The (love) songs we sing - part 3

     Of course, this is my 111th blog post. Numbers, always with the numbers. And this is part three of my  lunaversary, anniversary, valentine's day trilogy tribute.

    Today is my and my Beloved's 39th lunaversary. What is a lunaversary, you are wondering? Our love was consummated as the five days in February came near their end. We were in a Kamloops motel after driving through a snowstorm with all-season tires on the Coquihalla. It was February 19th of 2019, we could drive no further, and a young woman delivered our pizza. I had never thought about the fact that perhaps every other pizza that had ever been delivered to me was delivered by a man, until the contrast of opposites stood smiling at me through the motel door. But I digress. We haven't even had our first kiss yet and here I am jumping ahead. To make a short idea long and complex, we celebrate each full moon, sometimes with a kiss, a mention, a foot rub. Earlier on, more often, with flowers, gifts (rainbow themed ones), cakes... 39 moons of loving.

I wrote this poem for my love today. Unedited, with baby at my feet, in about ten minutes (it could use some work):

For you, on our Lunaversary

Thirty-nine moons

full swoon

Time goes by so soon

Ethereal eyes of the deep-dive loon

And I am still, 

                loving you

I wonder if we have a tune

Celebrating the love and the ruin

Time-torn patterns mangled and strewn

Butterflies, both of us, emerge from the cocoon

And I am flying,

                     loving you

When we rise at dawn but wake at noon

songs of love from the speaker croon

Hearts bleed red, burgundy, and maroon / I know you will never leave me adrift, marooned

And if they lie our bodies 'neath icebergs or sand dunes

I will be sleeping,

                      loving you

    My love has a rhyming dictionary. I didn't grab it for the writing of the poem, but maybe I should have? I ran out of -oon words! Spoon! Of course. June, as in June's Lunch. 

    Come see JustBee and her amazing hand-crafted jewelry on February 26th in Highland's on 112ave in the old spooky fun La Bohème (which now houses Fox Burger and June's Lunch-it is worth coming just to go to the bathroom, so eerie down there). I will be doing a reading of poetry just for fun!

    If you wish for more exciting details about my first date to the ocean three years ago and the intense, apocalyptic love that has me growing, learning, and co-creating and nurturing new life...well, you will have to buy my collection of short stories, once I write it!

    

The (love) songs we sing - part 2

    Before we get to the part where we go on our first date all the way to the pacific ocean, which was sort of our third date, let me tell you about our first date, an afternoon coffee...

    It was freeeeeeeezing. February something, I can't remember for sure. I had decided that I should be friends with a man, someone that felt safe and that could restore my faith in the notion that men are safe to be around. I remember the texts, I remember rolling around on the floor of my third story subsidized apartment after writing: "Well, I guess you could see me sooner if you asked me to go for coffee or something." I didn't know then of his oppositional tendencies. He never did ask, he asked what days would work for that and then I followed up with the actual: "How about..." was it a Wednesday? 

    We went to a place near the river, just in case we wanted to incorporate a nice walk, but, the freezing. I arrived first, ever the punctual rooster, and he appeared not too much later carrying a water bottle filled with NGW. I thought it odd when he refilled his tea with water from it (how could cool water re-steep a tea bag?). Now I agree that it is much safer to drink steam distilled water. But the more remarkable thing about the bottle was that it said "Nathan" on it. It was purple. I had not long before prayed to Creator holding the Eagle feather that had belonged to my brother-in-law's brother. I prayed hard, crying, praying for my Beloved to be sent to me. The feather of Migizi had belonged to Nathan. 

    I felt shivers when I saw the name. Of course, I didn't tell him. I don't think it is advisable to reveal that our love is fated to be on the first coffee. He spoke though, telling that he saw an Eagle on the drive over, flying just over the graveyard on 107ave while Bob Marley asked him: "Could you be loved?" over and over through his car speakers. Eagles. Nathan. I needed very obvious signs from the universe to break free from fear. 

    I feel it has taken at least three years of sometimes struggle, having me hum while the words "nobody said it would be easy" while I hear him bursting with "I still want the hard life!" to reach the point of really knowing, deep in my bones, that: "Love will lift us up where we belong, where the Eagles cry."

The (love) songs we sing - part 1

    

"Could you be loved?"

    Three years ago today I texted a simple "Happy Valentine's Day" to my beloved one, but we hadn't done more than touch shoulders while watching a film at this point. I suppose he fell in love with me when I slid into second base 7 years before our first coffee meeting, but I didn't know that for a long time. My first reaction upon meeting him and playing on his ball team for the weekend was one of curiosity: "Why the strange moustache and mismatched sock pulled up so high?" And still, something about the way he walked drew my Spirit near; I now recognize it is the powerful connection he maintains with Spirit as he walks that first had my outer cells orbiting towards him, unbeknownst to my psyche at the time.

    I was in my office at the U of A when I texted the Hallmarkian capitalist greeting. He responded with some facts about St. Valentine, maybe it was something about relics and where Mr. Valentine's skull is held, I can't quite recall. After the shoulder touching incident I awoke craving him next to me. "For fuck's sake!" I chastised myself, for my intention had been to have a male friend. Nothing in my conscious thinking mind wanted a relationship, not after the hell I had been through, a hell from which I narrowly escaped. But escape I did! And I was practicing sinking deep into my body to listen to the wisdom there. So safe to stay in the body, such truth to be accessed. 

    The next day, on February 15th, 2019, I dropped my little T-man off at daycare. I had somehow managed to have 5 days of childlessness in a row ahead of me, and with no work after 3pm. I sat in the Kia a moment behind the old McCauley school. "Body?" I breathed deeply, wiggling toes and squeezing butt cheeks together to bring my traumatized self back inside of me. "Body, if we could go anywhere, where would we go?" The dissociation of body from self was still rather obvious. The answer came quickly. "The ocean, of course." Is that possible, I wondered? I guess so. "And with whom?" Why with Timothy, of course. Oh no...no, no. 

    The impulsivity. Body is texting. Stop it fingers! What are you doing?...click. Send. "Do you want to go to the ocean with me?" I wrote it. I sent it. And then I began to buzz with a mania that is almost unparalleled in my experience. Now the waiting...except I barely waited at all. Almost instantly he replied: "I can be ready by 4pm." Oh no oh no oh no, what have I done? I am terrified of loving and being loved, more than ever I am scared of this. And yet, my body, the universe, life, the ancestors, the beloved dead...they are all guiding and blessing this union, orchestrating this moment...

"What is in a name?" Miinan Emma Star

Each of us is called something. Many times we identify more with a nickname, a second name or even a mononym (like Madonna). 

As a parent to three beautiful children, I must say that listening for their names to come was one of the greatest honours of my life. I heard Xavier's name whisper to me while my bare-feet were walking through the deep dark topsoil of our family garden when I was 13 years old. It took me holding Terran in my arms, feeling his earthy weight, to hear his name come. And now a sweet, special girl has also come through me to dance and to play, to love and to pray upon this beautiful Earth.

My partner is Anishnaabe. He said, quite early on, that our baby would have an Anishnaabe name. I felt that this statement was true. Yes, she will. I do not speak the language of my partner's people, but I do hope to learn as much as is meant for me to learn. So, once in awhile, I would do some looking. There are online dictionaries and sources. Eventually I stumbled on The Ojibwe People's Dictionary, an excellent resource that includes the voices of Elders speaking words, as well as full sentences. We also consulted with Elders from my partner's community in Ontario to be sure of pronunciation and so as not to rely on an internet source. 

My Grandma Mina was such a special person in my life. When people ask me who my hero is, I tell them that my Grandma is my hero. She was still alive when Xavier was born. We went to see her in the hospital pretty much every day. She would hold him and say, "And now you wonder what you ever did without him." She died about 3 months after he was born, 3 days before my birthday. 

After she passed away, I knew that I wanted to honour her if I ever had a baby girl. I was thinking second name maybe, who knows. So, as baby came closer and closer, I wondered if I searched up her name, maybe just maybe there would be an Anishanaabe word associated. Then I found Miinan. Miinan means blueberries. I got shivers all over my body. My grandmother LOVED picking blueberries. I mean, she literally was willing to stay in the forest with a mama bear and her cubs to keep on picking. Her and her sister would get stuck in ditches and drive great lengths just to find a good patch. I dare say that her favourite thing to do in the whole wide world was probably picking blueberries. 

When baby girl twirled out into this world, she just has the most beautiful perfect little face. She is SO beautiful and cute. Maybe the first evening home, my Beloved said, "She kind of looks like my Coco." I asked, "What was her name?" He told me it was Emma. I said, "I love that name. It is such a sweet name." So we had her second name. Our two Grandmothers honoured together but with Miinan having her own special name too. I only recently remembered that my great-grandmother was also called Emma. The Matriarchs. The Grandmothers! Bringing Peace, Harmony, Love and Wisdom <3

And, of course, Star. Maybe we are all Star children, that is what my partner believes based on stories from his culture. But I know that Miinan is a brilliant Star baby. She has been waiting so patiently to come, talking to me and guiding me for years now. And now she is here!! 

Her last name is a balance of masculine and feminine lineages. A hyphenated way forward that I hope we can all achieve, the yin and the yang. The Divine Feminine and the Divine Masculine dancing Heart to Heart, side by side, in a world where we choose to base our actions always on Love rather than fear. 

I stood beside the River today

"Twirling Home"

Standing beneath the Pine Tree
from on high my eyes can see
dancing and twirling merrily,
the ice floating down.

The sounds the River can sing
from the clinkety crystalline of spring
to the crush and scrape these ice chunks bring,
as they make their grinding sound.

All edges and jaggedness wearing away
the ice travels onwards, but here I stay
feet planted on this Land, upon which I pray
that the River of Faith make me round,

too!

There is me and there is you,
and so many more of us too!
We can journey along, sinsonging our songs
open and ready
feeling deeply strong and so steady.

At our core we are more
dense than even the nucleus of the Stars!

So we bump and then grind
sparkle dust dispersing to shine
on all that it encounters.

And then someday we find
all the magic of being mutually entwined
reveals our own roundabout way home.

We float and we stride
side by side, ride the ride!

And remember, we are never
and have never been
alone.

Losing track(s)

"Lost but not Found"

I am not sure how much many
I am supposed to do. To be.

Certainly more than I am.
I can never be enough.

If I could just be more and better
Then maybe he would not have let her
Into his arms?

Surely this was proof of my uncouth ways.

Will I be safe from all pain
If I can be just the same
As the best person ever?

Will money and prestige
And making sure everybody likes me
Mean that I will never
Have to hurt again?

There is always one more poem to write
Always a reason to end this fight
I should be able to choose even more light!

Right?

I have lost track of how much more I should do.
Maybe all this searching will never lead me to true.
Maybe I am already perfectly new
And fresh.

Like the snow that keeps falling.
We can shovel it away while the children are balling
it up to make fluffy, breakable projectiles.

And if we rest just awhile, the blanket can cover
The wounds brought about by one too many past lovers.
No paths out there for me to take, it is time I discover

That the Garden of Love
In my metaphorical Heart
Is what I am
And there is no part of me
That is not already perfect and free.

How many before tomorrow?

"There is still time"

I think that tomorrow is the end.
I will have made it.
I think.
I must write though.

Hopefully the words can flow
From my finger tips.
Soft lips whispering inside my head
As I type...

Writer.
Am I?

"This Morning"

I want to be the kind of Mother
The Mother that never makes them wonder
I want to be the kind of Mother
That is always a kinder Mother
Than I was last time.

Oh the words don't rhyme
When I yell.
"Mommy! Stop talking mean to me."
Guilt. I yelled. Again.

This guy just won't be reasoned with.
Spirited. The book says.
"Like regular children, but more."

Me too. I am more. And never too much (for the right people).
More emotions. More perceptive. More intense.

All this simply means: Apply More Love.
And sometimes my cup runs out.
I tried to take a time out!
Last night.
What a joke. He spoke with tears of abandonment when I left the room.
There must be some other tools to keep us all living and loving along.

I sing songs. We pray.
And at the end of each day
We all know how much we love one another.
I guess, at least
I am that kind of  Mother.

Not a perfect one.
But we do have fun.
And the love flies free
Fluttering joyously
Amidst my Sonshines and me.

"Did you just lick my foot"

I will let you be a puppy
If it means you eat your supper

I will let you run all wildly
If it calms your energy and you mildly
Snuggle in tight.

Tonight, you bounced and giggled.
You squirmed and wiggled.
We laughed and maybe tickled
Awhile.

Sometimes you lick.
Sometimes you swear!
Sometimes you even disappear
And hide on me.

You ate that candy from the sidewalk.
You covered the walls in coloured chalk.
You filled the toilet with paper and squeezed it.
You sniffed the pepper and then you sneezed it
all over the place!

And then, when I sing,
(like Buffy Sainte Marie)
You keep on doing
all the things
"Just  like little kids do"

Except you are more likely to pee
On a great big tree
than in a puddle.

"That I Might Climb a Mountain, Even Once I am Old and Grey"

I saw Buffy recently
She speaks and composes so eloquently
For the people who have long been silenced
Who have been oppressed and treated with violence

And she is still carrying on
So damn strong
At the age of 78
She looks better than great

I watched her move about that stage
Filled with hope; thrusting love at the rage
We should all feel when we realize
The injustice of the Treaties broken before our very eyes.

I intend to use my voice too
I don't quite know yet what I can do
But act in service to Creator I must
Placing my Faith in the Great Mystery, I trust

That I can make a difference too someday
Strong enough to climb mountains, even once I am old and grey.