The Mouth of the River: The House is a Nest for Dreaming: Singing Bowl with Sage

The Mouth of the River: The House is a Nest for Dreaming: Singing Bowl with Sage

The Mouth of the River: The House is a Nest for Dreaming: Singing Bowl with Sage

The Mouth of the River: The House is a Nest for Dreaming: Singing Bowl with Sage The Sober Cabin

The dream of a cabin over and over, in the woods, green gabled, dark with character. My mother was waiting for me there.
It was a home beyond any home I had ever known. A home with room enough for my thoughts. Shelves for my books. White scallop-edged curtains on every window.
The story theme of shyness and disability arranged in the corner table by a glass menagerie sitting on a rounded wood table in the corner of the room. It all looking to me like a diagram of what to figure out in this life, with elephants, ducks and horses patiently waiting. It was a place to be safe from all the storms. The basement grounded deep in the earth giving gravity to what moves inside. I am able to be still. I am a master of reflection here. It feeds me beyond bread. My heart can feel its beat.


Only I know what I overcame to belong here. The constant pounding thoughts, the hammering words given to children. "Stupid, Lazy, why did I have you? What are you good for? I hope God punishes you like he did me." The screams over a spoon left in the sink. The silence that holds no peace.

It was a cabin strong enough for my personal storms. Strong enough for love to enter. My mother waited for me there, years after dying and being reborn. The exhaustion I feel with each dream repeating itself over and over. My mother comes alive each time five years after her death and I must explain to everyone how this happens only to me - she is dead - she is alive, I must adjust and then she leaves again. Of her own choosing, gone with no known address, and again I grieve into exhaustion. Trying to explain how this keeps on happeningin my soul : torrential storms that just pass over leaving every tree and branch bent under the weight of wind and water.

The Mouth of the River: I Hate Going Back to Writing About Flowers and Sex

The Mouth of the River: I Hate Going Back to Writing About Flowers and Sex

It does seem to me that life has gotten exceedingly complicated lately. With everything electronic, there is never any room for leeway or dropfulness. Why can there not be more dropfullness in the society. Dropfullness meaning a new concept that drops the obvious from results.
Why does every thing in Burlington Vermont have dire consequences?  The city is now outlawing the people's choice to sit on a sidewalk. We have to carry chairs  with us everywhere? Why are they not using the time to creat free places to look at the  lake? Or better yet, a place for people to live. There are very few decent apartments in Burlington and the costs a prohibitive.  Why does a single woman making  ten dollars an hour have to rent an apartment that would cost 75 to 100 percent of her paycheck. Then the cost of heat in t he winter and transportation to work and back would probably put her back on the streets as homeless. I am just rambling as there are families who are homeless and the problem of homelessness in Vermont and country wide is getting larger. I believe in ten years there will be groups of fifty or more roaving around the country, sleeping and eating huddled together in masses, ever to grow. There is a possiblity that we will never catch up to the  problem and it will grow like a virus with homeless people sleeping in our drive ways and streets.. Bumping into our bicycles on the bike path... why not start building affordable homes? Why not let people afford to live here?
Why do we insist in closing our eyes for so long....