Sounds of Raw Life

This morning I woke in the darkness. The sun rose and barely spread its light across my lawn. I sat and stared into the morning night and waited. In the distance a roar of thunder grumbled, angry that it didn’t get out the rain during sleep time. I waited to see if lightening would strike. Slowly, a tweet of sun broke only for a moment, and I noticed sitting on my window pane, high up in the corner of my high ceiling window, a mother and child raccoon. The baby turned and for a brief moment held my gaze with her piercing dark eyes that sucked me in like a black hole, her stare holding me to her 'Good morning, feed me, mama'. I see this mother and child come to my patio and pool every day. I think they believe it is their private country club. They scurry around, pick at the leaves, sit in the sun and splash their tiny feet into the pool, then run away into the forest that borders my property. Sometimes when it rains, the two hide underneath the over-hang and wait, cuddled together. At times when the winds blow with a soft whistling anger, I see their fear and confusion as the two hurry to find a deeper hole to hide, somewhere between the folding chairs and table. At times I see them gaze out, as if searching for the rest of their tribe, waiting….just waiting for the others to come and join them. I feel this small family of raccoons as my own ancestors. We aren’t the only creatures who wander the desert clinging to the unknown, clinging to a loved one, needing company along the way, eating a gourmet meal of leaves and grass like their last supper, taking a dip into the waters of life...nourishing their bellies and souls in the daily routine of living. I love mother and daughter raccoon…I love them…I feel a kinship to their journey of being raccoons. I empathize with the plight to be a creature of the universe living on this earth, looking for a home.

Prayer to Food and Writing

I pray that my writing will go deep into the waters of my heart, the soul of my truth and continue to flourish in words and images that will connect me to my authentic voice and to other’s hearts in their journey in life. That I will write stories that bring others into being fully human, creative and inspired to live and be loved as only human beings can and were given the gift to do.

The curve of my husband smile

The warmth of my daughter’s heart

My friend’s laughter after she ate a tomato

The smooth, tangled cuddle of my cats

The grief that lives in my belly

My work is loving the world just as it is.

Today was the day I ate a gooey, buttery cheese sandwich and listened to my friend laugh as she ate a tomato that spilled its seeds over her upper lip. After the ravaged years of illness, food being the enemy of my broken stomach, my wounded gaping nerve-endings falling out all over my heart and body, not having the beats in my stomach to push down food, my core being rebelling against anything nurturing, I ate the soft, spongy cheese and bread, knowing I had journeyed far in life to live again. The grief of losing the taste of French fries, bar-b-que ribs, hot tamales, tangy Indian dumplings, Italian sausages, was back again, swimming through my mind as a possibility; a quest to have an affair with, or at least obsess over what will I eat for my next meal. A sojourn I often relished from morning to night. Food was a delicacy, a luxury, a sensation of indulgence that I had taken for granted. But, today I was able to eat a grilled cheese sandwich. This simple ate of trust let me know that inside the gut of my grieving stomach, that I was healing from the death of my sister. That I could walk into a restaurant and smell the aromas of garlic, pepper and oil, and not want to throw up. That my stomach was starting to receive my sister’s suicide and not want to die myself. That I was not hiding the well of tears that filled up my lungs and heart and shut me down to life’s nourishment. I’ve done the work to of clawing my way out of hell, climbing back up to the heavens and arriving to live on earth again.