The still night waits
For its stage call
As light plays an encore
To a quiet crowd.
Category Archives: Musings
Magic
A dash of this,
A splash of that.
Pull a rabbit from my hat.
I wish you well–
Dreams coming true:
Everything you want there for you.
What a Mystery,
This great life–
Sometimes it soars, sometimes it bites.
I am happiest
When I remember
That magic comes when I surrender.
Found this little quirky creation on my computer today…
Wrote it probably 5 years ago. The magic of surrender…
The Quirky Word Smith
Sometimes I come
UP with little poems…
Rapping in my head
To mitigate boredom.
Dreams Do Escape
Perhaps,
I’m EARTHPOET–
With words buried
In mushrooms…
Deep in the forest
Amongst colonies of trees.
..
Tied to their roots
By delicate INTENTION,
My thoughts leak to the surface,
Dangling as leaves…
….
Or maybe,
I’m MERMUSE–
Hiding in the shadows,
Diving in the moonlight.
Singing songs of the wave.
..
My MYTH dances
As bubbles…
The daydreams of dolphins,
The pearl of an oyster…
One day.
….
*This little poetic expression was inspired by my friend Andrea who posted the poem “As for Poets” by Gary Snyder on Facebook today asking all her friends “what kind of poet are you?”. My poem is my answer…
Stormy Sunday
Simon you are
Like sunlight to me.
Penetrating, wild
And definitely free.
I love how you shine–
How you move and dance.
Together we’ve entered
A compelling trance.
But our love–it’s unstable,
A warm, stormy cloud…
Lightening and thunder
That’s deafeningly loud.
Together we SOAR
But also we dive.
It’s elating and painful.
There’s nowhere to hide.
I can’t trust my feelings
And just open to love.
It’s rocky…and wobbly,
Too confusing…I’m stuck.
I never thought I’d be
In such an unsteady state.
But what did I expect?
You mirror my face.
My true name is NISCHALA
Said a guru in the sky.
I must learn to live it–
Look fear in the eye.
“Steadiness, unwavering…”
This is who I am,
Said Satchidananda, the guru.
I can be it. I can.
Hold tight to a fixed point,
And float in the abyss.
My heart is an anchor
When the dragon’s fire hits.
I always have a still point
Inside I can trust.
God is within me.
I do know this much.
My love is a light
So infinite and free.
If steady in myself
I am completed by me.
You are a gift, dear Simon
To show me once again
That the source of true love
Is inside my own skin.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I don’t usually publish my more personal or “shadow-side” poems, but I realize by only offering the lighter side of myself, I am keeping my shadow in the darkness. And one of my commitments, being the consciously evolving Scorpio that I am (or try to be), is to bring darkness to light and experience transformation through the depths. I also really believe that creativity or the Muse can help us gain insights and heal parts of ourselves that are stuck or confused. Writing poetry is one of the best ways I’ve found to work through difficult or painful situations and emotions. Drawing or dancing can (also) really help, but there is a special power in words…Don’t you think?
Today a samurai. Tomorrow a butterfly. And so it goes…
Note: Swami Satchidananda, the founder of Integral Yoga, gave me the spiritual name Nischala upon completion of my yoga teacher’s training certification in 2004. The name was “channeled” for me through his principal lineage holder Swami Dyananda, as Satchidananda is no longer in the body. Dyananda taught us that spiritual names can sometimes reflect the light and truth that we already are, but in other cases they reflect what we are destined to become through learning and growth.
Living up to this name has become a goal of my life… OM OM.
Ode to Lemon
Lemon custard
Lemon pie
Better in my belly
Than my eye.
In my water
In my mouth
You cleanse my blood
Improving health.
I love your yellow–
So cheery and bright
My own little piece
Of sunshine’s light.
Round and firm
Juicy and fresh
You’re a tangy gift
Of deliciousness!
I’m living on a beautiful Hawaiian farm right now with lots and lots of lemon trees. I’ve been cooking with lemons, meditating with lemons, juggling lemons, admiring lemons, and drinking lemon water every single day. The lemons have been an inspiring and healing addition to my life! They have helped me have more energy, a stronger immune system, a cheerful mood, and they have even shrunk a cyst I have had for years on my wrist! I have been feeling so grateful to the lemons in my life lately, I decided to write this little poem.
Gypsy Muse Dancing
Crouching
In a misty moment–
Blanketed by dawn
(and a purple velvet cloak).
I peer
Between flared fingers
At nothing, nothing at all.
My chin tilts to the side,
Eyes down, coy,
Like I like them.
It’s a look of mystery,
And even I don’t know what it really means.
What if, who is, could be?
No.
Just
S P A C E
In which I may e x p a n d and contract,
Be whatever I choose:
A spider thinking,
A tree laughing,
A fairy dining on the finest dew…
A bat lurking, sleeping, hanging, hung.
Emotions real
Because I believe in my dream of them.
N O W.
Tomorrow—will be another
Place or time.
Another emotion,
Another me.
Nothing to hold onto.
Change.
All I really have is my love…
And the magic that I make.
(Embodying the Gypsy Muse essence at a NYE party shortly after the poem was crafted. Photo credit: Kyer Wiltshire)
(I wrote this poem several years ago, but thought I’d post it today for my BIRTHDAY. Writing this poem ushered in a kind of spiritual birthday for me–the birth of my “Gypsy Muse”! At that point, it was sort of an alter ego part of my personality. Since then I’ve done much to integrate this essence into my regular, waking life and reality. No longer an alter, she is me! But, this poem is yet another example of the gifts creativity can give us. I’m so grateful for the role poetry has played in my self-development and evolution.)
Moksha
One day this world’s
Gonna come to an end.
I’ll be released….
“Home Journey” begins.
For I’ll be born
Into the land of GOD–
A spirit realm
Where creation starts.
While I’m there
Don’t know what I’ll do.
Probably dream up
A world or two.
I hope to use
The gift of Light
To help my brothers
Escape their plight:
Endless cycles
Of birth and death…
The hope’s that moksha
Will bring some rest…
(For any who do not know, “moksha” is a Sanscrit word that means “liberation” and usually specifically refers to liberation from cycles of death and rebirth. I took a “Religions of Asia” class in college and learned the word then. I became a yoga instructor some years later and revisited the concept. Ever since, I have been fascinated by it. “Moksha”–it’s a beautiful word. I do tend to believe in multiple lives, though I am not fixed in my perspective about this or any belief. One day recently I came across “moksha” in something I was reading and thought “that would make a nice poem”. So, I sat down and wrote this. Most of my poems just “happen” kind of like that. Inspiration and a few moments later, if I follow the inspiration, = poem.)
Healing Muse (aka Rap P-P-P-Poem)
Sometimes it’s right to bend & give.
Other times it seems good to defend (maybe):
Be strong but not rigid, soft but not smushed.
Love yourself when your buttons are pushed!
The truth is out. The Muse is in.
If you are lost, remember your friend–
Inside your heart, waiting for you
Just show up and love; she’ll pass you a clue.
A little spontaneous blurb of Truth
Will appear to you while pondering the…
Roof of your head, the wisdom inside:
How to live life with nothing to hide…
C’mon now–Get going! USE this sweet chance:
Jump up and create. Sing! Dance!
Open your heart, spread joy to those friends
Who turn to you when needing a mend.
Look IN here. Look UP! Your own love will heal
That wound in your SELF you’re afraid to feel.
Thank goodness, this GIFT! … Bless the Muse in me…
Without her, I’m simply
………………………. . . . Asleep in the Dream!
(I wrote this poem a few months ago, but I think of it often. It came to me kind of “all at once” as many of my poems do. I was thinking about what a gift creativity or “The Muse” is in life and especially in the growth-and-healing process. She really can help us find BALANCE. And also remind us that love, especially for one’s self, is the key to whole game…)
Sasquatch?
“Who ate my apple?’
Was the first thing I said
When I woke up that morning
With camper’s head.
I’d put trash in a bag
Up in a tall tree
And in it an apple
Too mealy to eat.
At dawn, I awoke
And the whole bag was GONE!
No noise, mess, or snaggle–
Just a branch that was torn
Straight off the tree
As if it were twisted…
Could a bear do that?
If so, I’ve missed it…
Years as a camper
And never I’ve seen
A bear steal food
So neatly, so clean.
This job was perfect.
I pondered who’d done it.
Racoon, bear, or skunk…
Or Sasquatch?
Dream on it….
(I wrote this poem a few months ago while thinking about the very curious experience {described in the poem} that I had on a 5 day solo “Vision Quest” in the Chiracahua mountains in Arizona several years ago. I love a good MYSTERY!)
Diary of a Mystic Gypsy 