It has taken four days to settle, to draw inward 
 for a month-long stay at Ghost Ranch, New Mexico 
to compose stories…write this life….and 
it has taken four whole days, just to begin.
Four days—not to clear the mind, but
 to dampen the senses, relieve the quickened pace of
change that happens not in hours, not in minutes
but in moments.
I walk the heart labyrinth for guidance, asking 
when and how (?) shall I begin,
for each afternoon brings shape-shifting light

 

And I cannot look away 
from a leaf on sun-baked sandstone, a rattler coiled silently in the portal, multi-hued outcroppings, and shiny stone cliffs.
I wash my clothes and hang them on the line, and cannot take my eyes off the deep blue mountains and gold sand hills, the spires, and buttes and gypsum-strewn arroyos the bones, stones, and dried piñon wood.
How (?) shall I begin I draw deeply the fragrance of antelope sagebrush, walk a couple miles to dinner each night, and poke the earth’s skin with my stick.
There is no stillness in this outer world: animals and insects are jumping, running, fleeing,
above and below, in front of and behind
hummingbirds buzz, a deer poses

lizards sprint and rabbits dash
in my peripheral vision ravens light 
and lightning strikes 

a dizzying theatrical performance, this earthly world.

Amplified and untethered, how (?)
how (?) shall I begin?

*Title: I am a Dweller on the Threshold  -Van Morrison

0 thoughts on “I am a Dweller on the Threshold”

  1. I can't think of anything to say that Lindy hasn't already. I'll be visiting Ghost Ranch next week, just for a day, and you have made me very anxious to get there. The writing and the photos are full of beauty.

  2. Breathtaking images . . . . I won't even get into the fascination with the 4 days that it's taken you to settle, 4 being a number that speaks to orientation — directions, seasons, etc. I am deeply envious of this experience you're having — and taking it all in at the same time. My own mini-experiences with quiet (I'll write it) and space/light perception (since seeing the James Turrell exhibition are giving me even more appreciation of yours.

  3. Now I know where you are. I've been there, although only passing through on my way to Abiquiu and beyond.

    In my living room, there is a copper basket filled of the sort of souvenirs I favor. A piece of those resonant red cliffs lies buried in the collection. I believe I'll bring it to the top, as a reminder that what lies within needs an occasional assist to become visible.

  4. Writing teachers often tell us to figure out, who is our audience? After much thinking on this, I've found I've got one goal: to emote…to hopefully make the reader feel something. I am so happy this piece moved you!

  5. Yes, the red dirt. Today is the first day it rained in 7 days…and the different shades of red flowing into the dry arroyos is remarkable…which I had my paints! Thank for your lovely thoughts, Linda.

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Welcome to the creative playground of Image, Sculpture, Verse.  I live in a river town nestled in the Chugach Mountain Range of Southcentral Alaska.

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