We Stand On Hallowed Ground

We stand on hallowed ground
There is no other place to stand
It is time to descend from the mountain
And work with our hands in the warm moist valley,
To nurture the needy soil, our mother soil,
Which we have neglected and abused,
For too long.

Capture the dew to water her flowers.
Invite bees and butterflies with purple blossoms.
Trees will grow heavy with rich fruit.
Leaves help compost the land processed by bugs
And field mice, and the leavings of our passing by.

Jehanah

All Hallows, All Saints, All Souls

Aunt Sally

On Friday I received news of the death of my Aunt Sally.  At first I felt numb to this event - she had struggled with serious health problems for the past few years, and this seemed to be a timely relief to her suffering.  We had not seen each other for many years, and we seldom corresponded anymore.  This morning a lot of memories came flooding back, and I realized my great personal loss and just how much I am going to miss her.

When I was a little girl, my family would stay with Aunt Sally at her home in the Pacific Palisades.  She had a beautiful home on a tree-lined street.  She had a swimming pool and a garage full of children's toys. In her house there were pianos and paintings, and her two sons had their own rooms - one of them slept in a loft.  In her modern 1970's kitchen there was a trash compactor and tickets to Disneyland stuck to the refrigerator with magnets.  Her children had rockets.  She made amazing dinners and desserts, and in her home meals were served at a dining room table (which seemed alien to me).  I remember her husband smoking cigars in the parlor and teaching his sons how to swim.  I remember the family dog, Skipper.

In the Summertime our families would meet up on the coast of Maine. We rowed and sailed boats, we walked through the woods and on the beach, we gathered seashells and blueberries, we drew height-lines on the closet door, we sat on the porch and did nothing.  Granny Becky and Aunt Sally and Aunt Debby sat and smoked cigarettes and kvetched.  I honestly cannot remember what the rest of the family was doing.

One year Aunt Sally took me on a cross-country drive back to California with her son Michael.  We visited friends and family in Connecticut and Massachusetts.  We drove past New York City (I could see it in the distance).  We camped in a tent and read Edgar Allen Poe by flashlight.  We visited Graceland in Memphis, Tennessee.  The next stop I can recall was a visit with cousins in Albuquerque, and at the end of the trip we stayed in a fancy hotel and ate at a fancy restaurant - I think this was in Las Vegas. Then I was back on an airplane to the streets of San Francisco.

Sally was a lovely woman, she was sunny and happy - I can still hear her laugh.  She was bold and adventurous.  She was thoughtful and kind.  She sent birthday cards.  I still have a little porcelain box she gave me when I was 12, with a peacock painted on it.  She was my Aunt Sally, and I loved her very much.

The Purpose

All of evolution, all of history
all of life, all the life forms
all the gills, the feathers, the hair, leaves
all the fins, flippers, hooves, hands
all of the spectrum, all colors
lead to this

To sing, to dance, to shout sweet words
to the Sun, the Moon, the Earth

Jehanah

The Wake

   She showed up at the wake

    right at the last, my schizzy friend

   after the ceremony and remembrances

   much as if she were slumming

   the art gallery shows and openings

   dressed to the chic nines

   Writing three pages in the guestlist book

   sampling the food

   drinking some wine or beer

   gabbing with friends

   rearranging the flowers on the altar

   around the humble urn of ashes

   and the small cross placed there

   by the grandson of the deceased

   as a special favor to the family

   Did she know the deceased?

   Oh yeah!  For years.  No question.

   lots of love between them.

   Even then, all that time,

   she was always a lush and a moocher.

   That's why I liked her.

   Jehanah

Remembering Steve Mackin

          Steve was a good friend, I am really going to miss him.

THE HOST OF THE AIR

by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

'DRISCOLL drove with a song

The wild duck and the drake

From the tall and the tufted reeds

Of the drear Hart Lake.

 

And he saw how the reeds grew dark

At the coming of night-tide,

And dreamed of the long dim hair

Of Bridget his bride.

 

He heard while he sang and dreamed

A piper piping away,

And never was piping so sad,

And never was piping so gay.

 

And he saw young men and young girls

Who danced on a level place,

And Bridget his bride among them,

With a sad and a gay face.

 

The dancers crowded about him

And many a sweet thing said,

And a young man brought him red wine

And a young girl white bread.

 

But Bridget drew him by the sleeve

Away from the merry bands,

To old men playing at cards

With a twinkling of ancient hands.

 

The bread and the wine had a doom,

For these were the host of the air;

He sat and played in a dream

Of her long dim hair.

 

He played with the merry old men

And thought not of evil chance,

Until one bore Bridget his bride

Away from the merry dance.

 

He bore her away in his arms,

The handsomest young man there,

And his neck and his breast and his arms

Were drowned in her long dim hair.

 

O'Driscoll scattered the cards

And out of his dream awoke:

Old men and young men and young girls

Were gone like a drifting smoke;

 

But he heard high up in the air

A piper piping away,

And never was piping so sad,

And never was piping so gay.