Friday, July 21, 2017

Turbulence

Turbulence... definition
"Violent or unsteady movement of air or water, or of some other fluid." "Conflict; confusion..." 
Air surrounding us, filled with turbulent clouds & currents, spur the fires to life. 
The bed quakes at night as the ground plates shift with turbulent patterns. 
My heart beats at a turbulent rate with the verbal warfare that surrounds our connections through social media. 
I long for the days of calling neighbors and quieting any turbulence that had arisen on the farms & ranches through drink & food.
Just sitting around a table where we could sift through body language, reveling in each others facial signs, breathing each others anxieties and knowing we shared common ground. 
Turbulence... defined...perhaps. 
Longing. 





Monday, June 26, 2017

July spins

Spins... spirals...life is made up of concentric circles... water drops hitting and revolving into wider areas of circular patterns.
 Into the movement of these drops I am, for spinning in one place does not quite suit me very well.
It leads to headaches and misunderstanding.

Sifting through the patterns of circular movement provides deep reflection and understanding. Emotional garbage is set free if one ventures further in.
These circles lie in thoughts... hidden...
beautiful.

Hidden beauty...
 found
if one persists.

July seems
to be
spinning forth...slipping and sliding...
perhaps a shove is needed.
No spinning wheels,
just July movement.
July Spins. 

Thursday, June 1, 2017

Community ties

Building ties, Community ties.
       
             Bringing gifts to the forefront...

Looking deep inside and engaging concepts that could benefit others...

                      Don't check out... decommission and/or drift into ....

Check out ... time

                                 Feel deeply and exhale as you allow yourself room to breathe.

Then begin to build ties... ties of community that will hold you tightly.

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

The Trouble Pile

I found this poem from a great source today. Having lost several beautiful souls due to cancer and etc. I found this poem beneficial today. We just never know about our time upon this earth. Love to all today and everyday. As we grow the Onward Ranch in Lincoln we are starting a meandering rock wall (open to all). We hope to have everyone stop in with a rock or two (or anything of significance) and add it to the rock wall. It is a wall of healing. We will eventually have benches to sit upon. There will be plantings as well. We are starting the plantings with 3 Canada Red Chokecherries. Each in memory of our loss the last few weeks: Jennifer Dyer, Tessa Gehring, & Candace Rutledge. 


THE TROUBLE PILE
"Where do you go today, old man,
With that great load there on your back?"
The old man just grumbled as he hobbled along
Holding tight to the bulging sack.
"I say, old man," cried the boy again,
"Do you carry a sack of gold?"
"Nay, lad," the old man whispered,
"’Tis just troubles--that's all I hold."
"This sack I've carried, all my life
Each trouble I've had is here.
They've grown till now, my back grows bent
With every passing year.
"There's grief and pain, there's hurt and woe,
There're trials and sins galore.
But I'm going now to the trouble pile
And I won't pack these no more."
The boy looked up with troubled glance.
"Tell me, what's the trouble pile?
I'd like to know, and while we talk
You can sit and rest awhile."
"I lack the time," the old man said,
"I've got to rush along.
I want to get to the trouble pile
'Fore the little troubles are gone.
You see, it's a place where all can go
To trade troubles great and small.
You can leave yours there and pick new ones up.
Why, I'll trade 'til I've none at all."
The boy glanced down at his twisted leg,
And he blinked to hold back a tear.
"Could I trade this leg for a good one," he asked,
"If the trouble pile was here?" 
"Of course you could," the old man was gruff.
"But there's still a long way to go.
I've got to hurry or I'll be late,
And crippled you'd be too slow."
So the boy sat down and watched the man
Disappear in the morning light.
The hours wore on and still he watched
As the day moved on to night.
At last, there in the distance,
The old man walked tall and strong.
A bulging sack still on his back,
But on his lips, a song.
“I see you traded, mister,
And lost your heavy load."
His little voice grew wistful
As he looked back down the road.
The old man grinned and tossed his bag
With a thud, in the dusty track.
And he smiled a smile at the little boy
As he sat and leaned lazily back.
"Now I'll tell you, lad, though you'll not believe
But that sack is the same as I had.
When I saw the troubles of other folks,
I found mine not half so bad.
"Sure, I've hardly got a trouble now,
And I'll tell you something too
If you could see that trouble pile,
You'd keep that bad leg, too.
'Cause I've done a bit of thinking
As I walked along the way.
And if we worked hard on that leg of yours
It would grow straight and strong to stay.
Now I've really nothing much to do
And a crutch I could make for a start."
Then he hugged the boy to hide a tear,
And the joy in an old man's heart.
So the boy and the man worked together,
From morning to the last light of day.
And the twisted leg finally was straightened,
And the boy could soon run and play. 
It was then the old man knew he must leave,
And again he shouldered his sack.
But no longer did it bulge with his troubles
It just hung there loose on his back!
For while he was helping another,
His own troubles faded away.
He had truly found the trouble pile
It’s there--if you look for the way. 
~ Wayne K. Bullock ~

Monday, May 8, 2017

Moments in Tubac


Just moments
       Captured here and there 
Moments hopping through

Scatterings
Thoughts 
Sunrise of delight

Birds of discovery

Searchings for food

Magnificent pools of discovery


Visitors in the night... perhaps lizards





Flowering delights 
The desert blooms

Thorns of beauty
feathers unscathed. 


Thank you mother earth. 
Blessings untold.

Thin Skin

Dreams heavy... unknown land between Tubac and Asia...
                    Sales people stuffed into their own skin,
                              Polished too thin...
                               Setting their pretense upon everyone's shoulders.
There was no magic fit, one size fits all here.
                  Know your audience... know your market.
At one point "Foodicians" appeared throwing cutlery... "If you catch, you eat!"
                                 Neighbors appear... neighbors who had dissolved their life away...
in hopeful anticipation... in lost hope.
             Where was critical mass in this land?
                                But the creative work fit into someone's thin skin...

Friday, May 5, 2017

The Rose of Tubac

When my father died, he left a note that simply said play "The Rose" by Bette Midler at my Funeral. Also,... "I love you".
Tonight as we gathered with good friends, let me rephrase that, remarkable friends in Tubac for one last meal, laughter and commemorate moments I was stricken by the words of "The Rose"...
I have been accused in the past of many things... "Sentimental", "Gushy", "Optimist",  and of course "Idealist".... I am proud to say yes... I am these things.
Visiting Tubac for two weeks this month brought this home.
You feel as though you have arrived home, 
As though your presence is illuminated in friendship. I have entered the lyrics for 'The Rose" below. 
I have also added my feelings after each stanza. 


"The Rose"
Some say love, it is a river
That drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
That leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
An endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
And you its only seed.


Love, like a flower waits eagerly for seeds to be planted and nourished. Fertile soil and open minds that have developed through years provide fruitful seeds of experience. Everywhere around us lies expansive minds of love and friendship. These minds provide wisdom of ages, wisdom of searching, and wisdom of friendship

It's the heart afraid of breaking
That never learns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking
That never takes the chance.
It's the one who won't be taken,
Who cannot seem to give,
And the soul afraid of dyin'
That never learns to live.

There is no fear of dying in the land of the living. The souls who live in Tubac live with ghosts of yesteryear, ghosts of their formal selves, and ghosts of common ground. 
They relish interactions with living souls who acknowledge the spirits of all years. There is no such thing as fear....we all die.

When the night has been too lonely
And the road has been too long,
And you think that love is only
For the lucky and the strong,
Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed that with the sun's love
In the spring becomes the rose.

There is fertilization in this area... in the land of friendship. This land lies in our searching, in our longing and in our travels... wherever that may be. To leave home, to believe in others, to listen, ... we are truly connected to everyone
to the seeds that lie buried in the winter of our minds. 
Spring with it's release... 
Gratitude for the rose that lies in Tubac.