Molera. 6:15 pm, high cirrus and fitful breeze. By Ivy Jayne

Strange gulls cry low and mournful
The sound your heart would make
Given a voice.

(I did come to the beach
with my ego intact;
but witnessing this sunset
you can only speak
from outside yourself.)

The tide is coming in
and you can smell it with your skin.
Here:
A place permitting no evasions.

You know there are no reasons for things like this.
The season comes–
Wind through the redwoods–
Branches fall
Contours change
Where leaves lie over last year’s softly buried remains.

But you still make the attempt.
Explanation:
He’s not prone to emotional excess
He doesn’t have a cause to die for
He can’t feel his feet
Or want to lose himself anymore in a life
of places with unpronounceable names
exotic local religion
mysterious women
and better drugs–

Well, no. and it isn’t the weight, either
the workload
the distance to here
none of these absurdities, these essentials;
It’s not caprice
And it’s not because sometimes
you just want to be on the side
that’s winning.

No, it’s the desire
(of course it’s desire)
To go home with something burning inside you
Like sunset clouds
Like saltspray in your eyes
Like strange wine
And it’s knowing that you didn’t say no–

Not then and not once before–

The difference between thirsting in the desert
and being swept out to sea.

–October 2006 (with apologies to Bob Dylan and Harlan Ellison)

to view more of Ivy's meditations & thoughts go to ivyjayne.wordpress.com

Excerpt on chopping woods from Jack Kerouac's "Big Sur"

"I realized you can always study the character of a man by the way he chops wood-- Monsanto an old lumberman up in Maine as I say now showed us how he conducted his whole life in fact by the way he took neat little short handled chops from both left and right angles getting his work done in reasonably short time without too much sweat --but his strokes were rapid --Whereas old Fagan pipe-in-mouth slogged away I guess the way he learned in Oregon and in the Northwest fire schools, also getting his job done silently, not a word --But Cody's fantastic fiery character showed in the way he went at the log with horrible force, when he brought down the axe with all his might ...He chopped off his log with the fury of a Greek god --Nevertheless it took him longer and much more sweat than Monsanto --'Used to do this in a workgang in southern Arizony' he said, whopping one down that made the whole tree trunk dance off the ground --But it was like an example of vast but senseless strength, a picture of poor Cody's life and in a sense my own--I too chopped with all my might and got madder and went faster and raked the log but took more time than Monsanto who watched us smiling..."

If Owl is your personal medicine, no one can deceive you about what they are doing, no matter how they try to disguise or hid it from you. You may be a little frightening to be around, since so many people have ulterior motives which you see right through. Owl medicine people know more about an individual’s inner life than that person knows about herself or himself.

I Dream...

Of attracting an abundance of opportunities to share my gifts with the world 

Of attracting a great love and the opportunity to practice having a conscious, spiritual, fulfilling, unconditional love relationship

Of creating a sustainable life for myself in the vortex, and using that power to blast my gifts out into the Universe, and attract abundance in order to fuel the feedback loop between my energy and that of the Universe

Of letting go of my Ego and dropping into my true Self, the Self that is always connected to source, never separate, never needing anything that is not already there

Of having a clear path in which to manifest my dreams

Of never being afraid of anything, everything is always exactly as it should be

Of having the insight to see, comprehend, and integrate that which is beyond the physical, the formless and infinite source of which I am a part of

Of creating compassion in the world by leading others towards God-Self Realization

Of being a part of a shaman circle and an equal leader within the tribe.

The Esselen Hands - Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962)

Inside a cave in a narrow canyon near Tassajara.  The vault of rock is painted with hands, a multitude of hands in the twilight, a cloud of men's palms, no more, no other picture.  There's no one to say whether the brown shy quiet people who are dead intended Religion or magic, or made their tracings in the idleness of art; but over the division of years these careful sings - manual are now like a sealed message saying: "Look: we also were human; we had hands, not paws.  All hail you people with cleverer hands, our supplanters in the beautiful country: enjoy her a season, her beauty, and come down and be supplanted; for you are also human."

                      Spiral, spiral, spin, spin, call the healing from within....

Turkey Vulture Medicine

Video of Vultures soaring and perching in the Giant Oak over my house with Eagle Song sang in the background