Posted by: jruthkelly | July 26, 2014

The Moon’s Say So…

The heart of the soles of my feet of dancing sigh…they ache on earth pulsing a song long begun, hearing ancient knowing, yearning through the toes to the top of my head.

No ounce of will can bend the tides without the moon’s say so. No gumption of the reddest desire can re-write the years gone by or shift the mountain aside.

So, my feet wait and sigh, humming earth tunes through my being, reminding centuries of roots stretching deep, breathing life in spite of all the carnage haunting dreams left wanting.

And to my end this may be the most these soles know: to grow old in the hum of an ancient song and wait for the next expression of love, to know that only those gifted with fortunate favor and a timing divine make it beyond the mountain and across the sea, only those who dig deep find the center – the one source shaping stories for love’s next challenge, to know one’s failing may be the other’s best and that a world crawling on her knees never gets invited to the wedding feast.

Courtesy Of Dave Grant, 2011 - 2014

Courtesy Of Dave Grant, 2011 – 2014

Posted by: jruthkelly | July 17, 2014

Safe Harbor

“One cannot have doubt about that which he wishes to trust. To trust love you must be convinced of love. One cannot admit what he does not yield to. To yield to love you must be vulnerable to love. One cannot love what he does not dedicate himself to. To dedicate yourself to love you must be forever growing in love.” Leo Buscaglia


shore breaks here whisper
something about constancy.
love knows all our fears

tossing in tides of
change. we cling to sea’s uproar
’til the silence sighs

and we float ashore,
tumbling mystery and
faith in what we know.

Blog Post Image 2014

j. ruth kelly, 2014

Posted by: jruthkelly | July 16, 2014

Bloomers and Braids

Gonna buy me some fabric at the store by the coastal mystery, the one with no roof

and no walls ‘cept for rows and rows of fabric rolled up waiting for newness and creative wonder

and a woman whose hair is white, her hands full of keys, so many keys as she laughs at me, but not mocking.

She’s on the shoreline in the white sand at the counter and the cash register is awaiting her usual purchase. As we laugh and talk, her man is hiding amongst all those reams of fabric, spying out at me, knowing.

His dark highlights contrast against all the pale sand and call to a sea just within reach.
He trusts implicitly the woman with all those keys.

Gonna make me some bloomers from the fabric or, maybe no, I’ll do what the beautiful woman told me to do, “Order it from a catalog” ’cause…

I’ll be too busy having fun, too much going on to bother with patterns and eyelet fabric. Or sewing machines.

But fabric, I’ll abide. It hides all the best secrets and covers the future in white refusal of shame.

Gonna go find those hair bands and all the jewel-toned loose ends plaited neatly into silver sync.

And I will laugh.

And laugh. As the man behind the bolts of fabric, standing there in his safe fear-filled haven hides
and waits for the bloomers to reveal his best days: Unafraid.

One day, I’ll see his face.

j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved

j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved

Posted by: jruthkelly | July 3, 2014

Slipping on Daylight

chasing daylight blind,
slip covering soft on soul…
my eyes failed to see.

unending shimmer
blinding clarity’s assault,
suggested love flow.

and within me now
the seeing reveals truth’s hide.
cover me quickly…

relocate heart within,
and behind the bars of life’s
intended refuge.

 

j. ruth kelly, 2014

j. ruth kelly, 2014

 

 

Posted by: jruthkelly | July 1, 2014

What It Be…

“Love is a momentary upwelling of three tightly interwoven events: first, a sharing of one or more positive emotions between you and another; second, a synchrony between your and the other person’s biochemistry and behaviors; and third, a reflected motive to invest in each other’s well-being that brings mutual care.” Barbara Fredrickson

Stepping out into a sudden deluge of rainpour, I found wet pavement for my bare feet and a redheaded son in tow. After a week of rest after surreal travel setting my health back a bit, this feast was unavoidable. And beyond welcome. My youngest followed me out into the night and the grass underfoot was all squish wonder, wet and cool. The maples overhead, as I walked intently towards the street and the strange light in the torrential night air, fluttered under a relentless pounding wealth, dropping more fat wetness onto the top of my own red head. And I kept walking, my ancient son behind me, chattering, asking me “What are you doing?! Where are you going?!” He was shocked. I had gone from couch to doorway to outside in a fluid, silent spill. I couldn’t respond. I just laughed. Then finally the inner upwelling of little girl spoke, “I have to get out there to the street…” Then I stopped at the curb and stomped in the flow of water running like mad down the road. He balked at my madness, echoing my own endless reflections on non-point source pollution and all the possible chemical ick getting on my skin. I could only laugh, shrug it off “Whatever!” I stepped into the street, realizing my 75 year old Mama was stepping into the yard too, chattering away with my other ancient son, Isaac. They were laughing and following at their own pace. No protection, the intent clear in their progress under the same trees, towards the same street and surreal light. I spread my arms out wide and lifted my face to the downpour. Something I had murmured, I don’t recall, evoked spontaneous response in Evan. He shook his head and smiled and grabbed my arm to pull me into a hug. And held on. For whatever reason, he had needed my silly girl response to rain and fears of stupid chemicals in waterflow. He needed that reminder that I’m playful, girl, not just Mom. Then we were joined by two more and the walk down the road began. My own girlish Mama soaked to the skin and Isaac too, we laughed our way down the street. For a moment we did the silly walk, arm in arm, one leg crossing over the other’s (like the Monkeys, if anyone remembers such), singing. But mostly we basked in what it be… in love and torrential earth/sky fusion activities. We made it all the way to the end of the street and I had to turn around. It was the best I could manage after being laid out with my health for a whole week. But what a rush of renewal…

Once back under the maples and away from the street light, we lingered, all of us, chatting and grateful for a rainfall without the risk of lightning and the cool breezes coming up from all the gusty tanglings of elemental surrender. And because my youngest ancient child spoke of how we’d likely forget the moment, however wonderful, I have put this to post here. One day he’ll remember and laugh and the waterflow will call him out for another dance with the agelessness we all embody every once in a while. But I wonder where the world would be were we more eager to forget age and role and hair color and anything but soul as we soak up the song of rain, abandoning custom, worry and obstruction for just one more dance with the child within, how much more freely would love erupt and grow.

j. ruth kelly, all rights reserved, 2014

j. ruth kelly, all rights reserved, 2014

 

Posted by: jruthkelly | June 26, 2014

Gated Keep

a question arising
sings my stance:
still,

enclosed; love brews my fresh
refusal
of

drive by blithe, unfeeling.
treasures sweet
melt

into soil infusing
all these hours’
till

j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved

j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved

Posted by: jruthkelly | June 25, 2014

Shiny Badges

The older I get the more I realize how flimsy love can be in some relationships. And how ironically stalwart, solid in others and some just relentless, regardless of how inconvenient, unconventional and even mostly unavailable. I’ve left my marriage but the love is there for us both to be human (flawed), helpful (magnanimous) and flexible (willing to bend when it will help all of us). We aren’t married but, we’re married to the clean up of leftover messes and the nurturing of ongoing commitments. I’ve witnessed and been witnessed, all the worst colors of the bad and the ugly. And there’s not any petty stomping off like scared children on the playground way back in the mean streets of “elementary” school. It’s the same with my relationships with others – love full. But too few, in terms of solid, lasting maturity in relating. I look in the mirror and wonder why. I realize there are some things I’m just not going to tolerate, like being misrepresented intentionally – hence the loss of a “friend” I dearly loved last year and the resulting storm of lost connections because of the poison. And the year before? A friend of decades had no stomach for my lack of stomach for another turn of stomping on things precious, ironically. I wasn’t allowed to be human and so, no words for 2 years now. No vocal words, just those messages most safe, via social media and some texts. But I’m definitely out because I wasn’t able to do another dance with confusion in that particular long bond. I shake my head thinking of the many roundy rounds I’ve been through with confusion in another relationship. And some confusing rounds I instigated too. The love is still there. There’s no stomping away. It doesn’t seem to make any sense. But I try to make sense of it. Then there are those who are just lost in a sea of indignation because in spite of having unsuccessfully attempted to help them while being in the midst of some of my own surreal schedule and scary health challenges, I didn’t pull off the paint job. I scratch my head. This? This is love? These ridiculous missteps scattering people and creating twisted piles of “logic” like “I don’t have to say I’m sorry if I’m not sorry.” I want to say “Oh, really? Duh. Congratulations on knowing how no one makes you do a damn thing you don’t wanna. Congratulations on not feeling sorrow over loss. Congratulations on finding a shiny badge for that.”

And that is where I am after the last round of poetry and river song, somewhere between remembering the vibe of love and wondering why it has to be so randomly seemingly absent at times most critical. And why my own flaws can’t be less tiring, troublesome and hurtful. There are times when it truly feels like all the universe is waiting for is that one misstep or missed step and slam. But see now I’m whining. And I don’t do that if I can possibly help it but today, mostly, I would like to feel less affected by loss and more able to put on that shiny badge everyone else is so damn proud of.

Posted by: jruthkelly | June 7, 2014

All Those Rivers

my feet find me here
on soil and dirt speaking some
long, unending drum
song sung before all
was lost to progress killing
the unfolding feel
of soul from earth revealing
love’s eternal work.

somehow the dance moves
me beyond the fall and fear,
bounty awaiting.
mind kneels to feel
and naked knowing births earth’s
song from depths ancient.

take me always back
to the animal and sage,
my feet drinking all
those rivers erupting earth’s
resonating love.

j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved

j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved

Posted by: jruthkelly | May 28, 2014

The Speaking of the Tree

“There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African, the Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheik,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.” Maya Angelou

Here’s to a beautiful life and guardian of all things soul…

Life Living

jRuth Kelly – Copyright 2014

Posted by: jruthkelly | May 25, 2014

Something Deeper…

” … you start to go for something deeper. You start to go to meet another human being in truth. And truth is scary. Truth has bad breath at times; truth is boring; truth burns the food; truth is all the stuff. Truth has anger; truth has all of it. And you stay in it and you keep working with it and you keep opening to it and you keep deepening it.” Ram Dass (on soul mates and love)

 

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