Christine Salkin Davis (Focail do a Chara)

The sacred vows of those who go before reach their roots deep into the earth, foundational knowing, like the oak tree, tall; her shade covers the yellow dandelions randomly growing in the green grass. I am the dandelion, blown about and random, covered by the mottled darkness, protection from the noonday sun, the only sky I know. I wait for the next gust of wind with my hands clenched, eyes shut, but face turned toward the sun. Bravery close up. In the winter of life, all we have left is our self-respect. It is enough. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Alone is enough. My ego wants more, but she is never satisfied --           miserable master. Alone is enough. Opening my heart to love is enough. Sending out love is enough. Being here, now, is enough. You are enough. I am enough. Everything changes. Cells replace every seven years. Seasons change. Moments change into hours and years;           lifetimes. Lives change --           swap death for new life.           Matter changes. Alone is enough. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

I didn't think this storm would ever end, but, in the end, it was just like all the other storms of life, louder perhaps, deafening really. Some people died, some unexpectedly, some jobs were lost. Were you surprised by the urban dustbowl mentality? Some necessary things weren't. Wounds festered openly. Surprising connections held. Some egos lost, after a time. Some courage remained. Terror and boredom, the have-have not divide widened. We became our brothers' keepers. I wonder. Yet, the lizards lay in the sun and the birds still sing. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

I am in tree time now, days fade into days of rising and falling rhythms, greening strong and tall. I am the branches blowing in the breeze, warmed by the sun, rooted in the foundations of the earth. I reach for the light, I search my roots for the source of life, I am nest for the birds. The wind creates a musical backdrop to their songs, and I sway to invisible time. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

May you see through the eyes of love, May you feel through a heart of love, May you speak through a voice of love, May you be love. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Does the aviary bird think of unrestricted flight, longing for the freedom of an outstretched wing in light? Do tigers caged recall running grasslands, chasing prey? Do SeaWorld dolphins wish to swim past waters in the bay? A bee on rose sips sweetness the early spring provides, sharing blossoms' blooms alongside hummingbirds and butterflies; the bright spot on the carpet frames the sunbeam's sleeping cat, and the silence of the night is the night owl's habitat. The dreamer's dreams escape beyond the twinkling stars above; while the dreamers dream all night visions of forbidden love. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

This is a poem to the unpleasant people (you must know who you are). While the world as we know it around us topples, and you watch from afar from your high judgmental perch, hands clean and breath safe, around you people die. But that's the way it's always been -- others are brave while you sputter out lies. This is a question to chadbands, and bums, mongers of fear, villains and fiends, megalomaniacs who drive others to hunger and who are just plain mean, how does smug satisfaction warm your heart at night? How can closing your eyes to other's pain feel right? © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Masks, illusions, death march silence, red full moon, planets above. Wordless murmuring, earthly reckoning, boundaries breached, too-mortal love. Stress sensations yield to nightmares; terrors deep and visions shy Waiting for someone to save us; Waiting for someone to die. Waiting for the morn to wake us, daylight to bring a new clear sky. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Disruptions, and the fog of disappointment settles in. The violin plays her sad song and I rest in the refrain. The foundation's cracks look wide; I wonder how long it will hold. The familiar isn't so familiar any more. Is anybody listening and what are they listening to? Invisible enemies have always been our downfall, and Father Death has always been the Great Equalizer. After the storms, Mother Nature brings her clean up crew. The sun is trying to emerge from behind the clouds, and, without fail, spring follows winter. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

See the redbird perched, precariously, on the branch, as a gentle breeze ruffles the trees, their heart-shaped leaves wriggling in the sun. Time stills, and sad songs wail mournfully, but still the birds sing. Death demands attention daily in the headlines. This is the revelation: the deep blue sky punctuates puffs of white, violin notes float in the wind, and graceful wings soar, outstretched. The breeze caresses your face. This is a love song. If you turn the abyss upside-down, it is vast, open sky. Even starlight shines. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Soul Door Disrupted. Disappointed. Burning. Dying. Waiting. Keep death before you. Abyss. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Even when your cave of safety is darkly shadowed, when silence echoes and your heart beats ominously loud, when all you see are the dying embers of a dying civilization, let the music of your heart overtake your mind. Fill your world with love, find love, be love, let your heart bleed, tears flow, and bathe in the flow of love. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

May the warming sun melt your fears and warm your heart. May the dark of night protect your secrets, keep you safe. May the cherry blossoms bring you joy and butterflies. May the greening earth spring life, regrowth, default to life. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Sometimes life is like a wrestling match, against invisible opponents and demons of the night, as close as your next breath, and beyond your next thought. Sometimes there's a bird and a breeze and sun, and the peace of the earth overtakes you. What's left, when the only thing left is who you are? © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

It takes courage to read the headlines and still do what needs to be done, like get out of bed and stuff. Life is a dress rehearsal for death. The mystics say to "keep death always before you" -- but -- really? We are living out divine performance art, again. Looking into the abyss too long burns your eyes. I thought I was living in a romantic comedy. This was not the turn I expected this story to take, it's much too dark. I'd like to opt out, please. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

I hope you are safe and healthy. I hope you have a home to live in, with WiFi, and people to talk to, but not too many, and I hope you have food and are not too anxious or depressed. I hope you don't get sick and die. I hope to stay at least two degrees away from death, maybe three. I hope I don't need my advanced directives, but I got them out anyway (oxygen okay, ventilator, no), And I updated my will. I hope you don't need it. I am ordering everything online; I hope you are, too, and I hope you have a job (and can work from home), or money. I hope you have a thermometer, and Clorox wipes, and plenty of toilet paper and ice cream and wine. I hope you are safe and healthy. Today I learned how to fold a bandana into a face mask. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Living the fallowed life; rest. Under the blue sky, among dive bombing bees, into the one necessary thing, the important things. The ground is firm, and the air caresses. The soaring birds, the butterflies congregating on the cherry blossoms, the bird songs in the distance. The foundation holds. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Unwanted endings, yet the sun still shines. Doors nailed shut, didn't get to say goodbye. So hard to see beyond these boundary lines. So hard to hear beyond the cries and sighs. What if nature decided it was time to give us time to let our old world die? Perhaps this temporary pause is fine, an opportunity to reset my life, time. Perhaps this dropping solitude, retreat, this closing door, will clear debris from my mind. Perhaps the stillness today will overcome my fears, improve my mood. I'm trying to learn how to let things be. I'm trying to learn how to, presence, stay. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

The world is burning; will the firewall hold? The smoke stings your eyes but you are mesmerized by the red-hot flames, watching everything you know turn to ash. The ember floats to the ground, and already new buds form below. The foundation holds and smoke rises. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020