Saturday, January 3, 2009

Bowing Down, Sojourner

Going to the high places is an ancient gesture of reverence, of separation, of coming close to the holy.

Bowing Down

If I could leap past
The asphalt of my life
I would climb your hill.

I would ascend grassy slopes,
Take in the scents as I pass.

On reaching the height
I would lay a round rock down,
Then I'd bow down too.


Leavetaking, dying, knowing when to stop. Years ago I learned two things, that I am on what I hope is my last time around this planet...that I am to live as if this is my last day every day. I have noticed now that I am over sixty something has changed. I am relaxed about all that. Far from this attitude being some kind of bluster, it is actually my truth. My only issue now is I hope I avoid a really difficult death.

I have to hand it to my mother, who managed to die of a stroke. That took three days and most of it in coma. While she was in coma, she still communicated her needs. She started to pass on that last afternoon but my sister was in flight and wouldn't arrive for a few hours. Mother started to struggle and it was clear that she was not ready, so we gave her morphine and she quieted down. Not even an hour after my sister got to the hospital my mother passed, having let my sister say goodbye. A nearly perfect death.


Truth: I am happy
And also willing to go
Even if I go now.

Perched on my shoulder, my guide
Ever shining, lit by bright beams.

Coyote travels
Before me. I trail his heat
And his holy scent.


  1. I love the poem spiritual and
    sweetly loving.
    The story about your Mother is
    wonderful and speaks again to
    the awesome power of love.

  2. Thank you for your comment, and for visiting.

  3. Hi Christopher, It's interesting when we get to our age, that feelings and thoughts easies to the more gracefulness sides...


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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