The Admirable Admirer

I did not understand his visit,
it’s timing
or purpose
nor he mine, I suppose.

I would have asked
but Why?
felt better as a mystery
or magic
or in-between
explored by mythic listening
and passionate watching.

He was tall
muscular without too much diesel Yang,
and ecstatic
to see me again
after all these in-between years.

I was on an urgent mission
to rescue two wounded children
from uncertain surgical government
absence of healing care
but had to stop
as he approached
as if I were the only person
in all of Sacred EarthTribe
he had ever loved,
could love,
would love

But “should love”
that was my question
about why this visit
when I was so otherwise committed,
exhausted really.

Before I could explain
about my perennial rescue mission
he wanted to share with me
how remarkable his friend
who adopted
two complexly hurt children.

His enthusiasm was contagious
and comforting
What I needed to hear
to feel I merited his handsome smile
happy eyes
his intimately frank appraisal
of having been found good,
worthy in more ways than one
if I know what he means.

If he is this excited
about his friend
on a new rescue mission
for climate health of innocence
how enthused might he become
when I tell him
I am a struggling therapeutic parent
of four complex and discarded post-millennials,
inching toward our peaceful revolution,
restoring self with other love

But he was gone
with the morning alarm
before we had time
to consummate this fabulous exchange
of mutual admiration.


Opening Closed Doors

is when my last door closes,
and how,
and why.

He said
before he died.
Until then,
his life had been gratitude for open
and closed doors,
windows of opportunity opening
as windows of risk closed.

I wonder if doors open to further life regeneration,
PositivEnergy Democracy,
further restorations of open door EarthSoul Justice.

Yin’s EarthTribe peace
through polypathic golden rules
cooperative health and compassion
invite me back in

Doors close
for more BusinessAsUsual
Yang-dominant competitions

Too Busyness with WinLose suboptimal
not quite really pro-full-life vocational optimization.
Which reminds me
how grateful I am
for some Other EarthFirst Door
still surely open
inviting love
positive karma without negative waste streams

Left with Right enculturing synergy,
Or I would already be LeftEgo BrainDead.

God always answers best,
most gracefully,
when we invite with authentic curiosity
and respect Gaia’s answer
Doors both Opening and Closing
with theo-eco-logical therapeutic equity
WuWei WinWin pro-life

And not WinLeft deductions
over Lose SacredRight inductions.


Storms in all seasons
of Closing Doors
like NegativEnergy emotions
have dramatic beauty
more divinely inspiring
while watching
from inside Closed Womb insulators,

A matriotically safe and warm
but not too warm,
WinWin cooperative Original Habitat

Sleeping inside someone
who also enjoys discussing
and laughing about
our stormy closed doors
and curious WinWin opening doors,
and windows
becoming part of this just-right
creolizing climate storm
of Wild Us.

My still open doors
and windows for gratefully noticing
PositivEnergy CoOperatives
are my opportunities
to watch beautiful Heavenly Father storms
of alarming retribution
as also Gaia’s WinWin graceful restoration.

This Open Door
my grateful living
loving vocation,
integrity’s ultimate invocation.

is when my last door closes
halfway Yang full throttle
secularizing patriarchal LeftBrain
RightBrain sacred matriarchal resonance,
and wealthy how
and healthy why.


Night Shift

Last night
I slept
or tried to
despite sharp elbows and knees
and hopelessly dark intrusive shoulders

In concerted effort
to squash me
into a round flat stanley
gingerbread manface

Squarely soft
like a just-right nutritious blanket
of good ginger smells
nurturing his palsied
elbows and lumpy knees,
bumpy shoulders and mind

Sleeping peaceful
innocence unvowed

No seizures allowed.


CareGiving Stories Continued

Wounded Sacred Dementia

My last foster care-provider
and -receiver story
is also a sad story
of my last special needs adoption
of bipolar born,
and oppositionally reared,

My BiPolar Wounded Child
turned an auspicious five
on the day I first saw her,
and promptly rejected her,
not in dipolar person,
but in a picture of Little Brown Girl
with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome
surrounded by huge multicolored balloons
like a bubble bath
gone delightfully wrong
for a demented princess,

And so has life proved to be
living in her often queenly raging
perpetual-childhood Reign,
not so wonderfully benign,
now mid-adolescent,
at least hormonally.

like Fetal Alcohol,
was on my list of
“Will not consider even meeting,
much less living and dying with.”

The local Department of Children and Families folks
knew I had a too-empty bedroom
and restorative therapeutic experience
and special needs caregiving training
they had provided,
patience I had practiced
rewoven cooperatively.

I was certified for FirstAid, but not Last,
and administering medications
and receiving ecotherapies
and what to do when a child is choking
and not yet choking
and mouth-to-mouth heart palpitation,
and avoiding ear-to-ear mind pulpitization.
Although, truthfully, I believe my Permaculture Design certification
was more helpful
for restorative WinWin therapy consultations
with wounded kids,
and their not-well-trained adults.

SocialWorker specialists
invited me to consider four kids
waiting for a less toxic residence.

One was Dementia.

Another older girl,
also AfricanAmerican,
wanted to wait for a home
without any male presence
in a threatening house,
due to past unthinkably unfortunate events,
furthering her internal climate
of ZeroSoul Zone pathologies.

A one year old white boy
would never walk.
I couldn’t see how I sprint
through a successful WinWin family outing
with two wheelchairs to push around.
It was already discouraging enough
with one
to often choose exploring voices outside,
now rather staying more too sedately home muted,
ZeroZone diluted,

The fourth was an older hispanic boy
who looked WinWin perfect
but then was suddenly hospitalized,
for reasons never ominously or even reassuringly explained,
and it looked likely he might never leave alive;

This was one of those moments
to pause
and wonder about therapeutic timing
and nutritious choices
creating WinWin nurturing branches
or not, more WinLose,
in others’ BusinessAsUsual lives,
not just my own ZeroZen SoulZone.

Dementia’s Social Worker
was WinLose pre-disposed and concomitantly desperate
to close her unfortunately least marketable case.
At five,
this BiPolar Dementia already had two priors.

Prior attempts at WinWin adoption
that ended LoseLose,
at best,
a toxic six weeks later.

She had bounced
from one unsuccessful
They Lose and I Lose foster home
to the next
and no one of them
trained for WinWin special needs alcoholic placements,
should there actually be such a training thing,
because they didn’t want such needs
demanding in their already too complicated
indoor lose some-lose Sum
ZeroSoul too dissonant lives.

I agreed to meet Dementia
because her SocialWorker had persuaded herself,
whether through ignorance
or incompetence
I still know not,
although I’ve heard no WinWin rule
that one is less ignorantly likely
to incompetently appear
without the other,
She was persuaded
Dementia was not alcohol baptized
BiPolar Competitive more than DiPolar CoOperative,
Marked for a lifetime of Trumpian Wounded Child struggle
with bipolar cognitive-affective dissonance,
dismay, despair,
dissonant eruptions,
in addition to her cerebral palsy lifetime
of stinky and wet incontinence.

I met Dementia
in her most successful
(least tragic) foster home.

Mom was surrounded by so many kids
she did not know what to do.
But remained wise enough
to promise strong toilet-training skills
if only so someone else
would finally change Dementia’s messy climate diapers.

I brought a Dorah doll
for her recently past fifth birthday
and asked her if she spoke Spanish.
I have no idea what she said in response,
probably not Spanish,
but she delighted in tearing the packaging
into confetti
with a suspiciously satisfied smile.

Dorah would live on for a few months,
gradually losing body parts.
An arm here,
a leg there.
She went bald,
unexpectedly one scissored night.
Then her capacity to speak
and sing evaporated,
a mixed blessing
in my opinion
not that it was often asked for,
or ever heeded,
or even appreciated when received.
Dorah’s merciful beheading
led to a tearful cremation.

I had a lot of questions
for FosterMom
because I could not understand a word
Dementia mumbled.
I wasn’t even sure
of distinguishing between Yes and No
other than the too obvious non-verbal communication
that filled in for NegativEnergy
dissonant messaging systems.

So I asked why she seemed to have no resonant consonants
and could she hear clearly?
Is that a lazy left-brained eye?
Hard to tell because she needs both Left
and Right eye surgery
for lids she cannot bicamerally lift
enough to see the warm brown gleam
of her smiling therapeutic eyes.

What are those bald patches
in her hair?
How is she coming along,
or merely commingling,
with incontinence?
Why is she a choking risk?
Why does she gulp and swallow her food whole?
Why is she throwing her food
and other nutritional
nurturing elements,
colored markers?
Who is she talking to now,
because I can’t see anybody
in front of her eyes and ears
can you?

Lots of questions.
Not many informed responses.
So I told Dementia’s SocialWorker
I would take her as a pending pre-adoption placement
but only if she promises to leave her with me
long enough
so we can get her medical attention
needed for better long-term health-wealth results.

Wounded Sacred Dementia: Part Two

Dementia’s derelict WinLose SocialWorker
suboptimizingly hesitates
when I tell her
I have not changed my mind
about not adopting Fetal Alcohol Syndrome
into my vulnerable home
with a seven-year-old AfricanAmerican boy
and unable to defend himself,
or even run paraplegically away,
in the likely event of predative attack
by a jealous younger girl-child
who needs to be the ego-nurtured baby addict
of her household.

My older two AfricanAmerican sons
could defend their Nubian Princely selves,
and most certainly would,
after all,
they had experience living with Tyrant
who was older
and bigger
and louder.

The SocialWorker commits to giving me six months
unless someone else comes along
as WinWin qualified
and ready to commit
to bipolar alcoholism
for ZeroZone Soul life.

We both knew how unlikely
this would unfold
in our shared HereNow
4Dimensional RealTime
of ZeroSoul understorying TaoSpirit.

So we got Dementia’s ears tubed,
all the better to hear our creolizing consonants with.
Her eyes WinWin opened
to communication’s PositivEnergy integrities
all the better to watch us form our cooperative consonants.
Her brain pictures
all the better to predict her bipolar
ZeroSoul RightBrain emotional swings.
Her scalp de-ringwormed
all the better to fill her pretty head
with ribbgons
and butterfly berets
on her own tiny yang-braids.
Her now open eyes
wearing glasses
all the better to watch us WinWin smile back
and too often LoseLose frown,
to be incontinently honest,
holding our noses and heads
against each LoseLose other.

By the end of the first week
she no longer needed to take food to bed with her.

By the end of the first day
she taught me
When Dementia rises from her feeding chair
during a meal,
more of an athletic event,
a wrestling match really,
to jump Yang-up and Yin-down
and run around,
this does not mean she is done eating,
or feeding,
or whatever.
She has other
messier ways
to let me know
when she’s All Done!!!!

Jumping during mealtime
is something about liking the food,
absorbing PositivEnergy nurture,
and needing to calm down
and express Yang-enthusiasm.

So I stop removing her food
until the pink plastic bowl is serenely empty.
Although she usually takes care of bowl removal
for me,
or against me–
not entirely sure she is sure.

I put out another bowl
if she asks for it
(no judgment)
and leave it out for her
to eat or feed on, again,
depending on your dipolar-bipolar perspective,
or to just check on from time to time
to be sure it remains there
and not yet LoseLose empty,
until she learns to trust me
to listen to her good food to eat
PositivEnergy messages
as much or little as she wants to share
whenever she wants.
All I require is a Please?
Not even ThankYou!
although that would be nice,
and PositivEnergy appreciated.

So, no need to hoard food
or bolt it down without chewing
or LoseLose throw it
before someone takes it away.

more like a slow groaning year,
Dementia’s SocialWorker
threatens to remove her from my care
rather than leaving her with me
until she finds a more appropriate pre-adoptive placement.

Is this a WinWin promise
or a WinLose threat?

I offer to help her recruit an ego-ecotherapeutic adult
or two
without young vulnerable children
and pets,
and too awfully many sharp knives
and scissors
and voices,
who might agree to adopt
if I provide monthly respite.

But the Professional SocialWorker
in her infinitely divine
ZeroSum Win-Lose wisdom
does not want my help.
She refuses to look for a household without high risks
of further Dementia dings,
or to even disclose Fetal Alcohol labels
to prospects for WinWin adoption,
Or to even find an appropriate foster placement
in which Dementia could more successfully
more restoratively,
with further resilience and self-sustainability,
wait and heal and hope
for that just-right therapeutic parent(s).

I am now persuaded
that Dementia’s best restorative justice and peace hope
is to be rescued from her demented SocialWorker
and, to be fair,
from a retributive lack of welfare committed system
designed to reward the heavily mortgaged SocialWorker
for punitive anti-BirthFamily decisions
not in Dementia’s best
or long-term healthy interests.

My AfricanAmerican husband and older sons agreed,
given SocialWorker’s issues,
fueled by denial of internal climate pathologies,
we should proceed toward WinWin committed adoption
and hope for our mutual therapeutic best,
and not worst,
somehow both care-giving and care-receiving democracy,
mutual creolizing acclimation
as a resilient Left and resonant Right
multiculturing household,
sort of a PositivEnergy networking nest.

I would have asked my youngest son
but would not have known how to ask,
nor how to misunderstand his non-verbal benign response.

So Dementia is still with us,
turning seventeen later this year,
our only post-millennial girl
living with five trans-millennial males,
deep listening with Dementia
teaching hard lessons:

Resilience is to LeftBrain cognitive dissonance
as RightBrain Resonance
is to affective disintegration,
as notnot PositivEnergy
WinWin democratic trust
is to NegativEnergy LoseLose autocratic anti-trust
in self or Professional SocialWorker other.

Resilience Left and Resonance Right
polypathic Yang and Polyphonic Yin
nurturing nutrients
for rich dense resonantly complex
WinWin attitudinal
and behavioral co-empathic systems.

Just as chaotically dissonant
WinLose angry
and LoseLose fearful ecopolitical systems
can grow wickedly complex interdependencies
unraveling GoldenRule cooperative
WinWin strategies
to sustain self-other perpetuating equanimity.

Resilient healthy gains
despite fading outdoor voice losses
of RightBrain therapeutic polyculturing resonance.

has her own wild
polarizing resonance of voices
as deep and sacred
with each new outdoor RedSky dawn
as resilient resonant DNA-RNA Solidarity
Blues-inside imparts.



Trump Against Conservatives

What are some differences
between post-millennial Trumpism
and pre-millennial Republicanism?

I know…I know!
Republicans used to be fiscal conservatives
but now support a one trillion dollar deficit
per unaffordable health and safety care year,

Expanded deficit spending
despite taking more from not so rich
so super-rich corporations and family dynasties
can invest less in public responsibilities
and conservational authorities.

What other differences do you see?

I know…I know!!!
Republicans used to be family moral conservatives
but now nominate candidates
who molest women and then brag about it
while employed through tax investor dollars
disproportionately extracted from lower-middle
and poor shackled families,
and candidates who may sexually assault young Southern girls
and expect their liberated from traditional family values voters
to hold their nose
and vote for them anyway.

Because a fetus
is presumed to become a heterosexual baby,
except when things work out wrong somehow,
but a penis
is just another predictable bad boy penis.

That sounds a bit Boys Will Be Boys judgmental,
and maybe anti-Southern?
But, OK,
what else do you see
or hear
or smell, I suppose, possibly,
as Trumpism
antithetical to traditional Republican conservatism.

I know…maybe?

Doesn’t healthy conservatism
require wealthy conservation of nutritional values,
and not so much toxic disvalues?

If so,
then isn’t a real world conservative position
regarding climate pathology
and proactive health assurance
dwindling through MADness
pathologically degenerating economic
and ecological
and political
and sociological bad health trends,
To disinvest away from denial of growing chaotic climates
and to embrace restoring health for truly therapeutic traditions
of societies and species?

I believe you refer to Old School Conservation.
thou must not harvest grace
you did not plant and financially support with gratitude
for talents invested in you
by MotherEarth’s past climates
of pertinently trusting compassion.

you respond to my Trumpism v Republicanism question
with questions
which in itself seems a conservative position
compared to denying questions
of how best to conserve integrity
among a healthing society,

Voicing urgent concerns
about unmediated exploitation of punishing mendacity,
expecting conservatives
to continue voting
to liberate this piracy of healthy valuables
from relatively poor
toward triumphal rich
Pharisees of Secularizing Zealous Greed.

Do you think
that could have been
a Trumpian violin
Plutocratic Nero fiddled and twittered about
and spoke liberally
in his denial
of international health and climate care
While hurricanes flooded Texas
and Florida
and Puerto Rico.
And while California,
and sometimes parts of Colorado
and Arizona
too often burned?

Is that the bedtime story
your fading grandchildren will read
about your conservatively intended vote
for their health and defensive climate safety?

Do Trumpians
become a non-party,
an Operatic Tragedy
without any conservative portfolio remainder?

According to the original Trumpian campaign,
this CEO promised to follow along
toward conserving denialism of facts
and expanding nihilism of whimsical foolishness
defined as whatever is not liberty
or freedom
or cooperative investment of any kind
in those who have not supported Trump Aristocracy products
and supremely super good job
real estate bought and sold-out services
for those better off
and their free for a quick grab wives,

Who best stick to their expected denial of unfortunate facts business.
Follow Trumpian patriarchal lines and lies
of pathologically rich pedigree,
and not bother their pretty blond and blue-eyed heads
about conserving healthy
extending family climate values,
by easing off further over-investment
in too-liberal disvalues
to invest in healthy climates for all God’s Creations,

Conservationally speaking.


Respect for ActiveHope

My thought for this day,
although still early,
is respect for hope.

Respect for our interdependence
and respect for our challenging differences,
important, yet hopefully not as powerful
as our interdependent love for healthy life.

I noticed a brown cardboard box
in the corner of a reception area
for our Infectious Disease Clinic
with a black marker sign above
“Books–Free to Give and Take”

There were only two books to take,
hard to estimate how many might be given.
Both of these current residents of the box,
waiting for their next conversational partners,
were written by a Senator Barack Obama.

a biographical heritage journey
about living between society’s generous giving
and sometimes breathtaking taking
and stomping on differences
within primarily interdependent identities.

The title of the Senator’s other book,
“The Audacity of Hope” grabbed me
in part because,
by the time it was published,
the author was also a candidate
for the US Presidency,
and in part because of the way we are now living
in response to an AntiAudacious Hope Administration
reading from a script
to incarnate the reverse side,
“The Mendacity of Hopelessness”
of despair,
of nihilism,
of fake-piety,
of false nationalistic AntiEarth hubris

Marketed in red, white, and blue gift wrap
as [AntiMatriotic] Patriotism,
with sales remaining somewhat more pathological in Red States
than Blue and Green, maybe Turquoise,
or AquaMarine,
but defined as not-Red
as Red is confined to not
“The Global Audacity of CreativeHope.”

Susan Belden
lyrically asks
How do you love those who hate you?

We see some response in teachings of Jesus;
to turn the other cheek,
to walk a second enslaved by force mile,
to turn rifle associations into farming and gardening tools for good,
although this last one was a remix from Old Testament Prophets.
Tools for respecting interdependence
but also multicultural differences
still in creolizing process.

It is easy to hate Donald Trump,
or to see him as the Emperor without AudaciousClothes
of Grace
for Healthy Faith
as his unfortunate choice and lot in life.
Even easier
to go back and forth between these two,
blaming and shaming.

It is harder to hate those who voted for him.
Although I have an obsessively troubling place in my dissonant heart
and mind
for those who profess to be evangelists for a God of Love and Peace
but also profess their eager willingness to vote yet again
for The Nakedly Sexist and Supremacist Apprentice again.

Like the Body of Christ
continuing to empower the Head Pharisee.

How do you respect those
who build their futures
on disrespecting you
and yours
and your healthy futures?

How do you play Win-Win
with those who persist in the delusion
our only RealTime life option
is Win-Lose or Lose-Lose?

I suspect it is this Lose-Lose non-option
that disrespects our mutual economic
and political
and personal
and vulnerable fears,
our lie-group
proving what Win-Win would invite toward respect.

It is in witnessing what happens
when we take this risk of turning
our appositional faces
that we can invite
mutual respect
for the audacity of Win-Win non-violent healing.

It is when we walk this double-binding extra walk
with those who disrespect integrity and hope
and faith
and multiculturing love,
that we are more likely to discover
our own lack of strength
to remain vulnerable to shared evils
of ego-centrism
and anthro-centrism
lurking within our own hearts and minds

And bad faith harboring mendacity
and apathy about past violent colonization,
where empathy
and creolizing curiosity
and respect
could invite interdependent hope.

My audacity of hope
lies in faith
we always have a political and personal option
that is a Win both for our ego’s economic future
and for our Earth’s ecological future.
That this is true for healthcare giving
and receiving accessible to all Earth’s residents
and constituents,
whether voters or not even enfranchised,
whether we could even bear to hear their votes for respect
and not for disrespect,
or not.

Restoring Win-Win life options always optimizes peace outcomes,
audacious hope outcomes,
mutual respect for our inductive interdependence first,
and our deductive differences secondarily,
and contingently
compromising suboptimal democratic intent
settling for short-term Win-Lose outcomes,
leaving less room for love of complex internal multicultural rights
than hate for external monoculturing chaotic wrongs.

Infectious Disease Clinics
are good places for more Audacious Hope
and democratic multiculturing Love.
But so would any classroom,
so would the Parent rack
of any bookstore–
required reading for any healthcare legislator,
any ecopolitical policy maker,
any person wanting to grow hope
as respect first for our living interdependence,
second for loyal and gratefully shared differences
feeding further curiosity
and deeper empathy
and stretching faith in respect
across extending nature-spirit families
sharing this one global sacred Habitat

Concelebrating many liturgically evolving flags
all blowing in our shared
audacious winds of hope.

Red and TrueBlue Family

Red and TrueBlue Family–2

My dear Siblings,

I voted for Hillary.
I would have preferred Bernie,
but she agreed to much of his platform-especially universal health care and education and seemed to be cognizant of environmental/climate change issues and bonus–she’s a woman!

How I feel now? I am still haunted by the sound of my millennial son as he stood in the shower the morning after the election,
grief stricken,
mourning the loss of freedom and safety for many of his friends of different races,
sexual identities
and religions.
I am both immensely proud of him and fear for him
when I remember him coming out of the bathroom after that gut wrenching and utterly hopeless outpouring of tears.
He wore the look of a young man going off to war
and declared his allegiance and his personal protection to all those now named targets of hatred.

I’m not sure that I would have the courage to be a millennial now.

I recently watched about 20 snapping turtle hatchlings emerge, one by one, from a small hole in the sand bank above the pond and embark on a hilarious topsy-turvey tumble down the embankment and disappear into the dark stillness under the lush green vegetation of the shallow water.

Along the way some of them appeared to die.
At one point, the lifeless forms were starting to pile up near the exit hole of the nest and I feared for those still waiting for their turn to feel the sunlight on their faces.

What amazed me was to see how these little creatures responded to each other.
One would walk right over the top or lightly brush up against the side of an apparently dead sibling
and suddenly they were moving along together.
I imagined one saying to the other,
“Come on. You can do it. Don’t stop now.”
or maybe “I’ll race you”,
like I used to say to Jeremy when I wanted him to move faster.

I was relieved and very satisfied when the last one slipped into the pond;
a proud midwife.

I can only hope that the extreme disregard for the Earth and all her creatures,
including human beings,
that is spewing out of our political system and corporations
will incite all of us to a new way of being;
to getting everybody to the pond.