El bosque

Quiero ser más como el bosque

Sabia, presente, generativa, colaboradora

Una entrega a lo que es 

Al rendirse al fuego 

Y una resurrección al soltar sus semillas

Antes de volverse ceniza.

Quiero doblar por horas como el bosque en un huracán

Dejando que el soplo de los vientos se lleven lo que ya no es necesario y deje lo que es esencial y eterno

Y en esta purificación 

Todo lo que queda para nutrir es lo esencial. 

• Patrícia 22.junio.23

A Treasure of Stories

 A Treasure of Stories

by Patrícia Cerqueira Seidler

There was a time when stories were shared

Well before books and e-books alike

There was a time when stories were shared 

In the truest of original audiobook form

There was a time when stories were shared 

Over and over again they were shared

They were passed down, 

Loved, expanded, edited, remembered 

There was a time well before the first book

When stories were shared so that one day

Books would be written and read

Loved, expanded, edited, remembered

There was a time well before the first book 

And thousands of years after the first story told 

When telling and sharing stories always existed

Sharing books and reading connect us to each other

And to that which is eternally unfolding 

The vast human experience and humbling mysteries of life

That connect us to each other and other dimensions

To worlds where we want to belong and worlds we come home to

In reading we can travel, mother ourselves, dream, strive, and thrive 

In sharing books, we ensure that the endless treasure of stories are 

Loved, expanded, edited, and remembered

La Mar es Madre

Mother Sea, la mar, shows us change is the truth and the way.

Ebbs stretch into flows.
Crest, equilibrium, trough.
Temporary.

Temporary.

Vast, expansive, abundant.

Present, salty, quenching.

Perspective.

Perspective.
Buoyant anger morphs into drowning.
Calm and quiet follow.
Surrender.

Surrender.

No perpetual calm or quiet.

No everlasting anger or thrashing.

Impermanence.

Impermanence.
Tides wandering, retreating, and withdrawn.
Opening, returning, and stretching.
Growth.                                                                                       

Growth.

Carrying us to new lands.
Welcoming us home.

Presence.

Presencia. 

Madre 

Mother
Mar

Sea

Eternal Life

Nature surprised me this summer morning
As dew still dwelled on shaded blades perched above Mother's soil
Inviting me to notice all the other blades already kissed by the dew of early morn

Reminding me that I too have been kissed and touched by all those who have sailed with me in my Soul's journey in friendship, sisterhood, partnership, motherhood, poetry, fiction, and nonfiction alike Embraced by their wisdom, fierce loving compassion, teachings,

Courageous examples of open-heartedness, learning from watching them be cracked open and Brought to their knees only to rise again by the lightness of their wings from the shedding
Mothering guides from afar uplifting me as I carve my own path and soar by the grace of surrender.

Touched by all those whom I once mourned and still do as I visit their candlelight in the soul yards of my heart.
Loved ones gone too soon,
Sages and prophets of the past joined today by the splendid Toni Morrison.

Ever so slightly the fear loosens its grip from the unimaginable
Premature loss of my children or their father, my life partner; my sister, my North Star, her children, my brother by law, and my brother by birth.
Inhale, lungs expand, belly floats back down.

Opening to this moment, loving my loved ones deeper, savoring their presence
This moment is a lifetime.
This moment, the true promise of our eternal life.
For like dew, we have already been touched and kissed by each other's souls.

Like dew we will sooner or later move onto the next stop in our soul's cycle
Leaving the blade seemingly untouched by our presence, our greatest fear
Only to discover that the blade has already been blessed by the early dew.
Forever changed, nurtured, and watered by dew's abundant presence

Bent by those we are lucky to hold
Like dew on Mother's abundant grass

Why did they invent guns?

Why did they invent guns? He asked at six.

My mind spirals through the history of guns climbing its DNA stretching back to its beginnings.
My heart retracts into the fear I have of losing my son to gun violence like my best friend's mother did twenty years ago. My best friend, my brother shot on Good Friday and gone by Easter.

Why did they invent guns? He repeats.
Thats a powerful question, I say.
But, why did they invent guns? Insisting on an answer now.

I stumble over my thoughts and hold back my words. And suddenly my words feel like bullets as I have struggled in adulthood to put myself and my words out there even with my own children.

Why did they invent guns mama? Again he begs.
How will I explain this? Pega leve (go easy whispers the intrusive maternal voice in my head).

...
Mama, why did they invent guns?  He waits patiently as if time has frozen.
...

My silence masks the rant within:
Because external power is a drug bringing the psychedelic illusion of wholeness
giving a rush that extends the ego to the skies and hides any pain we carry within. Supremacy.

Because gun powder smokes and the ego loves to fire up that which makes us vulnerable and hurt
like a wild forest fire set ablaze by entitlement. Wrath.

Because the man's ego trip felt powerless and small in Nature's presence and co-existing is exhausting more so than the weight of ammunition and weapons carried across fields by those premeditating victory by bloodshed. Pride.

Because the colonizers' need for control was blinding when faced with the brilliance of other men and women who had better navigation tools or were skilled in their sustainable interdependence with the land. Envy.

Because the King's men felt entitled to the Indigenous body, their wisdom, their co-creations with nature, their riches, their presence, and their flesh. Greed.

Because learning, teaching, being, creating, stillness, and connection require more than the pull of a trigger. Vulnerability.

Guns are patriotic.

I wonder where we would be if mental health was tied to patriotism like guns, whiteness, and racism. If when as beings we ached and struggled, we would be offered therapeutic help and presence with the same ease that we are handed hot dogs and fireworks on the fourth of July.

Because guns were valuable and what they conquered was instantly priceless.
And yet, guns are cheaper than tutoring, therapy, rehab, and summer camp.

Cheaper than enough therapists to support our students and their families at community centers and schools. Cheaper than raising the minimum wage to a livable wage and cheaper than paid time off for families to care for each other, their neighbors, their babies, or themselves. Thousands cheaper than health insurance, smaller class sizes, and schools that don't look or feel like prison.

Guns are cheaper than rent, a car, and a semester's tuition. Guns are so cheap. The cheapest way to take, steal, kidnap, traumatize, destroy, oppress, torture, shatter, manipulate, dominate, and terrorize children and communities, dreams and hearts by the dozen.

Guns protect us they say...

Guns protect us only in so much as numbing our pain and fear-based living does as well.
True protection is connecting the mind, body, and spirit within community because that is how we  decolonize ourselves and start healing. True safety comes from turning inward to nurture the essence of our soul. Embracing the uncertainty and mystery of life, giving heart space for feeling our grief, listening to learn and do better, listening, listening, listening,... that protects us.

Owning our privilege, using privilege to reverse the oppressive systems by which we live, by which too many die. What protects us is conversations, conflict resolution, and committed listening not pulling a trigger.

Pulling the trigger never hugs us, holds us, nurtures us, mothers us, heals our traumas, walks with us through the shadows of the valley of death. Guns kill us and our communities over and over while holding redemption and resurrection in a choke hold.

... Mama?

Why did they invent guns?
That is a powerful question meu amor.
Guns were invented for the same reason they are still around.

To kill.

Morning Choice

Our bodies have changed.
Softer, rounder, smoother, and wiser.

Our skins have weathered too.
Freckled, thinner, and beautifully etched.

Our hearts are deeper and broken open.
From abundant joys, scarring losses, the greatest bonds, and everything in between.
Cancer, gun violence, miscarriages, childbirth, graduations, hellos, goodbyes, ruptures and repairs, new jobs and old ones.

Our minds wider and more quieted.
Each heartbreak a hurricane sprinkling drops of humility.
Humbled.

Our creations metamorphosed through the years.
They have grown and they grow us up.

Our dreams no longer rest on the lap of accomplishment.
They consist of intentionally authoring love actions.

So much has changed.

And yet the choice I make every morning,
To walk at your side,
Through this abundant and wild ride,
Remains the same.

Vamos

A Pipa

Amor é como pipa... só voa quando solta

Dando corda da fé
      segurando firme a gentileza
                  e dançando com presença
             as mudanças, balanços,
       e desafios que o vento da vida
traz
      Enxergando
           e fazendo o esforço
             pois amar é um verbo
                Respeitando
               a dança
           autentica
        da
  individualidade
aprendendo
   a lingua
     do amor
        do outro
      Vamos lá
     soltar a nossa pipa
    e ver
           para aonde
               o  vento
                    nos l
                            e
                           v
                         a
                       r
                     á