The Map is not the Territory, the Word is not the thing it describes
Don’t look…..
into the Light
Don’t shoot…..
into the Light
Rules…
Light exposes shadow,
Shadow, Light.
Rules…
Meant to be broken
Light without Shadow
Half Life
Half Love
Half Question
Unlived, Unloved, Unspoken.
©westcoastwoman 2019
If each day falls
inside each night,
there exists a well
where clarity is imprisoned.
We need to sit on the rim
of the well of darkness
and fish for fallen light
with patience.
Pablo Neruda
***
Treading Water
The tide is coming in. A long, hot summer day is coming to an end when I hear my neighbours voice. “Come on girl, get out here”. She stands waist deep in the cool water of the incoming tide and I lose no time in joining her. We take the plunge together, the one I usually resist until the last moment– letting go and going completely under.
Swimming out over our heads we start treading water and talking, a talk that soon turns to a version of one that is reverberating all over the planet. We speak of the human condition, the planetary condition, the white privilege that has allowed us to live and tread water under a rising moon on a beautiful island off the West Coast of North America. We speak of this and more as we slowly drift from shore.
I am facing out to sea and by the time I look back, the shore appears to be distant and I am starting to lose strength. The conversation continues as I change the movement of my arms and we both slowly move back towards a place where we will ‘touch ground’ again. I reach intermittently with my toe, longing to feel the safety of the sea bed. There are two conversations going on, one with my companion the other within myself.
I am a strong swimmer and could have easily floated on my back if I felt too tired to swim or tread but each time my foot reaches for security and doesn’t find it there is a slight feeling of panic and then palpable relief when my toe finally does find bottom. I am surprised by the intensity of both feelings.
Sitting on the deck later that night I realized how long I’ve had the feeling I was treading water–we have been treading water as a world community. There is a collective need for our toes to touch the sea bed and feel the familiar security and comfort of solid ground.
As we head back towards shore perhaps we are being called to dive; dive deep within ourselves and return with our particular part of the puzzle. No one gets to sit this one out. There is no ‘us and them’. There is only us.
A Call to Arms. Arms to reach out, arms to hold, arms raised with clenched fists in resistance and arms spread in surrender.
We are over our heads.
We are treading water.
The call is out.
© westcoastwoman
“Ring the bell that still can ring
forget your perfect offering
there is a crack in everything
that how the light gets in.”
Leonard Cohen
Broken open, breaking light
stripped of illusion
naked, alone
Strength arrives
dressed not in resistance
but surrender
give in, not up.
Welcome.
Open wide,
this dying to be born
burning to be forged
watch with new eyes
the Light
move towards the
“crack in everything”.
©westcoastwoman
THRESHOLDS
Gateways, doorways and thresholds all inviting an entrance or an exit, their silent message ‘the only way out (or in) is through.’
We arrive at our personal thresholds through a naturally arranged opening, the decision to step forward or not, totally in our hands.
Fingers on the latch speak of transition and escape but mostly possibilities that lie beyond fear.
Push the latch and set the barrier free, disengage, turn sideways into the light and it will both dissolve and expose you.
We stand on the shoreline, toes in the water not wanting to leave safe harbour despite knowing instinctively how to navigate rough seas, rising with the swells and resting in the trough.
The surrender that brings you again to the surface the vulnerability of the letting go and the trust needed for both, all released with a push of a latch .
©westcoastwoman
written in response to Denise’s “Six Sentence Stories” Prompt word: Escape
It was a year ago today that I set up this site (as I was reminded by a Congratulatory! email) a year since my finger hovered over the pink ‘publish’ button and I somehow got the courage to touch it.
A year that started by reading the words of Others ….. that being the great gift. Stumbling upon writer after writer whose words spoke so deeply and honestly I felt ‘broken open’ and that opening allowing more of my inner world to be exposed.
One site led to another, it felt like climbing on a large web of linked consciousness, each writer working in their own corners writing words that only they could release .
I started to hear this as the ‘collective human howl’.
Joy, pain, darkness and light all being expressed individually and in perfect unison. A virtual worldwide Salon of sorts where the doors are always open and swinging both ways, all ways. Everyone welcome….so grateful I stepped through the threshold.
” it is important that awake people be awake” William Stafford
©westcoast woman
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” Anais Nin
Release
We tend gardens in Spring under the illusion that we somehow affect the outcome, that our careful placement of seed or plant has anything to do with the eventual opening of the buds of May.
No credit given to the artist and unknown creator of the fragile petals that unfold, we proudly display our garden, rarely acknowledging that we are just the temporary curators of an impermanent living gallery.
Our heart and spirit are also part of this life gallery, we too are meant to unfold and flower in this fleeting moment we occupy space on the planet.
Not born to stay “tight in the bud” we struggle in darkness until most of us break open, this second opening no less courageous than our journey from the womb.
Conscious of our consciousness and knowing that venturing forward will involve both great pain along with pleasure, we willingly submit and release ourselves again and again to the unknown.
One undeniable truth “No one gets out of here alive” and we who have experienced all that this life has to offer will finally stand in complete and exquisite exhaustion and wonder at our solitary arrival and departure on this mysterious journey ………
© westcoastwoman
This was written in response to Girlieonthedge Six Sentence Story Thursday
Prompt word: Release
“Everyday a new picture is painted and framed, held up for half an hour, in such lights as the Great Artist chooses, and then withdrawn, and the curtain falls. And then the sun goes down, and long the afterglow gives light.”
Henry David Thoreau
Afterglow
Every night they come, the watchers of the sun-set, drawn down by the need to see the light extinguish behind the islands and the sea.
I want to share with them as they slowly rise and disperse that the setting of the sun is only a prelude to the experience they had been called to witness, but I stay silent.
It is this time between the setting sun and rising moon, this short extension of the day, this in-between-time when my heart and mind settle for just a moment.
I watch as the sky paints itself with each night’s original palette, wanting only to share with those who can look out from the same place and feel the colours as they appear, understand the need for silence.
In these moments when I am neither here nor there, anything is possible, magic is afoot and I am caught in the afterglow of another original creation as it slowly fades from sight.
The darkness takes the light, the starlings swoop once more in perfect unison over the water, I share with all who stand watching… being neither here nor there, a silent good night.
westcoastwoman 2019 ©
Written in response to GirlieontheEdge’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt
Prompt word : Extension
“Write a little everyday, without hope, without despair“* Isak Dinesen
Without Despair
Rough, yet ever so gently
Water on Stone
washes in, out
softening edges of
Body, Breath
Slow inhale
Surrender
Audible sigh
Release
Water on Stone
Stone to Surrender
Surrender to Release,
Sweet longing, caressing
our lives carved open as
“without hope, without despair”*
we float, we whirl,
a single leaf riding
a wandering stream.
“We drag expensive ghosts through memory’s unmade bed” Paul Hoover
Fully Loaded
Coming, ‘fully loaded’
sporting this years options,
last years designs
illusions, gimmicks, tricks….
all previous short cuts
now eviscerated, overhauled, upgraded.
New thoughts, emotions,
technologies implanted and borne
on hands and knees moving
forward in darkness,
trusting, begging, opening,
blessing, praying for release.
Duality blends into
hope of wholeness,
Reuniting shards of
repressed memories,
rolling out the newest model
of one’s unlived lives.
No cherry picking of
options that appeal.
Movement forward to
one truth, this roll out
is all or nothing
large deposit, no refunds
or prerequisites.
Operation best suited
to those experienced
with similar models.
Not for beginners,
a ride you will never forget.
westcoastwoman 2019
” I must be a Mermaid, I have no fear of depths, and a great fear of shallow living”
Anais Nin
“You must have a Turkish Bath in Istanbul!” my well travelled friend advised me before I set out on my latest adventure. Upon arrival in Turkey I continued to hear about Hamam ( Turkish Bath) as something one must experience and I resolved to book an appointment on my return to Istanbul from the small village where I would spend the next week.
My destination was the Turkish village of Gokcedere, Yalova where I was to attend a workshop. One afternoon following a bus excursion my seat mate Caroline mentioned she was going to the local Hamam before dinner. I expressed interest and when we reached the hotel headed down together into an older part of town. As we walked and talked it was revealed that neither of us actually knew what was involved in Hamam but both naively agreed that this would no doubt be an ‘authentic’ experience.
Our first assignment was to actually locate the women Hamam, signage was minimal and even when located it was in Turkish. Once inside there was no doubt that this indeed was going to be an ‘authentic’ experience. No pampering North American mood music or lush white robes offered here. We were confronted with two no nonsense local women. Hanging on the wall behind them were numerous signs in Turkish that I assumed explained everything we needed to know.
Caroline took charge, held up her bathing suit and through sign language deciphered that we should put them on and head into the marble catacombs below. It was at this juncture I realized perhaps I should have done a little research as to what exactly was involved with Hamam. Caroline somehow deduced that we had not paid for a ‘full treatment’, more lira was exchanged and down we went to the pool area.
The building was ancient and the marble stained by years of running water and bathing bodies. There were two circular rooms attached by an archway, marble sinks located every six feet that contained bright plastic coloured bowls. The only other participant, a large voluptuous naked Turkish woman had filled her sink and was pouring water on herself as she sat on the floor.
Caroline and I sized up the situation and decided to take our cue from the only other customer and by the time one of the attendants had made her way down to check on us Caroline had her suit off and was filling her sink and I had mine down around my knees getting ready to fill mine.
Standing naked except for a tangled bathing suit at my knees we were confronted by a loud angry attendant attempting to communicate to us in Turkish some transgression that was not obvious to either of us. Frustrated by our lack of comprehension she grabbed a Turkish sign off the wall, held it in front of her and continued to berate us.
Desperate to translate what was being said I searched the signs on the wall behind her looking for anything in English. The only English sign in the entire building said “No Photos or Videos”. Even in the heat of the moment I found it amusing that anyone would think it appropriate to take photos or videos in the baths and at the same time it crossed my mind what a priceless video this would make.
Out of the corner of my eye I observed our large naked companion had risen to her feet and it was revealed that she was not completely naked, she had some form of bikini bottom on. It became clear this was our problem and we quickly remedied the situation.
Now, half-naked we attempted to soak in the too hot pool, lie on the burning hot marble that resisted cooling even when doused with buckets of cold water and breath in a sauna that was just this side of suffocating.
The large local woman was led away to have done to her whatever we had each paid an extra 30 Turkish lira to have done to us. It was decided I would go first and when the attendant (the same one who had scolded us) came to collect me, I followed dutifully behind.
We travelled a narrow marble cave like opening to a small room and into a rather awkward situation. There were two marble sinks and our fellow bather was still in the room pouring water on herself. I was motioned to hoist myself on to what looked like a picnic table draped with a red plastic tablecloth. My look must have said “you got to be kidding me” because she then threw a bucket of water over the plastic thinking that should appease me.
I am not sure what words were exchanged between the two women but eventually the attendant and I were left alone in the room. What happened next would best be described as having your whole body scraped with sandpaper, totally, front, back and face. Unable to communicate with her verbally I mostly endured and sometimes used sign language as we navigated the procedure. Grateful when it was over I positioned myself at the side of the table about to hop off when without warning a bucket of water was poured over my head leaving me gasping for air. I made my way back to the baths, gave Caroline a little smile and warning and off she went.
We were planning on a bit of shopping afterwards but Caroline’s comment as we left was “I would like to get back to the security of the hotel” which had us both chuckling. Authentic it certainly was, fodder for a great story and I must say my skin had never felt so soft.
So my well travelled friend, I did Hamam in Turkey and survived.
” I had known almost every pleasure and discomfort, all the happiness and all the suffering that can befall man as a social animal. Useless to give you the details: the repertory of possible events in human destinies is rather limited, and they are nearly always the same stories. I will tell you that one day I found myself alone, all alone, fully convinced that I had completed one cycle of existence. I had travelled widely, studied the most esoteric sciences, learned more than ten trades. Life treated me a little the way an organism treats a foreign body: it was obviously trying either to enclose me or expel me, and I myself thirsted for ‘something else.’
Quote from Mount Analogue by Rene Daumal
Reading this rather quirky and inspiring allegory for the journey of life before setting off on my own journey/adventure in a few days.
I am a gardener. A number of years ago while studying Garden Design I was asked to do a project on garden ornamentation.
I started by scouring the better parts of the city looking for aesthetically pleasing displays, they were easily found but something was lacking. I wandered collecting the photographs but as I walked I felt like I needed something more. Yes, the gardens were lovely but that was it, they were ‘just’ lovely. All trimmed and ornamented everything in it’s place….. this would not do, I needed some meat, something interesting.
That is when I stumbled upon the Adam and Eve of Cadillacs, pink and blue, male and female, here in a rather dishevelled display I could almost see the yin and yang of life. I was so taken with the partially interred Pink Cadillac I almost completely missed her blue mate in the background.
Standing in awe of this rather strange spectacle I was joined by one of the neighbours who shared with me that the brake lights on Eve were lit up every night. I assume in a show of ‘Respect’ and a reflection that there was life in the old girl yet.
Obviously there was great affection for the ‘deceased’ vehicle (although she could have used a bit of a wash). I like to think that perhaps parts of Eve had been used to keep Adam up and running and that he paid her homage each time he backed out of the driveway.
Now this was garden ornamentation! perhaps gone wrong, but certainly never forgotten. My completed project consisted only of what I considered wacky garden art, gardens on the edge and they were easier to find than one would imagine. The Garden Designers, the ‘people’ on the edge of the garden, now there is a story waiting to be told.
I think there are a couple of Aretha Franklin songs in here somewhere.
“We’re going ridin’ on a freeway of love in a Pink Cadillac” Aretha Franklin”
©westcoastwoman 2019
Morning light streamed through the shutters, she awoke finding herself hovering somewhere between content and completely unhinged.
Thoughts flitted from place to place never sure where to settle these days, the cocoon of certainty and safety broken open long ago.
The garden provided refuge but even insects only stayed temporarily taking what was offered in the moment as blooms and nectars ebb and flow.
Relationship offered comfort as long as undeniable incremental changes were factored in, together and apart nothing ever as it seems.
Illusion of control was obvious, nothing to hang on to, thoughts, garden, relationships all morphing into their next incarnation with no action required but Witness.
The New Normal beckoned her with a smile, her thought finally settled:
“Precarious is the New Stable”
©westcoastwoman 2019
Written in response to Girlie on the Edge Six Sentence Stories
Word prompt: STABLE
“All Compost Rots, but not all Rot is Compost”
Lower to the ground.
Kneel and assume, ‘the position’
Reverence: earth, seed, soil
Spring’s sacred cathedral.
Born of winter’s promise
composed, decomposed, Composted
last year fades, surrenders, spirals
More becomes Less
Less formed in darkness,
turned and (re)turned to soil,
Seeds break open to
gamble on new life.
Will I submit to this process
Circle back around
gather lost and shattered bits,
the organic matter of my life
Compost intimate details
brokenness, unshed tears,
turn towards the fragility
not beyond, take the gamble
roots of estrangement
embraced with compassion
Circle back around again
nothing left behind, unattended
no longer in pieces I assume
‘the position’ (re)forming
this new life, this light
born in darkness.
“Sometimes we plan a trip to one place, but something takes us to another”
Rumi
No one would have mistaken her for a leader, or perhaps she was a leader without any followers. Her hair hung to her waist, the last foot of which was a tangled mass of dread locks and beads. The beads appeared to have been threaded in so long ago that any hope of retrieval would have had to involve scissors. Every inch of what remained from head to bead was dyed various shades of neon red, green and purple.
Her body was covered in exquisitely drawn and coloured tattoos enhanced by piercings that appeared on various exposed body parts. The finished effect resembled a moveable human art piece. If she had been a bird, she would have been a Macaw.
Our paths intersected when we both chose to attend a two-hour Labyrinth workshop that was offered as part of a weekend yoga symposium. I smile every time I think about the unlikely bond we forged when it all went ‘terribly wrong’.
For the uninitiated there is a difference between a Labyrinth and a Maze. A Maze is designed as a problem to solve and a Labyrinth can be walked to solve a problem. Previous experiences walking a Labyrinth had revealed that there are points as you move forward where you have a sense you may have ‘taken a wrong turn’ or ‘lost your way’. Trust the path even though you may feel lost and eventually you will spiral your way to the center and out again with new insight.
Our group of ten was led to a large gym where a canvas Labyrinth had been assembled. Encouraged to start walking it when we felt ‘called’ there was initial awkward glances and shuffling. Sudden movement and a blur of color swept past; the Macaw had been ‘called’ she would be our leader.
I followed behind, gave her space and stepped forward…
Having previously walked a Labyrinth alone or with one other person I was unprepared for the delicate dance of meeting and passing others on such narrow pathways. This interaction became not just a metaphor for life but an enjoyable physical exchange. Approaching another person on an adjacent pathway would compel you to turn completely to the side, arms out, sometimes face to face other times turned away. When three of us would intersect on parallel paths we all moved and turned in unison.
I was enjoying this immensely until I noticed a short distance ahead our ‘Leader’ had stopped unexpectedly and appeared confused. Coming up behind her I could see the dilemma, there did not appear to be ‘a clear path forward’.
With military precision she sized up the problem, the canvas Labyrinth was comprised of three pieces that were held together with velcro. The larger outer paths matched up but the center did not, it had been put together incorrectly.
She looked at me urgently “We have to tear it apart, turn it around and start from the beginning.” The Facilitator standing on the sidelines started to mumble things like “we don’t have time to fix it….. it takes a long time to assemble…..it is not my fault”….. the Macaw would have none of it. Taking orders from no one, she was now in charge and failure was not an option!
Without further instruction I followed her to the edge of the canvas where we found the points where the two seams met. The sound of ripping velcro filled the gym. The other participants moved in to help and within minutes we ripped it apart turned the center piece and reattached the seams.
The Macaw was now back in her rightful position at the entrance to the properly assembled Labyrinth. The dance this time as we turned and moved forward was that much more joyful now that we knew we would be taken both in and out and to the all important center.
She and I parted that afternoon with a nod of mutual respect. I caught a glimpse of her the following day as she flitted across the campus en route to another workshop. Silently I bid her ‘safe travels’ it will be difficult for her to fly under the radar with such bright plumage.
Human error and the inability at some points to see and take action appears to be a frailty that may well be our undoing. The planet we depend on for our survival is starting to wither with our demands that she give more and more with little given in return.
We appear to have lost our center.
There comes a point both personally and on a planetary scale that things appear ‘FUBAR’, to steal a military term my feathered friend would approve of…. when that point is reached the only solution to an obviously wrong course or path seems to be:
“Tear it apart, turn it around and start again from the beginning.”
And from there we will again find our Center.
© westcoastwoman 2019
A wandering agnostic amongst a sea of Easter hats
no hat to call my own, moments captured
hardly convey this half way house,
this purgatory on parade.
Turning, Turning…
I move through cobbled streets
and find no spot to settle
a restless dog rotating above it’s bed.
Salvation is offered
at the tip of a blue laced finger
I pass, move forward …
but give an upward glance
as Magic forms above
on this Louisiana morning.
© westcoastwoman 2019
Wildly and Dangerously Free 