Our Means of Salvation


Mom’s reading Gandhi again, which is fine unless she is telling me that “Self-restraint is the means of salvation”, when to a terrier there is no such thing as restraint or salvation. It is spring here and the Stone House pulses with the awakening of new life emerging from the deep sleep of winter. I can feel the first stirrings of energy as buds appear and the birds dance in the air performing an ancient ritual of birth and regeneration, as if to say “Arise on this Easter morning! Cast off all restraints and emerge with our mother into sweet, precious life.”

Georgia O'Keefe

It is always the daffodil that first catches the eye
Even before the forsythia bursts into bloom
In the morning, stamen pointed towards the heat
Life drawn into her heart reflects back golden sunshine
As a mirror held to the sky reflects our place in the Universe

The bitch is back

The bitch is back and she is mean
She tangles me in her branches
Thorns digging through layers of fur
To tear my tender feline flesh
And when she bursts into flower
The sweet smell of her nature
Belies the deadly arch of her thorns
She is first about survival after all
Self-restraint is not in her nature

Fire Bush Bud

The buds won’t stay still as time and again
the lens finds focus only to shift in the blink of an eye.
Does my hand quiver at the moment of clarity,
just as my eye registers perfection and detail?
Is it the bud shifting, releasing her restrained confines,
unfolding one deep breath at a time?
Or is it both our pulsing energies
engaged in this spring dance of rebirth and renewal?
I return again and again, each time something has changed,
opened, having burst the confines of winter.
I would learn from this emergence,
this yearly ritual of freedom how to extend beyond the beyond.

What remains from winter

I eat what remains of winter
I chew sticks and twigs, straw and needles
I draw the line at pine cones bitter and dry
I am fascinated by the dead brown foliage
Unveiled the skeleton revealed strong, resilient
Then crushed into the earth to feed, nourish
New growth already sprouting from rich soil
I eat the dead of winter and I am renewed in turn

The end of winter


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