Its forty below

Its forty below
There is no place I can go.
I have pneumonia
I can’t go and play.
I have good memories
Of working in the cold
I dressed like Darth Vader
All dressed in black
I was warm I was bold
Style I did lack
I called on the customers
I went door to door
The cold did not bother me then,
Tnen there were winters
I would be out chopping wood
Making holes in the dugout
I worked as hard as could
To get water to take to the house
Mix with the chop heat it all night
In clear of the morning
I would sing out to them
The pigs would go to the farthest edge of the barn
My singing scared them I meant them no harm.
I feed the chickens had turkeys too
My husband was away working
I needed something to do
In the evening by the light of the kerosene lamp
I would make patches for quilts
I felt such a vamp.
I have struggled through many winters that were full of the cold,
The Northern Lights would sing and they danced
The snow in the pines silences my fears.
There were magpies squawking in the morning
Coyotes sang at night
The stillness of the cabin
It was new.
It was calm.
I have these memories to help keep me warm.
As lay sick here now in my bed.

The farmer’s Wife

Some privilege a woman has!
She can cook whatever he provides.
She can clean whatever he dirties.
She can cringe whenever he comes near.
She can jump at his command.
She can clean pigpens whenever she wants.
She can kill chickens and listen to the neighbor’s taunts.
She is a laundress, a mistress, and a breeder of kids.
She has no freedom…
Only does what he bids.
And the freedom of this new land….
I can chop the trees on our land
He makes money-chopping trees for others.
I can pull out the old stumps of course.
I can till the ground by hand.
He needs the horse.
I plant the seed.
Tend the children.
Slop the hogs.
Milk the cows.
Feed the chickens.
Just like a peasant could do in the old country.
Ah! Love makes a fool of a woman.
The only time he takes me into to town is to test the thickness of the ice.
-mhf

Baba

They call me Baba,

But they didn’t ask me to dance.

I wasn’t always wrinkled and old.

My face,  they say,  was like corn silk.

Soft as summer’s cloud.

It glowed like the sun.

My name was Anastasia then.

I had long giggling curls that bounced out of

My babushka when I danced.

Oh! How I danced!

From the time I heard the balalaika

I knew whose feet it would move.

Papa praised me for my beauty.

Mother said it was a sin for him to praise me.

He couldn’t praise her.

She only blushed.

So I danced.

At first to please my feet

Then to please my Papa.

After the years, which seemed

Endless at the time,

I danced with others.

We trained.

We sang.

We gave praise with our feet to our

Fathers; who praised themselves on their

Choice of daughters.

One who danced with his eyes came to my Father.

He spoke for my hand.

We danced and we wed.

Then I danced no more.

He took me from

My family, My music, My dancing, My country.

There was no room in the meager bundles

For the patterned clothes to wear dancing.

He called me Ann.

Ann, get the cart.  Ann hold the ox.

Ann, get the light.  Ann, good night.

Never once did he sing nor think of the dance.

Through the life he gave me in his son

I could dance again.

Oh, the laughter of the mornings as the child

Learned from my songs.

He moved always like a feather.

He danced.

I danced with him.

His Father was not pleased.

His Father–my husband has gone now—

Twenty long winters he sleeps.

But, tonight, I feel he would not be angry if I danced….

With our great-grand child.

But they call me Baba and they

Didn’t ask me to dance.

-mhf

Northern Madonna’s Walk Part III (conclusion)

Footstep by footstep, she carried the load with love,
But her heart was full of questions.
She spoke, with a confidence she barely felt,
To her Inner Master…. The Great Chief and Guide of he Life…
Some called it the Holy Ghost or the Comforter.
She could use the Comforter now.

Oh, Great Spirit, I feel like crying a river that he is in pain.
At the same time, show me how I can walk quietly, when I
Want to dance with joy that he has asked me to be with him.
He’s a good man, Master.”
Then her prayer song began.

“Help me to show him
Your beauty this day
Teach me to be listening
To the Sound of your Voice
To always be open
To always rejoice.
Teach me this silence
Guide me today
To always be with him
To serve You all ways.
Teach me to be patient
Loving and kind
To live in the moment
Leave the past far behind.
He is my helpmate
My ‘healer’, my friend
May we walk together
Till journey’s end.”

The sun broke through the pines and warmed her,
while a gentle breeze cooled her brow.

“All will be well.” Spoke the Wind to her heart.

“All will be well.” Spoke the woman to the Creator of the Wind.

Only her faith in the Great Spirit could
calm her questions and lift the burdens of her heart.
Always, It had never failed her.
With the simplest of requests she had
received her answers,
Even the time she needed to know that this
was the one she had been shown in the dream.

She had decided to be ready.
Now she was strong.
She had gained the strength from the
Great Spirit’s golden heart.

-mhf

Part II Northern Madonna’s Walk

Summary
A native woman meets someone special. She sings her song.

She wondered, almost out loud,
what it would be like to join him in his work.
A busy Grey squirrel jumped up on its back legs,
looked at her and, amazingly enough,
peered across the span of rocks to see the man.
The little creature reminded her of the preparations
she had made to be with the man.
The months of gathering, picking and drying
had brought her to this moment.

She was ready.
She had bundles of ‘goodies’ waiting for him:
skins tanned, berries dried, meat jerked
fish smoke and salted.
Also, there were medicines and herbs,
special rocks and feathers.
The all-important tobacco, cedar,
sweet grass and sage
were lovingly prepared for his journey.

Unknown to her,
he too was preparing for their journey.
At moments he would sit,
stop his work,
slow his mind
watch her.
It was as if the mists, water, time and space
did not separate them.
This was one of those moments.
He watched her hair gently caressed
by the breeze as several strands
had broken loose from the long, flowing braid.
Her beautiful clothing of doeskin jerkin
was dazzling in its whiteness,
sparkling in the sun with the blue beadwork
On her shoulders sending rainbows around her head.
This vision of beauty was a feast for his eyes.

Tentouchee dreamed her maiden’s dreams.
Dreams that this man, Tomahowee,
was the one with who see could serve the Creator.
Her heart knew that this was the stream
that he would bathe her in before
taking her as his wife.
His ‘hunka’ woman….
His chosen woman.

Why, she wondered, did the Great Spirit
prepare the woman so much earlier than the man?
Why did she know from her dreams as a child
who he was to be in her life?
At that time, he only smiled and waved.
“Was this one of Mother Earth’s jokes?”,
She wondered in despair.

Once, while Tomahowee was trading his furs
waiting for his price to be met,
he came out on the rocks.
His eyes danced with hers most of the day.
Months since passed that she dreamed of being with him.
Now, she was his wife.
Chosen, with no time for ceremony, she would
serve the Great Spirit by tending to
the needs of her family.

Now a wife alone,
she was carrying a heavy canoe. It matched the
weight in her heart.
Her man lay miles ahead on the trail.
wracked with pain and consumed with fever,
He needed her.
(continues)

-mhf

Northern Madonna’s Walk

She could see him.
Her eyes were watching every movement he made,
recording them,
storing them on the back burner of her heart.
He spoke with word pictures.
How she enjoyed watching and listening to him.
Only he, here and now,
was able to be a multilevel speaker,
conveying with words and movements
the word he lived in.

Watching him now, she visualized a large canoe
slipping easily over his head,
as he carried it back to his work.
She wondered if her thoughts
reached out to him
on the lonely trails.
Did thoughts of her good wishes
warm him in cold and
abate some of his loneliness?
Could he know that she wanted to
know him better, and how
she anticipated moments with him?
Silently, she prayed, that he
would know of her willingness
to share his life and of her longing to
help carry the weight of the canoe.

He was one of ‘them’.
He was not French,
He was not
‘of the people’.
Just who was this beautiful man
who spoke to her at night
by the “River of Dream”?
She did not have enough courage to
speak to him of such things
as feelings or emotions.
How could a large, barefoot woman of the land
grace his arm at the fancy dinners
that his town visits were centered on?
True, he worked hard
but he played hard too.
He could tell her of chandeliers that
sounded like the icicles
she saw glistening in the sunlight.

She could share the forest with him.
his trap line was many miles
over the wooded lands she knew so well.
She could teach him the stories of the elders;
about the rocks, stars, trees, winged ones
and the four-footed ones.
How she longed to spend a winter’s night
with him, sipping tea.
Was it possible to describe to him
the peace that came with the
Wind in the snowy pines?
The Wind cleared the mind of any doubts
of the Love of the Creator.
The simple pleasure of drinking
tea made from herbs she picked and dried,
he would heighten as they shared it
Together.
The tasted of the tea now
momentarily bittered
at the thoughts of always
drinking it alone.

Again today she walked through the forest,
down the hill to the water’s edge.
He was there.
He was preparing to leave on his long, cold journey.
as he looked up, he saw her.
Smiling in greeting and waving furiously,
he pointed and motioned to her,
showing he where the stream burbled and flowed,
narrowing by the large rocks.
Scurrying over the rocks, she found the chair of stones
that he intended for her.
She sat silently in the mist, letting the warmth of the ‘chair’
blend with the smile on his lips,
to chase the chilling cold out of her bones.
Breathing deeply in the clear mountain air,
thinking her thoughts of him,
she was at peace in the wilderness
With her loved one so close.

(Continues)

Show me the Way back Home

Show me the way back Home.

I’m tired of feeling alone.

How can I know your Will?

How can I share your Love?

I am glad to be alive.

Thank you for being my Guide.

Back in my youth

I knew the Truth.

Show me the Way

back to You.

I want to share your truth.

way down deep inside

I made the choice.

I heard your voice

I’m satisfied

cause I’m on my way back to You.

So show me.

You know me

and show me the way back Home.

Come take my hand.

I need to stand

under the shadow

of your smile.

Thy will be done

under the Son.

May joys be shared.

Speak of me of Joy

Of laughter and of rain.

I will come full circle

Back to You again,
-mhf

Kites

Imagine a glorious colored store-bought kite.

It is shaped like a butterfly.

(It is has wonderful colors….like neon signs of my childhood.)

Gifted to me by two wonderful children.

In celebration of eleven years “clean-time”

I was so excited…not only for the recovery but I had a kite.

Wow.

I took my kite home and began my dreams of flying.

It sits now in the corner of my room

Like me, waiting for spring.

I have never had a store-bought kite.

Discussed its merits with my 95 year old Father.

Laughed about trying to focus to put it together in the dead of winter.

I need dreams of flying to help me through the pneumonia.

What is the orgin of kites?

Where do they go when the hand holding onto the string lets go?

( Where do my burdens, resentments and anxieties go when I release them ?),

Perhaps,  I will take my kite to Charlottetown in August.

I visualize flying it on the beach.

I visualize flying it here in the North.

Perhaps when I am healed and whole….

I can fly my kite.

(I know I have been encouraged many times in my life….

To just go “fly a kite”).

My Father and brothers made the ones we had as a child.

We lived in Ontario near the river which was part of the St. Lawrence Seaway.

I would sit by the river and board every passing ship to foreign lands.

Years later,  I have visited many of the countries and learned of the cultures and customs.

When living in Europe for six years, I would sit by the ocean and dream of home, family and kites.

I had no lack of imagination as a child.

I wonder, do aging and illness take away imagination or did I consent to give up my dreams.

The cold wind is blowing in a winter storm.  Minus 24 by nightfall. 

Think I will snuggle back under the blankets,  take my dreaming and fly my kite…..wherever I want.

Freedom from addiction, one day at a time, gifted me with this kite in celebration.

I need to celebrate the day….I need to celebrate the winter…I will celebrate your Presence in my life as I visualize flying my kite over the rainbow and beyond.

Ocean’s roar

There was an Ocean
of “Love and Mercy”
I wanted to dive right in.
so, I did.
How refreshing.
Reminded me of a walk in the rain.
I floated
I lazed about
I hardly moved.
The waves of love
bounded over me.
they tore through me.
they made me whole.
The Joy in knowing
I am Soul.
This love
was no science fiction
This love
had no contradiction
It was pure
It came from the Source.
How did I feel?
Why, happy, of course.
-mhf

Milly’s Shower Instructions

I met her in the Dream state.
Then I met her in real time.
She taught me about
Dreams, Soul Travel, Reincarnation.
I used to think
“What in ‘tarnation’ will she think of next?”
It was the most amazing spiritual exercise
that I use everyday,
I have never forgot.
How to refresh Spirit
when you take a shower.

When she first tried to tell me,
I thought is she kidding.
I know how to shower
I won’t do her bidding.
Then one day
when my resistance was low
I had nowhere to go.
I jumped in the shower
Here are the instructions
as given to me:

Take a deep breath
step into the shower
adjust the temperature
pull the nozzle.

Visualize:

You are under a wonderful,
free flowing waterfall
that contains all the colors of the rainbow
all the joys of the Universes and
all the virtues of Spirit.
Let the cares, worries and attitudes of the day
flow down the drain.
wash away pain.
Sing your Mantra
whatever that may be.
Rejoice in the moment.
Let the healing waters
from “days of old”
be yours now.
Step out of the cold.
Bask in the Sunlight of the Spirit
give love a new choice
Simply rejoice.
bring back laughter.
ise your talent.
find your Voice.

So, my dear friend…
When life has given you all you can take.
Step in to “Milly’s Shower”
For goodness sake.
-mhf