mid day...what is my name in anishinabe?

hot , humid -  i walk slower

see things

get lost

make an offering

butterflies...the monarch, the mourning cloak

wind in the sycamore asks me if not now when

grasshopper swoops in, lands on the trail

i step around

Anishinaabe  is a collective term that refers to the Ojibway, Odawa and Algonkin Peoples, who all share closely related Algonquian languages

spring, just now summer

spring , just now summer
lush, thrumming, hoppers singing
something in the clouds

elusive blue jay bird, laughs
flies away from me
but look - they are everywhere

 something in the clouds, in the lake, ground squirrel, blue-black feather (raven?) wild rose

in one everything already is

scrap of paper long ago scrawled, some unintended koan:

one must be an angel to contemplate sin
i am a fallen angel…

now, i am more than willing to walk with my demons

because, anyway – they still insist

guilt is there, for avoidance -  or further transformation

regret too, dragging a clock

keep walking

bless me for i have wondered

looking for opening

considering even paths of apparent resistance

in a word or two: healing , expansion

keeping close to mend; reaching to open,

(drawing the 10 of Swords followed by the Fool requires good humor)

into what is already there

leslie ahc 6/23/15


image: 2006 dreamythology tarot

Thoreau's Sense of Place

The Pond
narrative quilt, 24 x 32
for the Thoreau Society Annual Gathering 2015
July 9-14
This year's theme is Thoreau's Sense of Place

Workshop 1, July 9th:
Recognizing, Dedicating and Celebrating Thoreau Sites : Jeff Hinich and Leslie A.H. Cochran

photographs on fabric: walden pond, henry's headstone, the cairn, altered thoreau portrait/maxham studio daguerreotype, text from walden : chapter 9  "the ponds"

batik, hand dyed and hand stamped fabric

detail, left

detail, right

"good morning world...what is my dharma?"

words out of my mouth this morning. opened two eyes to guanyin, with 6th chakra illuminated. offering clarity and an ocean of compassion. have mercy. rest in what you know.

wandering outside. bee loving trumpet flower, collecting pollen from a pesticide-free source. i will help where i can. in fact, just keep asking "how can i help".  and say "thank you".

bee shadow...her little 'feelers'. make my heart ache in a good way.

ganesha, lord of beginnings

any god that looks like an elephant, attends to your root chakra and kicks obstacles to the curb, is ok by me.

walking the lake again, just now. chanting "om gum ganapataye namaha."  round and round. would i see the squirrel again?  no, this time a pretty pigeon. a man is crouched low following her, so i stop to ask.

"this is a homing pigeon. i'm trying to catch her and throw her into the air, so she'll find her way home." hmm. so this little pigeon and man dance now has my full attention.  i would have thought it some strange courtship display of pursuit and avoidance, if not for the obvious incompatibilities that their conjugal union might present.

"what can i do to help?'  i ask.  as i get closer, i can see the bands on her legs.  "why do you have to throw her into the air? can't she fly on her own?" and just then, she takes off low to the ground, presenting lovely tan and white tail feathers, but lands again, not very far away.  another man walks by: "same bird was here yesterday." not living up to her alias then, not heading home soon.  was she lost?  dropped off blindfolded by a bored caretaker?  or maybe she's going against the grain, intrigued by wild relatives, a new roost.

"she'll find her way soon, unless a hawk gets her".  this last pronouncement has me happy that a drooling dog straining on his leash, flushes her out of the bush and high into a tall sycamore.  i  was cheering for her as i continued on.  round and round.

message from june

today is the 7th anniversary of my mom's death.

this photo was taken in aunt betty's kitchen circa 1977.  probably her birthday, she looks to be opening something.  joy in the moment.  this would be a couple of years after the cancer diagnosis.  the one where they removed a breast and told her she had a year to live.  she traveled in that year.  and her best friend took her to mexico to get a controversial treatment made with apricot pits. why not?  if you get a death decree and radiation and surgery are all they have to offer you, give some exotic contraband a try.  something bought her 30+ years.  she went to college and got her AA degree, made the dean's list and earned her own money - not relying on my dad.

mom always said to me "after i am gone, i will communicate with you, so watch for it"  my response was always a dismissive: "mom don't talk to me about your dying...whatever you say mom, ok."
after her death, there were small things in dreams. but the clincher occurred on April 16, 2010.

that morning i awoke at 2:45am with a headache and went down to the kitchen. it was absolutely quiet. i stood there eating a piece of bread, and i heard music from the cabinet across the room - the strains of Swan Lake. i had to pull dishes out of the way to get to it, the christmas music box that my mother had given me. i held it in my hand CLOSED, just as i found it. it was playing rapidly as if recently wound. obviously the way these devices work, they need to be wound and opened; closing them shuts off the tune. i opened it and closed it again and then it stopped.  i felt unsettled and so instead of saying "hey mom", i went back to bed.  my mom's sister died 10 days later. don't know what happens after we make the grand exit.  maybe she was circling in close for that event and dropped in to deliver that promised hello.