My Safe Places

dancing with the Incas in their ancient worship of the holy snow-capped Andes

floating off towards untouchable blue Tibetan peaks with chanting Buddhist monks

surfing with the seals in the rich smelling foamy waves there in a far-off NorCal paradise

pollinating lovely infrared flower patterns with the other bees on my honey-making job

spending time in the New Stone Age, crafting tools and fighting cave bears

orbiting our earth at the very limit of the exosphere, taking in all her colors

roiling with a strong clean river, smelling the big migrating salmon flashing all around me

getting covered with red desert sandstone dust in all its finely-ground Anasazi grace

peeping out with tiny montane tundra flowers after 8 months beneath deep snow

speeding with the suns reflection across the cup of a huge, cleanly breaking swell

pausing beneath the midnight sun to watch the rivers running to the north

taking in the winter light from a panoramic southern exposure, far from any road

pushing across the bluest sky with the puffy clouds on that perfect day in May

Hunting with the dolphins, co-operating with the bluefins, feeding on the life force

Losing my pre-conceptions as I drop their illusions and tear up my prescriptions

Circulating with the oceanic currents, from the surface to the bottom, all around the globe

Slaloming the methane powder mountains all alone, on the active moons of Saturn

Savoring fresh Indian ocean sushi with the great whites off the coast of South Africa

crossing the Bering Strait with mammoths, admiring vast herds of ice age mega-fauna

fattening with the giant brown bears as my coat grows thick and glossy

watching the first spring sunrise with the emperors on Antarctica’s frozen coast

dining on tons of krill strained through my baleen right alongside the great blue whales

gleaming in the dancing rainbows off the shimmering green cliffs of the Hawaiian coast

sighing with the ponderosa pines as we hear another gust of autumn wind approaching

waiting on the tide for dinner as the rain tinkles above us on the Inside Passage

riding on the chords of good music to a place so far above, where I can only try to stay

watching the sled dogs pull our family away from my final place, alone upon an ice floe

raking that impeccable garden for an eternal moment in a quiet Zen sanctuary

searching blue canyonland shadows with the eyes of a Navajo medicine man

painting spirit creatures on the walls of our ceremonial cave in ancient Spain

meditating with the Buddha beneath the great tree of life, pondering the river’s gentle whispers

gazing up from sunlit coral gardens through the warm waters of our mother ocean

searching for more reassuring sign of the totem that guides me all the days of my life

crying out with the hawks far above by the cliffs where the sunset still radiates

howling with the wolfpack at 30 below beneath the aurora borealis, feeling our mortality

seeking that ancient understanding pulsing so close beneath the thin skin of things

Sanctuario

I finally found this small place inside of me where I can go and really get away

There it’s always cool and shady, it is quiet and I can take comfort at my leisure

No one else can get in there with me but I may freely come and go,

Though I might be long absent, trudging down these hot and dusty roads

But when at last I find refuge again within that clean and well-watered courtyard

I easily imagine, for a while, that it all makes good sense once more

In my leafy refugio, sunlight remains cool and gentle beneath whispering Alamosa trees

It’s easy to unwind with all the loud and randomly chaotic outbursts so far away

There is this small and sheltered patio where I tend the geraniums and my fish pond

Where songbirds still find a home and butterflies are gliding past bumblebees

There the sound of small running water tinkles out its infinite variations

And just a bit of a cool breeze is ruffling the surface of that small pond

Some flower is always blooming and the soil is cool and moist upon bare feet

I remain quite satisfied for periods not measurable within my allotted time

From that hidden mesa, open to the gentle sun of winter, I look out with gladness

And all these good things in their proper places intertwine, with a quiet grace

Clean air wafts the scent of slow home cooking lightly to my nostrils

The stars and the Milky Way are not obscured by foolish nightlights here

I leave the muddy, trail-stained garments outside my precious sanctuario

Then I jump into the clear cool water to rinse the dirt of the world from my skin

There my trees are ripe with fruit and the golden autumn lasts for weeks

When the good rain falls it is always gentle and likely forms a rainbow

In the winter the southern sun warms my sheltered patio in gentle yellow comfort

The children’s voices carry to me and somewhere a wind chime plays quite softly

Time has long sanctified this place and left it to hold ancient memories

Its old timbers, red flagstone patio and sandstone stucco bring a real sense of place

There is no foolish lawn to be mowed, but honest chores still need to be completed

A good old dog splashes through the shore plants as frogs leap into the pond

Songbirds nest and crows gather to tell stories among the whispering Alamosa trees

And far above, the snow blows across those ancient glaciers, upon our sacred peak