It is another chainsaw day. Oddly, with this the third day of cutting, I still see no difference in the treeline from my home. I will be in Palo Alto for the day so will see what change has occurred when I return.
I feel such an affinity for the mountain, so here is my morning poem to her. Jane is exploring further within the poems that came to her at Squaw. We each reach for teachers within, the trust that rests and simmers, like porridge in a well.
Availability
The mountain rises
with the full flat foot
of a snail
mobility inperceptible to us,
the hummingbirds
of this slowed down world
and yet when I allow myself
to come and alight on this huge flower
and drink
the nectar
presented in so many forms
I am nourished on vitality,
particles part the meadows,
bubbling streams,
ferns, creeks,
all speaks,
and my heart warms and spreads
as energy shoots out the top of my head,
shoots like a rocket
straight through all the stars
to circle around
in a globe.
I am held in stillness that moves.
When the mountain says,
“Be Me,” I do,
and my two feet become one solid ground.
When the mountain says,
“Come alone,” I know
there is so much here,
that the mind-meld between us
takes two as one,
and in this place,
I don’t fear death.
An elevator takes me
to another floor.
There are no walls,
cables, or counterweight.
I lift on hues,
walk on vibration,
the notes of light.
