Prayers for people in Turkey and Syria

I took this photograph with my phone yesterday before I heard the news.

The ambulance has been out for a week or so, along with the doll tent. Two doll babies, the doll doctor, various pieces of equipment. I took the photograph because the cats keep “helping” and it keeps looking a bit like a disaster. Sigh. I wish they were just doll disasters with giant cats wandering through, not real earthquakes.

I wrote Flooded after the tsunami in Japan, about PTSD and about feeling helpless watching. I think we all have a little post-Pandemic PTSD and are more hair trigger and more ready for fight or flight.

Send prayers and money and huge blessings on on the first responders that are heading there or are already there.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: strange.

Fancy hammock

Previous.

I am Elwha, cat.

Mother got us a hammock, a two story structure. Our food can be in the lower section and I can sit above and keep an eye on it. Even when the bowl is empty. I am still hungry, but she is being a little more generous. She still feeds us in separate rooms. My sister and I race to check each other’s bowl when she opens the doors again. I like the wet food. My sister likes the dry food. Mother gives each of us some of both. We trade.

I am still doing offerings in my bowl in hopes that Mother will be more generous with the food. My sister had her head in the food bag the other day but Mother saw her and closed it up. I wish I had hands. I would open more cans.

Meanwhile I do like the fancy hammock.

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For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: fancy.

Learn young

This child is not afraid of the saxophone because she is growing up with it. The saxophone player is her father. She’s ready to help and be up on stage as well! She’ll have a fabulous jazz foundation and her father didn’t miss a note!

This is Tuesday night at the Bishop Hotel in Port Townsend, Washington. Chris Miller and Peter Leopold Freeman.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: saxophone.

Spring?

It was cloudy most of the day yesterday. I went to the beach when the light was fading, so at 3 pm, and the sun was peering underneath the edge of the clouds. Groundhog Day, so does that mean we will only have five more weeks of winter? Or four? Or mixed with the sun peeking through?

I found my first moss agate, too.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: optimist.

This is not a short watch, but they are where I go when I am worrying.

Disorientation

Oooo, I put orientation up as the Ragtag Daily Prompt today. Then I wondered if disorientation is a word and it is! A mouthful!

This is a series of poems or meditations or arguments I had with myself last week. I was thinking about love and how to handle people that I love that have stopped behaving in a loving way or have actually been cruel or cut me off. Do I stop loving them and hate them? Do I love them anyhow? What would that love open me to? Abuse? It is disorienting to think about. Here is the series.

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The Fall

I am small. The adults love me and give me away. I grieve each time. It doesn’t matter if I behave well or not: they leave me. I decide that the adults are confused. They do not know how to love. Why don’t they know? I want to understand! Babies should be loved! We are innocent!

All babies should be loved and protected. I do, with my sister. The adults continue their mysterious crazy doings. I recognize that alcohol does not help, nor other choices.

All babies should be loved and protected. All adults were babies once. Sometimes they were not loved and protected and they are damaged. I train and then I doctor them. Healing is slow.

All babies should be loved and protected. All adults were babies once. All adults hold a baby that should be loved and protected: themselves. I try for a long time.

All babies should be loved and protected. All adults were babies once. Each adult makes their own choices, to heal or not. To grow or not. To love themselves and the Beloved or not.

All babies should be loved and protected. All adults make choices. The Beloved loves them all.

I am not the Beloved. Nor an angel. I dream of falling.

I am not the Beloved. I let go. I fall.

I do not love them all.

Rise

Yesterday I fell. I let myself dislike four people that I loved.

But no, I choose not. Angels fall and rise again. I choose love. If that means distance, then I choose distance. For now I will love the cruel ones from a distance. No contact.

The Buddhas laugh at the needy ones, the angry ones, the ones who press. Some will be enlightened, some wait for the next life. The Buddhas laugh because they do not control it. It may be the quiet one who says nothing who rises, while one who wants and wants and wants may have to want for longer. Why, Beloved? Isn’t wanting you enough? Isn’t longing enough? How much must one want? How deeply must one long?

I choose love.

Prayer to Kwan Yin

Kwan Yin, I am sorry. I cannot be a Bodhisattva. I am tired. I grieve. I want to love everyone. They hate it. If I love the small child within they are reminded of the hidden hurts and they lash out. I am tired. I don’t want to be the target of that. Kwan Yin, how to do you return and return again, loving these? I am not strong enough. I give up. I throw myself on your mercy, I bow to your infinite love and strength, I abase myself. Forgive me, I am not strong enough. I give up. I do not have enough love in my heart and I am so tired.

Beloved, I am sorry. I tried.

Every Being (Sonnet 9)

Keep the cruel ones at a distance far.
Hold your enemies close in love’s embrace.
None to hate, yet cruelty glints like stars.
I hide quiet with cats in this home space.
My heart opens like the universe.
Projections batter me from head to toe.
Why tear at me with their deep hurts?
They project their pain: inside they know.
They know, don’t know, choose not to learn.
Dark rooms and texts and staring at the screen.
My skin scalded, heart black with new burns.
I think they’d like me too to turn out mean.
I will hide here with Beloved’s dove.
Each tear I cry sends every being love.

In spite of want

Sol set in my heart and rises again. I can love whoever I want. There are no boundaries to love. But I will not be abused or used, I will love quietly and silently and without letting my love know. And I will love who I want. No, I will love in spite of want, though I do not want to, though it is not deserved. But I honor my stubborn heart that does not let go of love.

Blessings, Beloved.

I must demur

I am Elwha, cat.”

I love my brother, but I must demur with him. He worries so.

It is true that we nearly starved as kittens. Our first mother disappeared and we cried and cried. We were picked up and brought to a strange cage place, with many many animals. It smells of fear and grief. Some of the cats are older and displaced. They have lost their families and are very sad.

Still, there was food! My brother is worse off than me, and often shoulders me aside when the food comes. I slap him with my claws if he is difficult and I get enough to eat. They give us more food than we can finish.

People handle us and pet us daily. At first I don’t like it but then I do. Elwha has a louder purr than me but I don’t care. The people must earn it.

Two women come one day and handle me and Elwha. They leave. Two days later we go to a very strange place and sleep. I wake groggy and kick my brother. The women are back and we are put in a smaller cage. This worries me but I am so groggy that I cannot fight. We are shaken for a while and then she lets us out.

In what turns out to be home and she is Mother now.

I am helping Elwha with his installations in the bowl. It is silly. We are not going to be starved. In fact, Elwha was getting portly and now he is a finer figure of a tom. Mother feeds us in separate rooms. I don’t put offerings in MY bowl, but I am willing to help him. We both enjoy the tissue paper, especially when it is red. It’s a bit of a waste to get it wet, but it makes him happy. I enjoyed shredding the last piece on the stairs, like a scene of death and destruction. I would dearly love to do the same to the birds, but Mother takes us out with harness only. I still like to go out.

I am Sol Duc.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: demur.

Rain song

Thoughts coalesce, precipitate
wet earth soaks rain and turn to mud
snow melts and soaks the bosom of the earth
sun warms, worms break down tattered leaves
what stirs beneath wet brown muddy ground
we listen for spring’s soft slow moving sound

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For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: precipitate.

Taken in December 2021 in Maryland.

Lichen song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t0MvY6m_5yI.

And another: