To Darling Daring Don (Juan)

mp for me
Art ~ Michael Parkes

Salute to a man

real man

who is man enough

to be with a dimensional

smart wild woman.

Cheers to a man

who has courage to choose life

against all pressure in a culture

in a coma dead from feeling.

Choosing, choosing, choosing for himself

— not just talking about “no boundaries”

but choosing to love and not fear

a woman of light, shadow and vitality.

Hurry to me.




Welcome the lion . . .

roaring lion
online art — Thank you anonymous artist.

Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour.” ~ I Peter 5:8b

Welcome the lion on your path.” ~ Mooji

When one comes face to face with a lion, you melt away.

At that moment you have no past,

no plans,

no expectations,

no titles,

no future.

You are instantly stripped

of the superfluous —

Stripped to nothing

but your essential, authentic


We all have those moments in life

when we face a lion on our path.

Welcome those moments —

To encounter

one glimmering momentary insight

into One’s Eternal Self.

Loss I and Loss II

Loss 2
Photo ~ my own


In July 2017 I had a glimpse of what it is

to love the Divine above all else.

Seems to be the by-product of letting go voluntarily —

then having even more ripped from you.

There comes a point when you have nothing remaining

except a shred of Hope.

That is enough.


love B 2
Photo ~ my own



I know a man who lost his lifetime of work and wages

to the greed of one person and a system without a whisper of humanity.

Because of this,

within three years he lost his health.

Because of this,

he lost his balance, body strength, energy, vitality

and clear cognitive skills.

(His wife tells him, he has not lost his looks.)

Because of this,

he gradually became unusable to ones who looked upon him

as an object to be used.

Because of this,

near and extended family and friends

fell away one by one.

He is rarely paid much attention.

What he does not lose

is his serene detachment from his chattering ego —

his Zen-like one liner philosophy and

faith in the Joy of living.

Because of this,

he does not lose me —

his first love and second wife.

in conclusion
Photo ~ my own


woman and taz
online art

I am in the grasp of the Divine Taz,

This has been transpiring relentlessly for many months.

Sometimes the whirlwind is more than I think I can bear.

So I hold on for all I am worth —

which seems to be quite a lot —

and gasp at the swirling, breath-giving scape

from above, below, within.

I have sometimes felt unsafe, but not one scratch.

Many helpers whirl with me.

What better passion than to reel

tumult, reel

in the company and design of Holy Taz.







Gemini Caregiver’s Debate

Thank you to the unknown artist.


I will never come back, once I leave.

That’s selfish. He can’t help it. He didn’t ask to get sick.

I can’t help it either.

It’s the only life he has.

It’s the only life I have.

He needs me. It would kill him.

Maybe. Staying is killing me.

I don’t know the truth of any of these statements.

I am not happy.

Big deal. I am supposed to lose my life to find it.

No idea how to do that. Read a lot of stuff . . . .

I will be out of God’s will.

Which God? I am not trying to run away from “God”.

I will burn in hell.

Not scientific. Knee jerk control tactic. Not rational. Not loving; therefore, not anything to do with “God”.

I’m confused.

I am tired. I don’t want to die, especially of endless servitude.

As if what I want is significant.

It’s all I have. My time is running out.

Do I want to finish my life being a zero instead of a hero?

Who even notices? I am lonely.

Old song, different verse.

It is about where I finish my days being lonely.

Anywhere, I will be alone except for I Am.

I wonder why that supposition no longer functions?

I don’t know what I want.

I want to live until I die.

Whatever that means. Cliché! What about the cats? Yang would miss me. And the plants?

Can I bring the cats with me? I know who will take the plants.

Why am I being so silly?

I will know more in less than a month.

It all depends on what, who, where? That’s stupid.

Is enslavement-subjugation-resentment-starving wise?

I can bloom where I am planted.

Whatever that means. Cliché!

I will be missed.

By ….. many intimate contacts. The ripple will smooth.

All his family would miss my caregiving service.

They would have to give a care.

I am incapable of love.

I have done the action of love for years.

I expect too much of life. Get over myself.

Adventure is a factor. Time is up. Someday has flown away.

I am a selfish old woman …..

Who still has vigor and long ago learned to be my own resource.

I will never come back, once I leave.


Song of India

song of india 1
From my mother’s music collection

One morning last March I woke up free.


I purchased a ticket for myself –

Destination: Jaipur, India – for 10 days.

I will be there during September’s khus pura chand.


What will I do?

More, what will I not do?

No chit-chat;

No treading the treadmill;

No thinking.


Whom will I see?

Nobody but God in myriad manifestations.


What will I ask?

How can I go on when I cannot?

How can I keep loving when I cannot?

How can I stop loving when I cannot?


I will expose myself

To how soft

India is.

moon in her eyes
She’s Got the Moon in Her Eyes ~ Jean Larson

Soul Sister Surgeries

dear Robelle  February 15, 2016  soul sister

Today my soul friend is having surgery at the University of Chicago Hospital. The outcome of that procedure will determine her destiny.

(Odd, it just occurred to me that every little thing we do and every person we encounter factors in determining our destiny. It is a large thought for the mind.)

When I was ages 4 and 8, I had surgeries at Children’s Memorial Hospital on Fullerton Avenue in Chicago – a lifetime ago.

When I was four, my surgeon was Doctor Gibson. When I was age eight, the surgeon was Doctor Potts. In that era, they were pioneers in the discipline/art of open heart surgery.

I am no more significant than any other soul on this earth, but this I know. If my little body had not been surrendered to those surgeons, I would have already been a name on a gravestone for decades. My older brother would perhaps have a vague memory of his tiny sister four years his junior. There is one uncle Art, my father’s youngest and only living brother now, who would perhaps have recalled the slight girl who had died so young.

Instead there are sons, step-children and grandchildren who may remember me for one or two generations more.

I cannot fathom how someone can do surgery on tiny children – or anybody. The ones who gave me my life are long gone now, but I am not. To remember them is to pay tribute to god beings. For me.

Within the last decade I have conversed with a cardiologist who knew of the “Potts Method” in heart surgery.

“How pleased Dr. Potts would have been to see you now,” he glowed as he said it to me.

Today my soul friend has surrender her destiny in the same city – blocks and years from where I did. It is the territory of the divine.

Today I stand on tiptoe gazing back and toward the future. We live in a miracle age, I have noticed in passing.