Morning Monsoon Medicine Walk by Michelle Katz
Entering the canyon,
Seeing all that’s changed in a place I have not visited for awhile.
Recalling places of deep connection yet long departures.
Marking the end of disassociation.
The beginning of reconnecting to myself.
Severing from, a world of distractions,
Inviting in, a slowing down.
A yellow butterfly and I
Taking turns on guiding.
The sound of an owl or coyote or dove mimicking the call of the flute,
I miss playing.
Rock and juniper play here together well.
An avalanche occurred
and while all adjust, I marvel
at the way the canyon wall seemed to just let go of this mass.
The ceremony is in me.
Rain meets the desert in a sweet way.
I step into earth’s clay, play.
Feeling the connection
in-between my toes
and fingers, lathering water and sand in.
Making handprints that won’t last.
The clay drops off but the earth remains.
Clay shoes I put on and lose again and again.
Geckos, centipede, butterflies,
We all want to be in the remnants of
That lead to the Great River.
What happens when I avoid the shadow?
Even as I sit in it.
Has it hit me so hard in the past?
Am I no longer willing to relate?
The ants bite my clay-covered toes.
I feel the generations.
Every one learning from the last.
Every one criticizing the next.
Everyone wanting better for those they love.
What place do we have
to place our understanding of happiness on another?
Can we all be right and wrong simultaneously?
Happily chasing lizards we never catch
Returning to rest.
The primal instinctual beauty of love and loyalty.
The juniper roots are twisted,
And the branches offer much needed shade.
And the Canyon that holds them is vast, alive, brightly warm and complex.
The rock pillars at the top are not my aim;
It’s the getting through with clay shoes
I lose and make,
again and again.