Zeal-force vitality or loudass TV

This is it, this is the energy that had me so Bmore bound in the fall, in the winter, in the spring.

Driving to Mandy's, talking to Erika, chilling with Erin, crashing at my brothers.

This zeal-force vitality that comes with being in the swing, in the flow of my life.

WISDOM of Wildness~tell the people this, the ones who dont get it or dont know: our lives crash and throttle along, this is time of flow. Our lives too ebb like a far emptied flat mudbed dry of any current, this is time of rest and letting go. Too we go by our own Nature of things and STRESS comes from fighting your nature, meant to meld with Nature, so it is writ all things~Divine.

Time between summer solstice and first harvest is funny time of great friction stuck in void: it is peak growing season but the natural force-energy's begun to ebb. Stored sunlight for energy it is now especially that the winter, and how you cared for yourself or didn't then, will manifest and come to fruit in your spirit, your health mental physical emotional and more.

Maybe I'll go to Philly Wednesday? That would mean I'd miss out on hanging with my new 21 year old friends at Macky's tho tehe ha ha ho ho. Today I am going to the beach with Chrissy Shulka of Piezano's on the boardwalk 1996 history one of a million grrrls folded in to the mix back then of beach boys and the Crofton days. She has a baby now and I knew it but wasn't even thinking about it when I texted her deck-party Monday night? Got the little one with me she answered so even better, beaching it with an old and true grrrlfriend. Timmy and Ed and Tim's girl Sara and I will hit the deck party instead, and how funny is this, me 33 single girl in OC writing poems and putting pieces together of my novel and being an artist free spirit sunhead naturelover and for the first time in my whole life truly not giving a fuck?

Except for those few things.

I have a list of things to do today call Erika is number one, only behind opening a bank account. The small town local Chestertown one not gonna do for me no more. She said 12 whole years later what a relief, what a funny dream.

My landlord from Easton hasn't sent my securiyt deposit back. I'm in a wedding this weekend and my new baby neice-in (which is neice and cousin morphed as one) Savanna is already so old and I've already missed so much.

Beth and Paul live in my dreams. Like Josh did and does and now Micah and Kate and funny random people too, like Dominic and Jessica and Ms. Fran. But Beth and Paul speak only sweet allowance, o sacred air of deep soul breath breeze.

O life, and all your funny little schemes.

I tried to force myself in to sleeping but 33 hours of work in 3 days will keep you charged and get you awake by 7am. That, and dad's loud tv.

My favorite thing in the world is writing or reading in bed though, so the time is right, my nature is upon me, so here's to allowing it. To be.

Change is gonna come

Recently, I found myself catching up with two old friends. Lindsey (see post from May 10, That Girl) was my big-eyed sister who grew up in the woods with me from the time that I was 11 and she was 10. She was home from Florida last week and we hadn't spent any quality time together in over a decade. And Mandy, who became my closest grl when we were 19 and living at the Drift hood together in OC (see post from June 7, Ocean Pines) just recently moved to those same woods where Lindsey and I used to run. Near to the end of the Real Work as I am, these visits were absoloutey serendipitous. They were so meaningful and rich, and as Clarissa Pinkola Estes puts it, so very signifigant in gathering my bones.

So I been driving the backroads a lot, see, going over the old soil of where I'm from. Summer Solstice comes this weekend. The time when the sun is most close to the earth, our homeground. She breathes the sun, our mama earth, without its rays nothing would live. Photosynthesis wouldn't occur. Without the sun baking those leaf sugars into respiration our ecosystem would have no lungs to breath. No energy exertion on the trees parts would mean all the decay would no longer feed itself into the compost for new life. Life, simply, would halt. It would deteriorate into a mass of black goo. Holy primordial funk of what we're made of, but no actual making....

Like the sun, each of us has a light of consciousness, a quiet part in our heart of awareness. That wide silent space behind the chatter where I for one like to touch down find my self-connection. If you read me regularly you know this is my own understanding of God, the Deep Within. The place where I am aware of I Am, of that power of all that is....

I've been remembering the power of that light, and of the great cycles of life and rebirth.

And this is what our cells naturally remember right around this time of year. For the past two weeks everyone around me has been in one of two states: reorginization--which for some looks an awful lot like chaos-making; or dull low slump. I myself have been back and forth between the two. In our bones right now, implicit of the very air we breathe, the sun we crave and suck up, the ocean and river waters that cleanse us, the earth that at least here on the Mid-Atlantic Coast grows greener with every passing day, is the slight-touched knowledge: deep within us speaks the energy now that lay still unutilized or unfulfilled. And on the outside a hyper-awarenss of all that we have grown.

Sometimes, says Anna Quindlen, not to decide is to decide. In my opinion too many people slumber. They carry on with there outside lives endlessly ignoring the deep messagry from inside. And yet that is where the real power, that unquenched longing so much of us are searching for, resides. Those undecided decisions show themselves at a time like this. Soo too, the blessings. The quiet touching harmony of who we are.

Take heart, take stock.

Change is gonna come.....

Solstice on the Chop

The tide of the Chop was so high this morning. Where's the moon? Teena said, a soapy bucket in her hand and spotted-winged deer flies clung to her--her chest, her forehead, her arms. She had an orange Teena shirt on, that's the color I know her for know.

She's full, that's why, I said. Er, on Saturday an Sunday anyhow. She brings the tides, right? In'at how it goes?

I figured Teena would know the old folklores and rules that abide the countryside.

She shrugged in return and sat on one of the osprey and duck-stained chairs that she'd initially come to clean. It was about 7:00 or so, she'd been up since the sun was yellow hazy and outside breaking on the land of her home. Delighting. I sat on the pier, legs dangling off water up to my mid-calves. But by now the sun was already fading, mist of grey clouds nebulous and growing, and over my shoulder I heard a dark low rumble. The sky to the west was blackgrey and spanning.

West sky steel like that means storm.

I slipped my clothes off and slid in to the river. Watched the black grow and slithered again and again under and under, and floated again and again on top. I hate how cliche it sounds, but god it was just like silk. She was just so full this morning, the Chop, and welcoming. I knew when I first stepped out the side door and saw her that my body wanted nothing more than to be with hers, melting and swimming, under and under, on top again and again contented to float.

We were ridiculous trying to pull me up and out of there. No ladder and no beach in a tide that high. We have this joke about the old guy who's taken to walking his dog every morning, right about the same time I'm out in my itty bitty night clothes on my knees herbcrafting and worshiping the morning and the sun. Where's the old guy and his dog now?! Teena cackled, throwing a towel around my clumsy nakedness, me hoisting myself chest first on to the pier, thwuck of mud saltwater and sea grass closing the void under me.

The Solstice is coming. Feel it? It was all over everything this morning: the river, the haze of sky, the air. How it all is so meaty feeling, salty, elemental: how the wind is full not just of air, but water and earth, too. Of sky. The tide is growing, meant at once to remind us of the pinnacle of things--ahh great birth and throbbing life--and so meant of course at once to tweak the longing of things, too, for even as great Life comes to peak so she is reminding us, and teaching yet agin: all things come in their time, and pass.

That longing now of what is yet undone, listen quiet to the whisperings in your soul. And be still, be still. There is lots to celebrate amid there. So too the bounties come, the seeds redistribute, all will grow up wild in celebration and thunder, and lay down in surrender to death again.

Amen, yes? Amen amen.

Photo Doc

Last night, I saw my first firefly of the season. Today, my first dragonfly. Walking up the dock here at Chop the river wind keeping things cool and light--white trumpet flowers growing in a mass of vines at the edge of the fragmite and water stopped me and grabbed my breath--the energy here, a mere yard from the river, was hot, and green. Summertime. Thick stillness, rich. Fecundity of surge and spirit. I. Love. It.

I am home from my road trip & taking pause to let it all settle in. Maybe I'll write more about it should the words move there way up and out...

For now here's a photojournal full with more shots than most of you could ever care to see. And this isn't even half of them!

Thank you Dhamma thank you road thank you path thank you Way....

Thank you Blessed Nature of my sweet sweet being.