Running with the wolves…Part One

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I woke up thinking of a note to the universal lover and it said this
I don’t want to live a life without you looking at me in awe
Without me looking at you and marveling
at the freckle where God kissed your cheek
I don’t want to live each day without you
noticing the curl that has escaped my braids
Without me seeing you across a table
and wondering just who you really are
I don’t want to spend me days not seeing
your fragile power as your magic
Without me feeding you chocolate on a hot day
I want to live in splendor. In fire. In water. In hearth. In winged air.
I want to breathe possibility.
I want to see the color yellow, truly, each time. And point it out to you.
But you will have already noticed that and the bluebird next to the yellow.
I want your breath to remind me of God breathing us from soil into light.
I want to take vibrancy in like medicine for the spirit.
I want the soul’s organ to spin brightly and with aliveness and wholeness.
I want to tell stories to you. I want you to feed yours to me like hot plums.
I want lay beneath bright fronded branches letting light through
and notice how the light makes patterns on your skin.
I want to make altars everywhere I go and include things from your pockets.
Lint. A coin. Some matches. A rosary. A tiny lovenote. A small white stone.
Anything will do as long as it has belonged to you.
Because every day is sacred if we choose for it to be.
Just start with lighting one candle.
I don’t want to be asleep. I don’t want to miss anything.
I want to cry when I feel like it. And laugh even more.
And I want to have as many kisses as I feel like having. Okay?
I want to know what you want. Truly. This is what is important to me.
Do you think I am asking too much?

Perhaps.

At least if I know what I want and give it to the muse for spinning
my longing will not go unexpressed. And sometimes. That is enough.
To embrace it and hold it gently and then send it
as a paper ship on the next wave to California’s white sand beaches.
Or a message in a bottle. My message in a bottle will be covered with kisses.
What about you?

I arrived in at my room at the Ranch and was overcome with gratitude that I had brought my magic mac afterall. Right before I left home, my phone stopped working, and I couldn’t be without a way to tell some part of my story. I am off of e-mail but I have to tell you truth — I wanted to write the first moment I saw the rocky mountains. When I saw the hills covered in sandstone that I used to paint on when I was in my twenties, I wanted to write to you. My husband before now, he and I would climb up an up those hills and collect smooth flat stones for painting – fill our packs with them. Sometimes I would bring sumi paint up there and we would paint stones and leave them. Sometimes we would find a soft flat stone and make love under the pines. That was a long long long time ago now. But the smell of that sandstone makes me think of love.

I was happy to discover enough makings in my magic basket for an altar. There amongst my rhinestone flip flops and my sunglasses was a candle. chocolate. and Quadalupe belt buckles to serve as my icons. My room held single peacock feather for air. A wooden bowl for earth. Fire from the restaurant Root Down in Denver. and a sip of water for water. I had everything I needed. Oh yes. And a journal. Some sharpies. My mac. And my i-phone for my storytellers companion which started working again. And the bracelet I bought this morning from my friend, Heidi of joyfully adorned.

I am here on a vision quest to run with the wolves. I went and saw the chair of Dr. E. first thing. – Clarrissa Pinkola Estes, the chair she would sit in to speak to us tonight. I was immediately sorry I had followed the instructions to make no offering because I wanted to cover her chair with red rose petals and put chocolate with almonds sea salt for her. I wanted the chair to be a throne – red. I wanted there to be fir branches on either side. I wanted there to be a Persian rug for her feet. And so I came to build my altar and spin the first few red threads of the tale.

It must be working – my desire to be new and leave old stories for a while so I could be available for new ones. Because I forgot immediately my intention that I had set for the rest of my year upon arrival. Funny how intentions can slip under cracks of doors when one is least expecting to find themselves intentionless. Ah…but who knows what I have come to gather up. I don’t. I know the stones made me think of love lost. And the morning made me think these words to a lover I do not know but have always known. I know it is time to go swimming beneath the blue Colorado sky that I once called home. And I knew it was time to write you. Writing you captures the beauty and while it may be as hard as bottling clouds to share an experience, we can try…

I will listen for LaLoba tonight and see what bones she wants me to sing to.

Shiloh Sophia

p.s. and yes the altar has a my ragged cowgirl hat  – because I carry the Cosmic Cowgirls with me everywhere I go.