When the hero comes back from her journey she is in the greatest danger of all.
The jaws of the ordinary close
around her ankles. The tendrils
of her other stories fill her mouth.
That shape she left behind, empty,
slides up around her
and snaps to.
She might never have gone.
Odysseus went away again, then,
to a place where no one had ever heard
of the sea, his home,…Continue
Added by Page Lambert on November 8, 2016 at 12:46pm — No Comments
The Quechua Puck's flute dancing amongst the Pisac ruins,
sending his prayers to the APUs. Rocky, uneven steps
to the sky were a challenge accomplished. The warmth of the land
lifted into her soul and to her heart, spreading
through to her arms as she hugged me "buenas dias."
Circular moon, Now crescent luna bowl. Hands stretched to center,
gathering and sharing aini. Short brown-skinned gardener
with the snaggle-toothed grin, sharing delight
Added by Page Lambert on October 14, 2016 at 1:20pm — No Comments
To wake up and be already immersed in this sacred place, even using the groover takes on a holy significance worthy of ritual observance. The passing of the key, the communion vessel, with a quiet smile from the sister who bears it; the walk along the river's edge to the shelter of the confessional (though not of sins, but of humility); the opening of the key box that yields unto the women acknowledgement of their sacred bodily fluids.
To sit on the throne, contemplating the…Continue
Added by Page Lambert on September 10, 2016 at 5:03pm — No Comments
Added by Cecile pitts on October 11, 2015 at 5:46pm — No Comments
Sunday, September 27, 2015. It's astounding to me that I am in an airport instead of deep inside Desolation Canyon, floating down the Green River. Was it all a hallucination? No, I have fellow travelers. I can feel tears welling at the thought of losing the wonder I felt. I want to capture it in memory before it sinks irretrievably into the subconscious. Oddly, I’ve just come across a word that describes precisely this feeling: rückkehrunruhe.
According to the…Continue
Added by Lisa Estus on October 1, 2015 at 12:43pm — No Comments
"We might as well say we are organs of the world." David Abram, The Spell of the Sensuous
A deep breath--inhale, exhale--tension leaving my muscles, the lines in my face, more relaxed, the heart muscle less constrained. Lungs of the Canyons. Cottonwood trees and willows--aspiring into the air--river water moving up through their roots to the capillaries in their stems and branches, into the leaves, the river transformed into the air we breathe as the cottonwoods exhale their…Continue
Added by Page Lambert on September 28, 2015 at 11:40am — No Comments
by Kaye Roll
There was a horse I wanted once,
An Appaloosa colt, 15 months old
Seen at the National Western Stock Show,
A dapple gray with white spots across his rump.
He knew he was for sale.
He wanted to pick his new owner.
With some people, he stood back,
For others like myself,
He would come over to the fence to nuzzle,
Take me home, please.
How do you tell a 15 month old colt
Added by Kaye Roll on June 15, 2015 at 11:27am — No Comments
"I have been thinking a lot about how to go about living my life as it's happening and in such a way that I can leave it with no regrets. Toward the end of our journey down the Colorado on the course Page Lambert and I called The Heroine's Journey, Page had this great idea. She gave all of us cards and envelopes which she told us to address to ourselves. She told us to write our future selves a card, something that we would want to remember from the trip, and then put it into the…Continue
Added by Page Lambert on December 12, 2014 at 10:04am — No Comments
As far back as I can remember, my mind has raced like a river running full bore. Thoughts stream through my consciousness like thundering whitewater. Flash floods of ideas bombard me from all sides. Unexpected currents of reckoning pour in from ephemeral tributaries muddying my mainstream and stirring up my already turbid focus. On a good day, I pick up a question here, a validation there, and sometimes an entirely new mix of temperature, scent, taste, and vision come together to form a…Continue
Added by Page Lambert on August 20, 2014 at 12:28pm — No Comments
the mighty callaghan
on the river
the mighty river
red as dirt
comes a woman
we all know her
heart of a giant
voice of an angel
the canyons hear her
and sing right back
rocks up ahead
seen and unseen
you never do know
which one will get you
and when it will be
give your heart then
that wondrous largesse
to live each day
and stay on top
as long as you…
Added by Denise Luttrell on August 20, 2014 at 7:43am — No Comments
Among the kaleidoscope of experiences and emotions experienced on our "Literature and The Landscape of the Horse" retreat, there is one image that hovers…Continue
Added by Christine Hendler on June 14, 2014 at 12:30pm — No Comments
Stetson snorted, his head lowered only inches from the ground, the white plastic hoop a round and unknown thing, foreign smelling, a "man" thing. He snorted again and blew. Small whirlwinds of dust rose from his nostrils. He dipped his nose toward the curve of the PVC pipe, flared his nostrils again, inhaling then blowing the scent back out.
Puffs of dust rose as Stetson sniffed up and around the length of the hoop, first by his left hoof, then by his right hoof. Tentatively, stiff…Continue
Added by Page Lambert on June 7, 2014 at 9:30am — No Comments
The memory of all our voices joining together in this song our last night on the river will stay with me always. Thank you Joy, Alice, Amy, Ann, Barbara and Carmel (you were with us in spirit), Cheryl, Donna, Jessica, Jules, Julie, Kathie, Kerri, Marlette, and Shari.
The river is flowing, flowing and growing.
The river is flowing, down to the sea.
Mother carry me, child I will always be.
Mother carry me, down to the sea....
Added by Page Lambert on September 16, 2013 at 1:05pm — No Comments
"Cowgirl" by Sarah
She's more than her
chaps, spurs and hat.
She's the horse she rides
and the dog at her side.
She's the calluses on her hands
and how soft she lands.
She's the wrangler, she ropes;
she gallops and lopes.
She's the cows, mustangs, all in stride.
She's the eyes that take her far and wide.
He pranced. He danced. He shifted his weight.
Stones skittered away under his feet.
She bumped. He jumped.
She clucked. He bucked.
Added by Page Lambert on June 8, 2013 at 8:00pm — No Comments
"We have recognized ourselves in the stranger," writes Joseph Dispenza in The Way of the Traveler. "Now we move to take what we first saw as foreign in the stranger and to make these things part of the familiar. When we incorporate the truths we have discovered, we transform ourselves. We are renewed. But how do we accomplish this?"
This morning, greeting a friend and neighbor as we walked to the community barn, I thought of what Joseph Dispenza's asked us.
Added by Page Lambert on May 8, 2012 at 12:18pm — No Comments
Syncopated hoof beats
Rhapsody in horse
Wyoming I miss you
Added by Page Lambert on March 19, 2012 at 7:57am — No Comments
Ode to an Eaglet June 2011, Wyoming
I saw your nest high above the Wyoming fields. Your mother resplendent and perched over your still live sibling, now the sole heir to her nest, her food, her beak.
You lie still amidst the prairie grasses in a secluded spot where post and wire dissect the fields in moist pools from overflowing spring melt river banks and the toil of beavers.
Now your small wheat colored corpses lies with its…Continue
Added by candy jones on June 17, 2011 at 10:11pm — No Comments
We walk along the high altitude timber trail passing tall stands of Aspen with florescent green leaves unfurling into spring. We come upon four fallen Aspen their wide trunks crossing our way, ..creamy white and black striped bark like animal skin.
Our riding boots and chaps swish along the grass filled lane dressed with fresh dung droppings. I raise my eyes across the horizon in search of silent standing elk. I breathe.
Red willow branches stretch alongside bright…
Added by Page Lambert on June 6, 2011 at 8:27am — No Comments
Added by wilma claudia sukman on December 1, 2009 at 2:22pm — No Comments