Poems from the Pacific

I've just finished a week of body awareness work on the Pacific coast, which involved a lot of journaling.  Here are some poems from the week. They're not great poems, but they release a little more of who I am becoming.

Harvesting Moisture
from the Fog Bank that ebbs and flows in a dance with
the solidity of the rock cliffs.
My rocks no longer bear weight
They slip out from under me with no notice.
I seep moisture from my deep making them
even more slippery.
From where comes the moisture?
Saved up in a piggy bank of the soul from a long dry life?
Is it clear plasma from a deep wound that is healing,
no longer leaking life feeding blood?
No mind.
It is My Fog Bank wrapping me in it's no man land
of directionless free fall.

I am one fissure of multitudes,  here to release
the yearning,
keening,
despairing
pain
that washes us all into the next life.


The reverberations
in the bowl of my pelvis, ringing it, ringing it
with different harmonics.
This is my base,
in pain or pleasure it holds me.
What shall I fill it with?
sand? feathers? milk weed fluff?
It used to hold eggs-
time to fill it with cool nourishment, with joy.
"Weebles wobble but they don't fall down"
My breath breathes me, rather than me breathing my breath.
Ring it.


Melange of Seaweed salad
kelly green and umber brown
burgundy and moss
wispy waves, bubbles, baubles
veil dancing starfish purple, blue.
Anemones in attendance,
large open mouthed turds and clusters of shell encrusted young ens
amplify the stars.
Jamie's hat immerses me in
Seaweed vision.
My eyelashes sweep me into a kaleidoscope  of wispy color.
I swim my body electric
pulsing with the waves,
discovering my star amongst my weeds.


Listening
to the feel in the knee, the hip,
as I shift weight onto them,
are they fluid, aligned, able to bear me?
Am I?
Listening
to my appetite
Is it scarcity or abundance calling me?
Is it treats or Life I'm hungry for?
Listening
to the meaning behind the words,
to the action within the action,
the current within the channel pulling me   where???
Listening
to the whale songs within me
Whooooo are you?
Whyyiyyy are you?
Whaaaaaaaateee do you want?

I want   to hear.


REDWOODS
ARE
deeply rooted in time and place.
A fairy ring of young ens rise
around the dead.
I will be that empty center
someday
grateful for those who eat my residue
and reverberate with my good intentions,
as they grow into their own
sacred space.


The Fog Bank seeps
as layers within layers within layers,
as am I.
The ocean currents carry me deeper
"than soul can hope or mind can hide".
I dream I am releasing my particleness into the waves,
breaking, swelling, holding, frittering away energy on the shore,
awash with oceanic abundance.
There is no going back (longing, aching, exhaustion)
only forward,
diving into the Great WHAT IS
emerging to dance once more
in a new form of this thing called LIFE.
"I am not done with my changes"