by Kathleen MacGregor

Walking out into the morning
This morning
The clouds were splashed across the sky
Like balled up socks
Scattered on the
Bedroom floor
And glowing and
I remembered Loving Sprirt
I met the day before and
Every moment he has been with me
Unrecognized and
Unknown
And his waiting was still
But
Sobbing with his desire to love
To love
He wants to love
I never knew he had any desire
I only saw him floating
Before
Above the ground and faintly
Barely even there
But that was me
That was me too
So where in me
Is this being
This Loving Spirit
It’s bigger than I thought
How much there is to cop to
To own
Finally to love
And I heard his wedding vow
I want to dance with you
I want to march with you
I want to drown in your love
Oh, here he is
Now
Coming down
My love

by Kathleen MacGregor

That day, it was raining on the mountain.

Dragons flew between wisps of vaporous exhalations.

The earth breathing deeply in her sleep,

my face wet with rain,

I phoned him to say I wouldn’t be home.

I was on the mountain in the rain.

My wildness had been touched

like a spark touching autumn grass.

I was alight.

I was the most myself I’d ever felt.

Now you come into my dreams,

like last night,

Sweetly pressing your tear to my cheek.

Your breath whispering, melting.

And then you’re gone.

And I realize it is I

who has left myself behind,

waiting for the joyous kiss,

that says I will stay.

I will.

by Kathleen MacGregor

Let me tell you of my loves.

I love rain.

Rain on streets and sidewalks splashing.

Rain in the woods,

Soaking in.

Rain shocking bare skin

In a garden. At night. In winter.

Bare feet.

I love the symphony of rain

And the whisper.

~

I love the golden dried grass

Of California.

When I’ve been away,

The sweet grainy smell breezing down

From the mountain,

Brings tears to my eyes.

I don’t even know why.

But I let them come.

~

I love fingers in my hair

Braiding and brushing

And how our voices

Sound like purring

When we’re talking there.

~

I love spicy Autumn,

Sharp and russet,

Smokey and thickly sweet.

Sharp, goodbying light.

~

I love dancing

When the music finally deafens me

To the voices in my head.

And I watch my hot feet

Pounding down the cool, green grass

And love blossoms like a flower

From the crowd

Growing to the sky and rooting us

To the earth.

~

I love the sleepy sound

Of children’s voices in the morning

In their room.

Early, orange sun

Glowing through the windows

Which watch them

Like loving parent’s eyes.

~

I love the oceanside

Waking up my senses with salt and wind

Rousing the aching desire

To reach further, deeper

To create.

Seagulls staring unabashedly,

Determinedly, at my lunch.

~

I love your hand

Alighting upon my waist

When I’m washing dishes

Sending chills up my spine

And melting the tension of separation.

~

There is another love of mine

I can’t name.

It’s the one

Secret love, shared

Hidden, everywhere.

Fox knows. She smiled

At me this morning

On the path

Behind all the houses and their

Backyard fences.

Even behind the orchards.

Fox knows.

by Kathleen MacGregor

If I had it to do over,

I would have turned to you

With my full face.

I would have spoken.

I!

I  am the woman of this house!

You are swallowing the nourishment

From my body, my work.

My hands my Love.

You will either pay respect or

Get out!

Brimming with Her fire- full, fearful rage

I would have seen you tremble.

I would have seen you pared down

To naked fear and insecurity.

The same that carried you here.

The same you so desperately denied.

And, that, I might have loved.

O! But that fire did not reach me.

I who am speaking now.

Was not mine to send,

In that moment.

Mmmm! The grief of having held the fire, snuffed the fire

Just because I knew there was another, deeper story.

I knew there was more going on

Than seemed on the top.

I knew of another message you brought.

A message provided

To one who could be discredited.

For I must have been on a pedestal

To be so toppled after all…

But how that fire inside does burn!

Aching to stretch blinding arms skyward

And everyway to be seen and heard!

To burn for every woman who has ever burned and

Been burned.

O! She is burning! She is burning now!

And you

Are nothing but smoke.

by Kathleen MacGregor

What would Love say?
You ask

With open jaw
Open throat
Heart tenderly opening
Belly
All the way down
Rippling
Open
O
O
Love would say,
Hello

Beyond hello

Words subtract
When Love would speak
Search not for words
Words are not
Love’s native tongue

So listen deeply
Move inside
Would Love wiggle?
Slide?
Dance?
Weep?
Fall to the ground?

Feel Love
Let Love move you
And listen
To the wordless answer

Feel Love’s pleasure
When you feel
Yes

Cry tears
For the times
Love said Hello
And was turned away
Shunned like an untouchable
Unrecognized
Feared and taunted

And now
Hello
Feel Love’s reception
Inside of you.

Now you are speaking
Love’s native tongue.

Oh! There I go again…
Thinking that there’s no place, in the world,
Where I fit in.
Where is my true home?
Where should I live?
How far must I travel before I find my people, my town?
There I go again…
Down the road of tears and fears
About being alone and what is wrong with me
That I don’t fit in anywhere?

So I ask myself,
“Well, what do you bring to the table?
What do you have to offer?”
I look at the tray I am holding
Across my arms,
Which lay softly upon my lap.
I am bringing radishes and cucumbers
To the table.
Without any dressing-just plain.
Not even any salt or pepper.
Who will want these?
I want to be the bringer of the best salad
On the table. Dressed with a dressing
That everyone wants the recipe for.
I want to be surrounded by admirers
Looking hungrily between me and my salad
And I want to say, “I’m sorry. Only I have this most
Special recipe and it is so secret and so special
That no one else can ever make it again.
Except me. I am the one. I want to be
The most popular.
That is the road I have travelled when I’ve wanted to fit in.
Cucumbers and radishes, though,
Are what I want-
And so I bring them.

Without dressing,
Many people will pass them by unless
They are denying themselves something else—
What they really want.
Many won’t even see me
In the whirling , glitter of fancier dishes.

Someone, like me, though,
May pick up a crisp, cool cucumber stick,
Beaded with tiny drops of it’s own water.
And that someone may notice how simple,
Clean and authentic –how
True, the cucumber tastes.
How refreshing! How, like a cucumber!
How snappy-spicy the radishes. How
They wake up an old memory of late spring in
Your grandmother’s garden…

So what about fitting in?
What about finding home?
I am home, the only place for me,
The moment I awaken to my own private pleasure,
In radishes or anything,
And become the most popular person
To me.
And what I bring is simple
Clean and authentic.
True.

We
Circling around the moment
Sending out energy streams like tentacles to touch
The moment emerging.
To touch each other and ourselves in that
Emerging moment.
Energy streaming from all the hearts
We all witness the pulling out of that thread.
We all pull
Out through the throat of one of us
From way deep down-
And every one here
Is drawing the thread.
Wanting the pictures that are painting themselves
To be seen from that place
Like wisps of smoke from the mouth forming into
Form! Colorful, truthful
With a lot of deep blue.
Blue so blue
We cry for the blueness.
Also golden yellow.
Sure of itself in the space of welcome.
Truth comes through our desire
From our desire to have truth with us
In manifestation.
We are all the fathers and mothers
Of the truth being born and growing.
Truth is born from We.
Joyous to be the body
Birthing.

I fall asleep and find a door.

I open that door and John is there

Telling me about Heart and appearing slightly ragged. I feel afraid.

Once, I opened the door and there was the man with the beard

Who had been a snarling, stinking wolverine

Just moments before- stalking me.

Me and my sister terrified through the jungle

Only to say “You have  a lot to learn from fear.”

And once, I opened the door

And planets floated within my reach like jewels.

And I, speechless, felt myself in their presence.

And once, I opened the door to shallow, blue pools of crystalline water

Beckoning me to swim.

Once, I opened the door and found myself standing on the sea

Drifting northward, looking into the blue glacier holding blue light, time.

And never once did it occur to me to leave the door closed.

I want to open the door.

And each opening of the door is the first

Opening, clean unattached to other openings, new.

In dreams, fear is not something to stop me.

In dreams, I have no history with fear.

There is only the innocence of now.

That and the desire to reach out with hands, eyes and heart

And open the door.