Tag Archives: aging

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Omniscient EarthMother

Back in my fading youth,
when teenage peers
monopolized my only monotheistic worldview
we trusted
to emerge with matriarchal Beauty health
and patriarchal Handsome wealth,

I learned to speak,
at least in public,
as if I were omnipresently heard
by my gracious GrandMother

When we were both sharing
our best GoldenRule win/win day

And not our worst win/lose day
veering angry
and/or afraid
into another traumatizing lose/lose nightmare
of defiantly oppositional
and claustrophobic disorder

On my felt repressive part
and, on her sacred Elder part,
“Trying to talk some sense
into your empty head.”

Now, at the other
more grandmotherly
end of this long
emerging communion narrative,
I listen to sacred MotherEarth
before speaking
within Her sacred omniscient
indigenous wisdom hearing

As transgenerationally transparent
enlightened
and ecowomanist vulnerable
co-empowering

As win/win ego/ecosystemically possible
on this cooperatively co-invested best
GoldenRule day

Less perniciously haunted
by dark win/lose shadows
of last night’s lose/lose traumatic
patriarchal-capitalist
loner anger
lone ranger
rabid stranger
nightmares

Going way back
to my fading youth
when teenage peers
monopolized a monoculturing worldview
I never trusted
as sufficiently compassionate
for resilient EarthMother Beauty.

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Healthy Climate Culture

We are here
sexing
and singing
mindfulling our Perceptions and Questions
together in this now present
gifted Time

To eat and work together
for our cooperative
and ancient thriving health care,
of course,

But,
also,
and perhaps even more pre-historically
pre-anthrosupremacy,
to sing and dance together
to win/win play our root vibrant chakras,
and cooperatively think
by feeling together
sharing co-invested sacred wonders
and compassionately embodied awe,
of course,

And to embrace our EarthTribe sexuality,
our wild natural spirited climates
of climax and relax,
elapsed spacelessness
and relapsed time
of Yang and Yintegral
Heaven/Earth CoOperative Peace

Between ego Patriarchs
and ecosystemic Matriarchs,
transgenderal
multigenerational
regenerative democratic
organic organizing

Evermore sacred,
less merely secular sensory-neural systemic
LeftBrain verbalized reflections
transmutations
transfigurations
transcendent transubstantiations

Climax Yangish revolutions
of a sacred penetrating mountain
baptized in EarthPowered ecofeminist flow
of HereDivine/NowHumane
bilaterally resonant enlightenment
delight

For a global health/wealth
positively developing
unfolding
reweaving climate
of this
our politically correct time together
within Earth’s Great PolyCulturing Communion.

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Climaxing Revolution

He feels less photogenic
as he ages
more pornophobic,
watched
and found wanting
with judgment
and not amazement

As he displays his patriarchal
militant
fading software

No longer hardwired
for ballistic climax
as needed,
wanted,
craved

Extracting verbal dominance
from compassion’s great
green
groaning nonviolent climax.

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Savoring Summer

He steps outside
on love’s front yard
to savor this final summer
of playful intent,

Too soon stuck inside
when he would happily
and more healthily
have worked out
surrounded by garden sex
with sacred gratitude

And forest walks
through fecundity
entered under unshaken silence
of deep summer waiting,
as ominous as an approaching tsunami
terrifyingly known
yet not experienced.

But
not today.
Not here
in this dappled refuge
from jaded burning out
and inside sun
savoring his final summer
of playfully naive intent.

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Risking Love

I knew I was getting old
when I no longer always got up
from the floor
on my first try.

I remember I am old
because I no longer assume
I will always get up
off my contemplative couch
on my first try.

To choose life
on the first through last try
may be as simple
and as complex
as to not choose death,

To choose to trust enough to take
one more,
perhaps final,
inhale.

To choose life
also includes risking love,
another gasp toward compassion,
even a shaky clasp on forgiveness,
indigenously wise mercy,
relentless curiosity,
ancient hope,

However fragile
wounded
insufficient for more grand standing
than one more bold inhale
of Earth’s organic sufficiency
simplicity
solidarity.

It feels as wrong
to define my mourning self
by my failures to love us
on my worst arising days

I feel aright
to creatively redefine our meaning
with unearned compassions for riding along
on Earth’s most grace-filled
timeless
co-arising
SabbathPlace,

My daily liturgical experience
rises and lies
each day and night
recycling in-between
sufficiency of one last grateful inhale
predicting one more first graceful gift
exhaled

Exhilarating
exciting
exiting and entering
small sufficiencies
empowering love’s enlightening
curious co-arising wealth
of loving healthy passions.

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Roots of Worship

My roots of Creator worship
are fed and watered
by Creation appreciation
and curiosity

Whether this might also be true
and sometimes disappointingly false
for you

A resonantly sacred
sometimes prophetic
heart

With a resilient
health developing
ecosystemic mind

For whom my tricky part,
or one of many
as I recall…

Furtive sidewind glances
to my youthful left

Where he sat
in his magnificent
thick stacked darkness,

My closet worship thing
is impossible to come out
with perfect timing
with someone I am powerfully,
intoxicatingly, enraptured by
with
within
and preferably not without

Yet have no hope or intention
of ever being naked
or even transparent,
and certainly not vulnerable,
within his sight and hearing.

If said out loud,
then unveiled too soon
to not cause unwanted predative
seductive concerns.

If not said too soon
then inevitably disclosed too late
to retain resonant
and resilient trust

No hidden agendas,
no closet colonizing cases,
no aging platonic relationships
continuing to work
and play better
in just right silence
of unseen
unheard
unfelt
untouched emotions
without attaching motions

Back through roots of Creator worship
fed and watered
by Creation appreciation
and thick stacked curiosity.

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An Anxiously Anticipated Event

Dear John,

All day
yesterday
I loaded up with a cascading river
of mixed anxiety and anticipation
about what to safely and kindly,
transparently and vulnerably
compassionately, so non-violently, share
communicate;

Which narrative tributaries to choose
within this vast spacetime stream
of choices
directions
felt depressions and erections.

Do you remember
communication theory
framed as Rhetorical Events?

Our initial walk and talk,
eating together,
rather than my refrigerator foraging
brunchtime usual rawfood practice,
is a graced green,
rain giving way to blue, memory for me,
and, I hope, for we
these sacred walking
secular talking
people.

Successful rhetorical events,
as I recall,
and have co-passionately experienced
with ecstatic thrills
and mysterious chills of anticipation,
wanting more and more
cascading throughout my too isolated life,

Are cooperatively held spaces
resonant and verbal and non-verbal places
longing to become resilient
as ultra-violet light
in phosphorescent mystical night,
bright
and warm
without ballistic fright,
inviting sounds of sight.

So I drove home
basking in such rich
potentially resilient
transparent and vulnerable
articulate yet impassioned
felt experience
confirming all my own ego’s grand theories
about win/win non-violent
Rhetorical compassioning
Events.

My anxieties spoke later
about mutual physical
natural, yet also spiritual,
attraction–
this smell and taste neurological chemistry
of touch exhaling
to co-empathically predict
our romantically felt quality
inhaling integrity’s great resilient passions,
shared loves
communal,
deeply green cooperative,
that rhetorical day
as true and beautiful for us.

It has been thirty years
since my last first date,
with a man who became my unanticipated husband,
partner
spouse
lover
quarreler
critic
listener
emotive voice
co-investor
political ally
communicator
miscommunicator
long-term rhetorical event
cooperative space-holder,
mediator
not really quite green enough
for resonant felt
and thought co-passionate experience
near our end
of cohabitation.

Nearly half my lifetime,
thirty years,
and I feel anxious
I have not yet learned
appropriate new old person rules
of transparency
and vulnerability
to be clear
and kind,
compassionately clear
about my natural/spiritual
physical/metaphysical attractions,
anticipations,
anxieties.

When I last dated
a gay encounter of the first kind
either ended nakedly together
or with a scheduled second date
with a bed
or a sling
or a deserted moonlit beach
front and center on our anticipated menu

Or ended in disaster,
no connection,
no further warm and resonant communication,
no passing green light Go!

I did not “date”
men who lived so very far away,
out of state,
unless one of us was planning to relocate
or both of us were anticipating
an extremely resonant
one hot night stand
lying down together,
exploring all the vertical
and horizontal dances
we could imagine ever wishing we had done
to further gather
future’s warm anticipations.

I am anxious
because I do not want to disappoint you
or me
about our embodied
non-verbal communication
and passion together.

My own nakedness
lies nowhere near my vulnerable
and transparent self-esteem
as was the case
when I last dated
and I do not know
what to do
and not do
with that.

I have no mentors,
no wise teachers,
no therapeutic facilitators,
no sex therapist
to talk and touch me through
this anxiety.

But, I do anticipate
an unfortunate comparison
I met on our silvered dating site
the same day I first heard you
connect climate pathological effects
with capitalistic causes,
which immediately won my curiosity
to know
just how deeply knowing
we might go
together,
and not apart.

I met another singer
another meditator
another deeply
physically connected
to Taoist sensory communication
yangly verbal and yin non-verbal,

More physically incarnated
and less metaphysically abstract
less theoretical
merely rhetorical
more mature
aged
connected like wine with cheese
and re-connected
than my own experience
in how to mutually
yet maturely
please.

Last evening we talked.
His voice sings and rings,
warmly chills and quietly thrills.

And, he is closer.
Teaches dance.
We anticipate learning together
how to tango horizontally
without creating an entangled mess
at our ripe old average age
of 69

Which,
when I last dated
was a cooperatively rhetorical
erotic position
and not an age
which we sensually anticipated
without great anxiety
about resilience
of sensual resonance.

For me,
this need not be a win or lose,
either-or situation.
Even less so
if I thought the two of you
would appreciate each other
in this partner searching
lifeline rivered
shivered way,
but that is not what I would anticipate
either of you would say.

So, that is what is on my mind
and heart
and root chakras
this another deep green
ego-centering
and ecosystemic rhetorical day.

Said my vertical horizontal way,
physical and metaphysical
natural and spiritual
secular and sacred
love with you
and hell to pay,
anxiously anticipating
your kind
non-maligned
response.

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Winter’s Writing Choices

Approaching winter…

OK, maybe encroaching mid-winter
of life’s seasonal span
with resonantly compelling grace,
perhaps even transparent vulnerability,
feels controversial,
too laissez-faire

Too much courage
in declaring preliminary success
with too little curiosity
about what happens next
on planet Earth

Continuing to revolve all four seasons
dynamics
holistic lenses.

I recall the poet’s admonition
to not go quietly
into this winterish
cold night.

Life’s final reflective opportunity
does not invite quiet
so much as impassioned peace
of a windless snowfall
blanketing all I can see
and more faintly hear,
touch and awkwardly feel,
smell and bittersweetly taste
unsafe passage.

I recently moved from autumn habitat,
a creative tension between summer’s midlife climax
and this new winter habit
above Connecticut’s exquisite Salmon River.

This is a compromised writer’s winter hermitage
shared with my son who cannot speak
but can roar,
who cannot walk by himself
but can scoot
and belly laugh at his own internal sensations
and my external sensational sounds.

And, following Daquan
from my fall habitat
to winter’s eremetical search for peace,
however coldly displaced,
with social
and political
and spiritual
and natural distancing,

Behind Daquan
are daily in-home nurses
and his most avid companion,
my romantically distanced husband.

He comes bearing gifts
of clothes,
cleaning supplies,
far too much meaty food
for a proper hermitage
and not enough
for sufficient redemption
and for self-forgiveness.

He comes unaware of my ecofeminist wintering spirit,
longing for Earth’s warm womb justice
restoring peace
resilient through all four seasons
of present
past
and future Earth lives.

My ecofeminist lineage
feels too white to him,
not a journey for him
and our two brown sons
and my brown and cerebral palsied daughter
and Daquan.

So, this writer’s winter hermitage
remains newly compromised by past fall
and summer
and even spring
of extended multicultural family life.

May it always be so
or no,
I’m not sure which to pray for
or against
as I quietly write
into this warm and peaceful night,
just right,
not too dim or bright.

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Out To Pasture

Retirement from community development,
facilitating cooperative economic justice
in this post-millennial time of climate crisis,
feels like being put out to pasture
with the rest of us toothless and feckless horses

Stalking senior centers
and gated communities
to weather the fade-out storm
of physical
and mental,
natural
and spiritual encroaching unease
and disease.

This was not my fade away intent
to graze quietly
with quivering and lame
retired race horses;
although worse company
is readily at hand.

I do like pastures,
meadows,
forest and ocean beach trails,
grains and crunchy carrots
and apples.

But, I also like song and dance
and restorative justice more than retributive injustice,
and skilled multicultural mediation
rather than monopolistic invasion,
and economic cooperative win/win public health investment
and politically empowering regeneration
more than competitively disempowering degeneration,
and polypathic compassionate therapies,
and polyphonic healing designs
and listening with healthy young bicamerally balanced
connected
attached
integral
holistic lives of active hope.

It has taken me so long to get here
in this valley of the shadow of climate death,
and I am so grateful for this vulnerable moment
to share all I can compassionately hear
in multicultural mediation pastures,
including senior health-discernment circles,
of course,
but also echoing off granite bold walls
of win/win ego/eco-historic bicameral mountains,
polycultural peaks
cooperatively grateful
for bilaterally resonant river valleys
of ancient wealthiest memory.

Old nags never die.
We just keep gumming
around Earth’s double-binaries,
longing to speak compassionately
as we have learned to curiously hear,
remember
resonate
reweave
regenerate
seasonal pasture space
of all Earth’s pastoral reasoned time.

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