift?

Do I let it?

[ithinkitwastheriver]

Cold Moon

I hear you

You telling me to Let Go

Release, You say, it is That Time

That Time of Longest Nights

That Time for New Beginnings

That Time for Next Steps

That Time to Make it So

Time to Feel my Feet on the Earth

Deeply Planted

Time to Raise my Face to the Sky

Broken-Open Heart, ready

It is Time,

the Light is Returning

It is Time for Rebirth, Time to midwife

Change and Growth

and Healing. Healing. Healing...

That Time to Feel my Place and to

Carry my Dear Ones with me like

Tattoos on my Heart

reminding me, always, of my Why

Why I Step, Step, Step, Step

And when You wane once more,

to remember your Light

and its Returning

DJB

[ithinkitwastheriver]

At This Moment

they say that the Sun is

Distant

Far from This Place

as it will Be

As it wanders the Universe

taking with it its Light

I'm here feeding ponies in Darkness

what it rationed for me

these December Days

is spent elsewhere

And the warmth on my skin

where it lingered

painting deeper shades of bronze

through the long-lighted weeks of July

has long since been consumed

while I fade beneath layers

chasing sunbeams across the meadow

like the cat

seeking heat on the window sill

But in the Next Moment

they say the Sun

Begins its Returning

Returning with its gifts

New Light

New Life

New Love

Wait...

[ithinkitwastheriver]

Tendencies, it seems

are to be drawn smaller

to be pulled towards

Limitations

to let the fray and

all that Adrenaline and

all that Attention and

All. That.

claim primacy

Remember, in these times

to Look Up...

Notice

how the sky dances

Raspberry and Apricot and Lime

as Aurora swings the hem of her skirt

beyond the boundaries of her

Celestial ballroom

in the small hours of the night

Notice

How the New Moon waits off stage

as the Milky Way lingers

low above the Alvord

to relay an ancient story

to Descendants of Stardust

Notice

How a thousand points of fire

raining from the sky

inspire Wishes and Promises

and Hope

even in the most ragged of Souls

(photo via web @ Astronomy Magazine)

[ithinkitwastheriver]

Sometimes

The only thing to do is watch

witness

be present

and pray that you don't miss

what matters

[ithinkitwastheriver]

Tell me of your silence

I want to know

is it thoughtful

full of thinking

always moving, always spinning

just beneath the surface

Like multicolor threads

deftly working out the pattern

Is it forced

struggling to surface

aching for life and expression

held under, held back

by the hands of a system

or a person

or an mention of Your Place

held tightly across your lips

Is it listening

watching, waiting, learning

steady in a purpose

enlightened by the lessons

of those who passed this way before

Tell me of your silence

is it beautiful

like that point above the river

where forever can be glimpsed

or the path out in the gardens

that you wander with your prayers

or maybe like the slow dance of a

summer Borealis swaying gold

and green and purple in the sky

[ithinkitwastheriver]

The things that have been normalized

that are currently being normalized

with every headline, soundbite, tweet and meme

this isn't only exposing, uncovering, revealing

there is also shifting

But what can be moved towards Evil

can also be moved towards Good

towards Beauty

towards Light

towards Love

Choose every action with long range vision

Choose with intention

Choose with attention

Choose with prayer

Choose with Love

[ithinkitwastheriver]

Words matter

How you hold them on your tongue

The difference between

letting them spill from your lips

or spitting them

or whispering

The difference between

shouting them into the sunrise

from that rocky point in the rimrock

above the river valley

or

offering them

from your knees

a quiet prayer

in the deep dark before the Solstice

The difference between

forming words carefully

laced with Love and Dignity

and Focus

and Strength

formed the way the Elders taught

to fulfill an age-old promise

your part in an old, old story

or

aiming words in anger

buzz word or cliché, or

one with razor's edge

to leave an Other bleeding

without thought of damage wrought

by ricochet or disregard

[ithinkitwastheriver]

"In poetry, religion, and conflict it is often the small words that matter." Padraig O'Tuama

I sometimes sit, listening

just listening

Wishing I had big words

Big Words with which to

Change the World, or maybe

change the fear and hate in just one heart

Big Words to inspire and encourage

Big Words to bring Hope

Big Words with which to

Kindle conversation,

gentle conversation, but strong and deep

True Strength is expressed through

Gentleness, after all

(We once knew This...)

And Deep is like a river,

Quiet on the surface yet full

Full of Wisdom

Full of Lessons

Full of Life

But Words these days are small

Small like the Breath that

catches in mid-exchange when

the miracle is revealed

tiny, everyday miracle

like heart-shaped stones in the path

Small like Azure wings of Mountain Bluebirds

filling the gin tree with fluttering

Small like juniper berries

flipped and caught in

Small beaks

a sufficient preflight feast

Small Words like

I See You and

I Hear You and

I Care

Small Words like

I Can Try or

We Can Try or

You Can Do Hard Things or

It's OK

Small Words like

God is Love on the plaque from

Grandmother's kitchen, or

Love is Love, or

Love Wins, or simply

Love

Love.

which is not so simple after all...

for in that word

In that singular one syllable word

In that one Small Word

Is Everything

[ithinkitwastheriver]

Time is a thing that too quickly gets away

I know not where it goes

But as it goes, it takes

and it gives

and I don't always see

the difference

[ithinkitwastheriver]

Sometimes I fall to my knees

You might not notice

This body often waits,

in a position more

acceptable

But I,

the "I" that God knows,

I fall to my knees

this "I" of Heart and Soul and Spirit

of Memories and Dreams

of Intellect and

Understanding and

Yearning-to-Learn and

Failing

I fall to my knees

this "I" with Unspeakable

Losses and Gains and

All that is Forgotten

All that needs Forgiving

All that is Yet to Be

and That which May Never...

I fall to my knees

this Multitude of Layers

of Colors, Shades and Shadows

of Wishes and Longings

of Joy and Fear and

Courage

the Magnitude and the

Miniscule and the

Hope and the Faith and the

Love and the

Love and

The Love

I fall to my knees

the "I" that God knows,

I fall to my knees

[ithinkitwastheriver]

To sit at the foot of

a Being this old

To exchange breath and

stillness, and

listen with the soles of my feet

to all this Teacher has learned.

To see with my eyes closed, and

my heart broken open

To feel this presence

where words cannot be

deeper than skin and

deeper than memory

The bronchioles of my

fleeting-moment body

reaching towards those ancient roots

like lovers, embracing

intertwined in the garden of God

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=4724748577567087&id=100000959756557

[ithinkitwastheriver]

Each day I look for water

in the dry bed

where the creek once flowed

wind stirs the gold and rusted leaves

they rustle, and settle among the rocks

quail scatter there, and gather again

murmuring their concerns

in the dimming light of dusk

the big grey squirrel takes her space

beside the bed, where the wild rose waits

the late fawn is known to linger too...

and together we find ourselves

present, in this not-yet-running course

abundantly alive and holding space

for what will come in time