On a bus back…

heading north after a long weekend with friends. In the place that makes my heart open and grounds me. Seattle is the cosmic. Portland is the earth. Seattle is the creative. Portland is the love. Not that there can’t be love and earth on the cosmic mothership, or creative fire in the shire…these are just words expressing loosely held concepts. I did not take my laptop down and we did not stop long enough to even write on the thing. Seamless flow from one event to the next. White wine on the dark porch, followed by insomnia in an air conditioned haven. Wake up early. Powell books. Delirium. Too heady. Walk in heat wave slow from the Pearl to the Northwest. Pranayama breathing to cool the body. Krishna das, of course, playing in the new age store. Coffee in my old hood. Dinner debating the effects of cult brainwash and when to step in. Hanging out in the back yard with the kids. Eighties dancing in a sweat box. Too hyped up to sleep again. Up early. Head to the sea. Thirty degrees cooler. Soundtrack ride. Deep heart dive. Mala in the salty water. Feet wet. Sun strong. Watermelon on the tongue. Ten pm barbecue. Affection from a three year old. Philosophy with the five and nine year olds, talking about talking. An infinite circle. Love for the child. Exhaustion. Sleep at last. Wake up partially refreshed. Mellow meandering with friends through air conditioned places. Talks about death. Familiar faces.  Mind scoured clean by the ocean, children, insomnia, sun, and dancing. A break from the sacred routine. Pausing to check in. Committing to what’s important. Moving from the inside out. Blanching out the doubt. Mason jars of water. Sweat rag round the wrist. Feminine warrior. Copper slab. Luna and Venus. Returning to what’s been seeded. Manifesting the new and being needed. Summer on the rise. Tired glowing Amber eyes…