writing for 45 minutes, 4 Feb 2015 A GIANT RAMBLe AbOuT aging.



This is a bleary picture of me at my 67th birthday.  Bleary is good.  LOL.

Ok… here it goes.  this is what happens in 45 minutes when I sit to write.  little if no editing.


There is an age you reach where the thought of how many years you have left to live is something you decided you’re not going to consider.  There isn’t half as much left anymore.  Maybe not even a third as much.

Middle age has passed, even the “new middle age” has passed.  ( Who determined that anyway?) and the hope for a new middle age, if we live to 150, is unlikely.

How many years have ya left  if you’re over 60 and counting?  That’s right people over 60, not so many.  AND, it’s a good idea to get good with that, and not calculate to often out into the not-so-far decade away or so, cause that can roll you over on your back like bad dog and make you feel all kinds of vulnerable.

And, how about how time is going REALLY fast.  Wasn’t it just Christmas last week?  Is it only 6 weeks till Spring? Thank God for that.  It will be Spring tomorrow and you’ll wonder, “Didn’t winter fly by?”

I’m a Hairdresser/Artist. I look in a mirror all day long at you and me, watching myself and you age.  And… I’m going to work till my hands can’t move and I’m cutting myself more than your hair.  I know that sounds scary and grim.  And we both know that’s not gonna happen like that, right?

And, how can I imagine retirement?  I am not one that has embraced the journey of retirement in those traditional ways: saving, gathering, etc. etc.  I live to the full extent of my existence in the moment; saving little and celebrating  life moments as they present themselves.  Really, it’s all a gamble, and I have been called to the gamble of BE HERE NOW. (Thanks Ram Das)

When I get off the train of ‘Now’, a little bit of terror creeps in.  I hate terror.  Who likes it?  NO One.  That terror involves questions and sentences like this running through my head…

“What are you thinking? You have no retirement, no real extra cash, no children to buffer you, (I never wanted children, so that one isn’t really relevant).   You live by the seat of your pants and you’re getting old.  Your knees hurt, you got stuff that you can’t identify that comes and goes.  WHAT the fuck are you thinking you old geezer girl?  You’re gonna have to just drop dead one of these days and hope it doesn’t hurt too much and there is no lingering.  And that no one will have to coddle and fawn all over your dying pathetic body for too damn long.”

I let myself have these’s projections.  They happen more than I like to have them happen.  Then I look around as all that I have that I am grateful for, and let those pleasures and joys fill me up and push away the fear.  Future stuff has yet to happen and why linger there?  I have no idea.  Do YOU?  What good is it to fall prey to what we thing is going to happen as opposed to what is happening right now?  How can we make that good? WE have the power to change our attitude right now.

None of us get outta here alive in the physical sense of things for sure.  My spiritual path says I am an Infinite Being and Love is all there is. (Me and the Beatles are tight)   With that said, I’m having some trouble with this aging thing.  I do not wish to linger in the negative zones of that ‘thing’ as it creeps in to smother my good humor and well being.

Don’t think for one minute I am above having a good ol’ face lift.  It’s a respectable thing to do.  And we have the science and the Way to get looking younger, like how we feel inside.  I feel 30.  I do!  How about you?  And that face in my mirror is not a face of a 30 year old. NO it isn’t.  Graceful.  Nice one.  Gracefully aging.  I’m trying.  I am, I mean it.  And if I had the money to spare, I’d get a little nip n’ tuck.  I hope you still honor and respect me for these wants of mine.

My 45 minutes is almost up.  Thanks for listening.  You are kind.  Now you know a little more about me and how getting old sucks on some levels and is wondrous on others.

Here are the wonders.

I know a lot of shit.  And I have lots of wisdom

I’m still highly creative

I believe in magic.  I always have

I love my friends and family

I know I am loved deeply.

I am still learning things everyday

I love life

I think the Seasons are glorious even when I complain of too cold or too hot

The Earth is magical

I am a Mystery unfolding

I love feeling 30 inside this 67 year old body.

There is fabulousness in living in the moment.

I close with giving you a Haiku


Bringing in my Breath

Wonder and magic fills me

Dancing on the edge




Earth Day and The MilkyWay

Day 21… napowrimo… a day late…LOL

earth white


Earth wins in her natures

There is no crowding her

No boxing her in one way

or another


One day is not just hers

In the declaration of it

All Days are hers in

the facts of it


That Hallmark way of

Proclamation wants for

remembrance in a rush

of printed trees


And explicative on the

glory of recycled paper

and non-toxic inks

as some of us


Dance the tribal dance

of Earth wellness and

chant for the healing rains

and the end


To all that tarnishes

And rapes the beauty

And wonder of this Earth

that will always win


She makes generous

Our living on her in her seasons

She give us tremble and rage

because it is


How her nature needs

For her beginnings and endings

Her thrive in spite of us

Her thrive for


The Love of us who take

Forgetting the giving back

For it is in the giving

that all is received


For all the planets in perfect

Sync make sure of this

She is of their family

The MilkyWay wins

















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Filed under EARTH CHANGES, HEALTH AND WELLBEING, michigan, NAPOWRIMO, national poetry month, NATURE

‘I’m the youngest I’ll ever be’… a pantoum.


I’m the youngest I’ll ever be right now

Youth had its way with all my parts

I’ve parted with those days for these

So many moments brought me here


Youth had its way with all my parts

It was quite a party for decades

So many moments brought me here

The embrace holds acceptance in the mirror


It was quite a party for decades

East and West and all that in-between

The embrace holds acceptance in the mirror

Still a smile and a twinkle in the old eyes


East and West and all that in-between

I’ve parted with those days for these

Still a smile and a twinkle in the old eyes

I’m the youngest I’ll ever be right now.




A little sentiment in the 5/7/5 of New Year

new year 08 002

Happy New Year and Happy New Moon.  Thank to all of you for visiting, listening, responding to my words laid out here in the free fall of the moments.  I especially love when you say a few words, share a little deeper.  I invite you to do more of that if you are moved to do so.  Give me a prompt to write about.  mmmmm?

Word Press sent out a letter telling me about how my blog was followed for the year; from where people came, how many comments and likes, what tags, and phrases were most followed.  It was interesting that people came from all over the world and the tag ‘crop circle’ was one of the highest sought after tags.  I wrote one thing about crop circles.  Ha a haha.

It was good that my name held some weight to the searches.  Also, ‘school bus’ was ‘googled’ and I was found for the one poem I wrote about a school bus.   The most visited post was the one I wrote the day before I gave my  little dog back to the earth.  It was a very painful write that day.  I miss him still.

It’s all so very interesting.

It’s clear, that what keeps me at this blog is the art and act of writing, the discipline of having a place to share it seems to provoke my words. and keeps me writing.  I’m not sure I would sit here and write nearly every day if I didn’t have a place to give it away to.  tho’ everything I write does not get shared.

There is much to do this month in the gathering of things that need doing.  The snow is deep and the trudge through it is tiring.  The sun hides a lot here in Michigan in the Winter, which is mostly OK.  I’ll find my way to make it less of a trudge and more of a making of appreciation of the beauty of the White and chill.  Lay an angel or two on the fresh powder.


New in the darkness

Invites  surrender to light

Crescent to Full-ness.


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“She’s tossing ice cubes in my fire”

“Cold wicked breath snaking around the house looking for a place to squeeze in and whisper something chilling to my soul. She takes me off guard sometimes, but I wait and fend her off with some good old fashioned heat saved up from my soul stoking it’s self. She is tossing Ice cubes in my fire.  She’s got nothing.”   Lynn Antisdel.

Thanks Lynn.  Love this.  These are such provocative images.  I am compelled to steal a line or two: make some piece of these images mine.


Breath to me is a spiritual practice.  I don’t think of it as wicked. Tho, when I read these lines of Lynn’s, I get it.

I am provoked to imagine whose breath that might be that would sabotage the soul’s warmth. Where did come from?  And really, was it my breath that exhaled a moment of fear and insecurity that tried “to squeeze in and whisper something chilling to my soul”?  Taking me off guard from my center of love and joy.  From the center heat of me that knows the illusion and illusiveness of my fearful saboteurs that I let sneak in with an inhale and an extended exhale.

And it is within my practice of conscious breathing into each  moment that I give awareness to my ‘center’,  my soul, that place of peace and well being that reminds me the moment is exactly right and I am perfect in it.  Letting ‘some good old fashioned heat saved up from my soul stoking it’s self” to remember that.   Giving Care to my Soul with my breath and the heat of each moment being filled with creation and possibilities.

And here is where I will ‘steal’ the last lines.


She is tossing ice cubes in my fire

Melting herself into a puddle

Having given her breath away

Her remains goes back to the sea

To swim again deep and try again

To find her breath she will need to surface

Raise her head and heart to the Sun

Tread the water’s till she finds her wholeness

Cause right now… ‘she’s got nothing’.

She forgot she has everything.




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it’s every other days these days..

Setting sun on a Blue Moon rising

Setting sun on a Blue Moon rising

It’s every other day these days

when days blend into each other

in the other way the mind plays

out the way of the dance of age as it

weaves a little faster, a little faster


So, it’s every other day these days

in the get to it of the way some rituals

yawn and stretch out in this new say

of how it might go and then again not

of the way the bones creak and the neck


Finds it sag and the crow flies along

eyes that have seen decades of coral skies

and gasped at the Milky Way making

night caps in the cup filling and pouring out

in the hush of love and tears of sorrow


Of when we did the clever sash-shay

with youth a blush and wink laid out

on moist sheets tossed over the sprawl

of naked lust in hungry repeat of

never enough, in the never ending play


There is sweetness to the remember

with the every day occupied by the

sooth of age and the settle of wrinkles

that don’t iron out and the map of veins

surface to display the long winding journey


Eyes adjusting to the new light rising

and letting every other day be fine

Wise to the fact that perfect is imperfect

slowing down in the speeding up fits

the pleasure of aging wisdom

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the getting easier in the getting older


In the ‘getting easier’ in the growing older

In the way the mind gives to forgetting

In the aches that rise from how the body

gets used over time and over time again


In how the ‘getting easier’ in the growing older

seeks to melt away old history settled deep

In the melancholy of remembering the forgettable

In the roll in and out of what comes in uninvited


In how the ‘getting easier’ in the growing older

Gives no permission in the insistence of the past

On that old landscape that needs to be plowed up

Turned over and sowed with wild seed every day


In the ‘getting easier’ in the growing older

count on any and all attachments to make it harder

In those places that still need forgiving

In the aches that formed from betrayals


There is no ‘getting easier in the growing older

In the hold on, hope to, maybe this time histrionics

that eats at your joy and caresses your lonely

In the hold over of what needs ending and sending off


what needs ending and sending off

for the ‘easier’ to not be so hard?