Land

I float silently down the river, sideways in a plastic boat.  My heart is heavy, voice silent, mind on mute.  All this talk of Creation and how we relate to it propels me to this wilderness to spend some time alone.  Will the rocks cry out, or the trees clap their hands?  Will the storm ripped trunks of leafless trees bow low to the coming of Creator?  I do not mourn when I see a fallen limb, or grieve at the barren wasteland or factory smoke.  But I do cringe at the appearance of a knotted tree, necklaced in a bright red sign.  KEEP OFF! It shouts in bold disgrace.  I wonder, did this tree go to the market to buy a sign? I never noticed these signs before, the other times I drifted by this island.  All around are posted these warning signs.  Creation is off limits.  This island is owned by signed deed, and I am not allowed.  Birds are no readers, and they make their nests in the trees, and flock to boughs to sing.  Trash from the river on a rainy day mingles with the branches, a marriage of inorganic and organic, to herald each day.  It to has found a place on Ash Island.  But I, I have been denied.  So I keep drifting by.  The moon, in the sky, is unreachable to me.  I thank God that it does not have a keep off sign.  Maybe it was created to make the point that not everything can be conquered and claimed. I found solice in this thought--a piece of virgin land, unadulterated and pure.  But it lasted but a second as black and white images flashed into my mind.  Yes, I seem to remember now, during the Cold War when we landed on the moon and put into the dust an American flag.  A sign of victory?  A badge to man's conquering ability?  Not a sign that says Keep Off I hope...

hello Dream

hello dream weaver
let's shroud another one
in silky lace
in hope and vision
and ethereal peace
hello dream keeper
you deceive me
yet you move me on
if i did not have you
i could not love
i could not know
and be known
dream weaver
wrap another one
a special gift
even if it is never so
i want to believe
in the goodness of humanity
in the beauty of my brother
and the kindred spirit of my sister
dream, dream on
invite and shroud another one

synaptic biography

You are the same to me
locked in a memory
residue of past harmony
lingering on in synapses of my mind
you are not the same
though time, shrouded in mystical haze
tells me the truth that i hate to believe
that you have moved on
that you are not the same
i am a keeper of your history
locked into biological matter
i remember you
not as who you were
or who you might have been
but how i experienced you
and how you kept me back
and pushed me forward
how you held my dreams at arms length
you'd grabbed them, mocked me
playfully held them out as if they were an object to scorn
and then i knew, they were my truths
by the way i reacted so viciously
you exist, and yet you don't
some of you has gone
physically, spiritually, literally
but part of you will always remain
you are a part of me
dormant
your life, and who you were to me,
lingers on, in synaptic caverns of my mind
my blood will filter you out
as unrepentant social structure
keeps me bordering on the precipice of insane thought
i am free of you
when i choose to be
not angry
yet acutely aware
and i am no longer bound, you see,
though i am a part of your walking, biological history

When Cedars Speak

Cedars talk to me
as sweet, fragrant oils rise
from storm ripped trunks

Ocean waves wash me clean
rhythm of repetition, monastically
echoing life in caverns of my mind

Eagle wings watch over me
on thermals of clear sky days
telling me that I am not alone

Wolf howl spirit
present in the wooded forest
footprints on the wave tossed sand

Time spent in nature
revitalizes me, and helps me to return
to the rhythm of my own heartbeat

the rhythm of my own land

Kinsman Redeemer

Lie down next to me
   and bushel of barley wheat
     I'll give you in the morning
to proclaim that we've done nothing here
    only sharing of dreams
       not purposeful intimacy
whisper your sweet requests
    fine tapestry of dreamer's wake
       and upon this evening twilight's witness
    I will profess my dire need
       to know you and be known by you
But first there must be marriage vows
   between us two, in open court
      where witness bare and hold us up
   when we ourselves can steady not
so up you go, sweet girl of mine
    untouched, uncovered in the night
take this barley--enough for two
    and let me see what I can do
          to make you mine
    oh woman, from a distant land
And if my kinsman takes you not
   for he is the rightful man in line
then I will take you to myself
    as we forever intertwine
my heart to yours, oh foreign girl
    you shall not go without a place
your name is mine, my soul is thine
two lives now one under heaven's sky

My Father the Dragon

The only way to the top of the mountain is through icy trails on steep terrain.  For me, the daughter of a mountain man, the only way to the kingdom of snow, is on Dad's sled. I would never entrust myself to another rider.  Dad's agility, confidence, and years of experience make him the only candidate for this death ride.  He does not ride recklessly, though it feels as though the limits of safety are far behind--down on the roads where common folk drive.  He is one with the sled, a lone rider in freezing domains.  My father is a dragon.

 His sled is bright red, the color of blood.  It hums and roars, with open throttle.  It holds a place for me; though I am almost six feet tall, my build is slight, and I tuck nicely behind the handlebars.  To keep warm from the elements, I wear Dad's second set of riding gear.  Fleece pants, long-johns, bib snow pants, and his black Klim jacket.  My hands in ratty gloves, worn from use, grasp the round handlebars, and I tense my muscles to keep my body in place.  It is important not to allow myself to jolt straight up; this would cause my helmet to smack into my father's.  Similarly, I hold a tight brace so my face and body do not smash forward into the handlebars.  I crouch low, and sit in the center, not wanting to impede with Dad's ability to press the throttle or grab the brake.  The helmet I wear is slightly too big, so my hair and hood are tucked up inside to keep it secure.  Sometimes it slides down low, blocking the top portion of my view.  As we ride along, I am thankful for it.  Sometimes I don't want to see how freakishly steep the next climb will be until we're actually on it.  Then I tip the helmet back in place, and take it all in. 

The first time we did this was last winter, and I was in shock.  The panic, induced by the reality of possible pain due to gravity's pull in steep terrain, left me shaking and wishing it were all over.  But this time, I knew what I was getting into.  I knew it would be incredibly thrilling, a kiss of mortality, an embrace of insanity.  And I chose to go in faith.  Faith in life, faith that the things worth doing and seeing aren't always the easiest, and faith in my father's ability to carry me through. 

It's quiet up there, and the snow glistens like a thousand white sparkles in the rays of the sun.  Trees are stunted, and blown over from high winds.  Thick blankets of white crystals have made their homes on branches of bull pine, creating tree forts and figures for the imagination.  The kingdom of snow has a tower called the Crowsnest.  From this vantage point, the ocean and islands can be seen for miles.  Horizons of ridges and wilderness coastlines, stretch out like waking youth, and promise adventure as well as great mystery.  I am as high as the earth rises, on the breath of a miracle wind.  It was not easy, though it seems I had nothing to do with getting here, I did have to consent. I had to harness the fear inside me.  Panic has no place in me.  I worship one God, and every breath belongs to Him--whether in sleep, or fully awake.  It is He--Great Spirit, who destined me, to be on the top of mountains, through trails of ice.  I was born to be a witness of adventure, a seer of great visions, and the daughter of a Dragon.

The End

I woke up this morning at 6a.m. and thanked my lucky stars for the good fortune of finding half a cup of coffee left in the pot.  I poured it steadily into a mug, and shut the microwave door just a little too hard.  Sitting on the couch, with two nights of very little sleep, I cracked the pages of my neuroscience book.  After the first drink of caffeine, I marveled at how alert my mind feels on five hours of sleep and day old coffee.  Today I had two finals back to back.  Neuroscience at ten a.m. and Physics at one.

I've got to eat.  It's not good to take tests which require such cognitive abilities without having fuel.  I took a shower, threw on some disheveled clothes, and dragged myself to the den to buy some breakfast and go over old tests.

I had very little anxiety.  This time last year, I felt like a completely different person.  I literally lost ten pounds during the finals week my first semester at Fox.  The tests for Gen. Bio and Gen Chem seemed like the most daunting tasks I'd yet faced in my life.  But three semesters in, I feel I can take what comes with more stride.

The neuroscience test went fabulously.  I felt like I aced it.  By the time I was sitting in my physics class this afternoon, I was giddy from caffeine and sleep deprivation, and excited that after this test I was home free.  No more school for three weeks.  For five minutes, I had been sitting sideways in my desk, telling my friend Alison all the things I've never done because I  grew up in Alaska.  "I've never been to a Target."  I said.  She was shocked.  "I drove on a freeway for the first time last year, and went to my first concert this semester."  The list went on.  As the professor began to announce the beginning of the test, I dutifully spun in my chair to show I was prepared. To my surprise, the bottom right corner was not bolted and jolted backwards, giving me the feeling that I was falling through space.  "Oh shit!" I stammered in reaction.  After regaining balance, I realized the professor had pretended not to notice.  Here we are at a Christian university and I'm yelling profanities.  I began to laugh.  My friends close by couldn't hide their giggles.
"Did you embarrass yourself?" The professor said in a humorous tone.
"Yeah," I answered.  "That's code for, 'boy I can't wait to take this test!" Everybody laughed, and he gave me mine first.
 The physics test was a marathon of mathematical equations and conversions.  I could feel the glycogen stores in my neurons unraveling to feed the monster of linear thought.  Every muscle in my back tensed up and my neck began to ache.  I have run a marathon before, and that's exactly what this was like.  One painful problem after another.  But I wasn't worried.

It's either the grace of God blanketing my life, or I am successfully living in denial. Whichever, I feel great.

And, I have reached it.  Now I can go home for Christmas and lounge on the couch.  It's the end.