A thing or two about a wing or two...

The days have flown...like leaves in autumn...accumulating in piles that amount to months...a year, even. The bird in me hasn't offered much in this direction as the tree in which I travel, branch to beautiful branch, has bared itself and renewed itself and weathered many a storm. Miles have unfolded beneath me...within me...before me. Hearts have grown warm, then cold...coloring my own with brilliant vibrance before casting it into shadowy greys. I've sung from the tips of the highest branches, stretching upward to kiss the clouds...and I've fallen heavy and silent near the roots, momentarily unable to feel the warmth of the sun. I've been searching...curiously seeking some place that might call to me in the familiar language of 'home'...

Now...after nine months of whimsical wandering, I've settled into a sweet new nest in San Francisco. I've got a good feeling...

I write this on the heels of yet another, incredible, gypsy migration. I realize as I type those words just how truly blessed I am to be able to live as freely as I do. But I also know that this is the only way I know how to live...following my heart implicitly, regardless of risk...in spite of fear. To be sure, the barbs of such a lifestyle can be piercing at times, but I'd not trade them for anything. Every stumble reminds me that I am alive and MOVING. I've tried living in the linear world of the mind and I became utterly lost in its stagnant predictability ...in its oppressive projection into the future. My heart knows the wisdom of NOW. I am learning to trust that...

In this moment, I feel light...strong...grounded...calm...ready for anything.

I've spent the last week in Costa Rica, lounging in hot-springs with charming locals...hiking up and into the dormant Cerro Chato volcano through luscious rainforest during a torrential downpour & cleansing myself in the refreshingly chilly, green waters of the beautiful lagoon that awaited us there.

I then found myself surrounded by so many delicious souls, soaking up the unbelievable sweetness of the Envision Festival and those who poured so much of themselves into making it happen. My heart swelled as I drifted between moments, camera in hand, feeling so wonderfully touched by every dance of light upon all those gorgeous, sun-kissed faces...by every graceful turn of each dancer's hand...by the genuine, beaming smiles that stretched themselves endlessly across the glowing faces of every performer...djs and drummers and acrobats and aerialists and clowns and everyone in-between. I silently observed the observers, honoring them as they recorded their surroundings, entertained as much by them as by those in the spotlights. And, at the invitation of my dear friend, Ill-Esha, I even held a microphone to my lips for briefly exhilarating moments, lending my voice to the musical tapestry, trading the periphery for the center before stealing back towards the edge.

Beats and melodies, birds and cicadas...I let the luminous sounds move me as I meandered from stage to stage, from the warmth of the tea-house to the whir of the smoothie blenders, sipping fresh, replenishing coconuts to offset the midday heat. I waded through swamp and jungle to reach the most idyllic beach, giggling like child at the mud's ticklish toe-squish...awestruck by the sky's soft, sandy reflection...drinking in the kiss of a setting sun so golden deep. I walked through darkness, disrupting silk-worm's weaving and delighting in fields full of fireflies, laughing easily with other 'envisionaries' as we revelled in the surreal beauty of it all.

So many friendships were born...so many effortless, heartfelt connections with such amazing beings. I felt strong there...stronger in myself than I've ever felt...firmly rooted within...passionately ignited...beyond inspired.

There, in the dusty, humid heat, I began to experience things from a new place. I...'envisioned'...a more authentic self...with a newly steady perception that allows me to see myself with a deeper level of compassion...perhaps even the first glimmers of a self-love I'd once believed impossible. I see now how imperative it is for me to fully embrace each of my gifts...to allow my creative muse to grow in every direction she chooses, even though such extensions have felt crippling in the past. Like a bird with far too many wings, I've languished too long in these branches.

And so...with a quietly cautious step forward, I'm unfolding each of those wings...testing their strength...extending each feather to catch the light...breathing brave and deep as I learn to fly gracefully, each wing supporting the others like dancer's palm lifting partner's limbs.

It's time to meet the wind.

'Common Ground'

The world is stirring...history unfolding beneath our feet, before our eyes. Inspired by the OWS movement, I started writing a song. It quickly became more of a poem...a poetic commentary...my take on the issues we face.

So...here it is...my small contribution on this day of solidarity...

'Common Ground'

everything has gone awry a great divide has grown between the hands that hoard the pie and the measly crumbs we're thrown

they enjoy their privileged lives while our homes are foreclosed their keeping us in line with all the wealth that they withhold

they profit off our ignorance expecting us to play the part of obedient indifference robots, with shopping carts

well-designed to distract and keep us misinformed the media's been hijacked by those who bank offshore

they've poisoned our sea and sky through oil-driven greed they contaminate our food supply with their modified seeds

they've stolen our autonomy and our right to choose they perpetuate inequality through narrow-minded rules

they've made health a business selling pills to those in need they benefit from illness growing rich off our disease

we know it won't be long before they try to buy our souls before our lives have been withdrawn exchanged, for fool's gold

they've kept us on our knees believing change would never come but down on wall street the revolution's just begun

we're waking from our slumber it's time to stand up strong take back what they have plundered we've held our tongues too long

we'll shout until our cause is heard the whole world 'round... they may tie our hands, but our voices cannot be bound... something's gotta give...the wall has gotta come down... ...we all deserve to live on common ground...

Spinning Yarns...

The muffled flapping of wings…something caged…bound and held…jailed in fearful waiting. Deep things…they simmer…rippling ever nearer the surface…threatening to break the deceptive placidity. Cold things that shiver and quake…subtle chills that aren’t eased by layers of cloth and feathers. Grim things…they skulk in the shadows…whispering of past blunders…luring me towards their perilous edge…like witch's apple and gingerbread house.

Clumsily navigating the landscape of this soul...lilting…side-winding like sloppy drunkard sway. Clutter edging closer…encroaching upon center like frost on window. Haphazard piles, like garage sale refuse, reveal the inner disarray that slowly undoes me. The questions this heart avoids lay strewn ‘round my room…collecting themselves in corners…draping themselves over chairs and doorknobs…lurking behind curtains…aligning themselves with the wrinkles in my sheets. Unspoken anxiety laughs aloud from the inside of drawers full of crumpled, half-heartedly folded clothing…from beneath the many piles of laundry that flank my laundry bin…from betwixt the boxes and bags of two-year-old discord, closed over, zipped up, ignored in a flurry of pre-travel mayhem.

What unruly imp has taken over? What irresponsible lout oversees the care of such details? At some point, I relinquished control…or lost it. Somewhere between ‘I Do’ and ‘I Don’t’ I unraveled…and, like balls of yarn left unchecked in attic boxes, the strands of me wound themselves into hopelessly tangled masses...hard enough to unwind…trickier still to REwind. The years have acted as spinsters at their looms, adding lengths to each thread that binds…they’ll not stop simply because my ability to weave has yet to match their proliferation.

This jumbled chaos of longing and resignation…calm sorrow…delicate hope ensnared upon the wreckage of yesterday’s dreams. The strands bleed into one another…weaving under and over through heaps of sentiments, becoming so knotted and tightly wrapped that recognizing differences becomes increasingly onerous. Identifying emotions overwhelms…such vague distinctions between…such subtle variance. Hope and despair tug the same lines, squeezing heart space with the same force...rendering it even more difficult to untwine.

All this tangled ‘self’ness…it must be addressed. This heart is edging ever nearer that confrontation. Yet I feel my avoidance like an unwelcome glare, staring me down from behind my computer…from inside its illusory depths…from the underside of my borrowed bed. I have these blissful moments of forgetfulness…brilliant specs of distraction that soften the impact of that piercing, accusatory stare…delicious delays that keep me from sitting with all this mental clutter and finding, once and for all, a definable point from which to begin the tricky business of untangling ‘me'...unwinding the silence...unclothing the emptiness to let it breathe in all its glaring nakedness.

What might it be that frightens me into such unhealthy paralysis? What might I find within all these tangled clusters? Something ancient is woven there…something wicked and dark and unsettling. Something older than me that rode into this life on the currents of my umbilical cord…that stowed itself away in the newly forming cells of my mother…that braided itself into the newborn hairs of my grandmother. This darkness precedes me…surely…for one life is too small to cast shadows so dense and tall. The demons that plague me still…the dreary inside that absorbs light like heat-hungry metal…the unseen cracks that betray, breaking the rungs of ladders and shattering glass…these unspeakable things pull against me with each unfolding of a thread. With each freeing of a knot, the rascals pull tighter the other end of my ropes. So determined are they, it would seem, that each minor victory is summarily surpassed by the tightening of old constraints. Cackles mock me from darkened folds…as though the gloom has won.

Yet……and yet……something lighter…some subtle twinkle, like distant sun shimmer…glows still at my core. Also ancient…piggybacking the shadows, it rode in on the same, ancestral stream. Though it may feel dim and weak, its brilliance persists at the very center of all that is…all that I am. The shadows creep in corners…encircling and bleeding in…but they will never overtake that central glimmer. Its primal light cannot be extinguished. They may threaten like thieves in blackened alleyways…they may intimidate with their constrictive squeeze and snare…but they will only ever occupy my periphery. Persistent though they may be…their victories are shallow and short-lived...their jeers only heard when I allow them to be.

Therein lies my conundrum. For…I know that the rampant, vacuous shadows can only draw me into their depths if I let them. They compromise my hard won levity, only if I permit them to do so. And that is what makes it all the more unnerving. I can no longer point fingers of blame at anyone outside these human walls…knowing, without question, that these ancient knots were tied by some part of me…that the shadows and light fill rooms in a house built by previous ‘selves’…the tenuous foundations laid through lifetimes of victories and mistakes. The hauntings I am plagued by are simply the ghosts of those former selves that cling still to their unsettled affairs…remnants of which dwell in my very bones. I may recognize them as simultaneously ‘me’ and ‘not me’, but still their lamentations echo in my voice. The dust of their disappointment still lingers on my skin.

Right then...time to bring out the broom and scissors. I've got some spring cleaning to do...