I am grateful for lawn
sprinklers
That lure me
With their mesmerizing
buzz
Where I am
delightfully snared
by the sight of water
droplets,
Bending into an arch
and splashing
on the grass,
As the sunshine
Dresses them
in shimmering galaxies,
While the birds are
chirping;
Telling stories
of blustering wind
and gully washer rains,
While shrouding
the low drone of car
engines,
whizzing along on the
freeway.
I stand in awe,
Feeling
My heart beating
a tranquil song.
By Mushroom Montoya
A
wise man said,
If she knows who she is
She will never be lost.
Can she know who she is
and still be lost in a forest,
Caught in the beauty
All around her?
Can
she know who she is
and still be lost in a classroom
when the teacher is referencing
a passage in a book,
while she is distracted by a bird,
flying by the window?
Can
she know who she is
and still be lost in grief
when the person she loves the most
dies?
Can
she know who she is
and still be blissfully lost in love
with the one she cherishes?
Can
she know who she is
when she is constantly changing
Into another version from her former self?
Or
is it that she KNEW
who she was
before the current
passing moment?
And
isn’t being lost
an opportunity
For her to find something new
About herself
That she is evolving into?
And isn’t
being lost
An opportunity to practice
Finding out who she really is
While she's in motion?
An orange sliver
Extended his finger
Peeking over the horizon.
I barely blinked.
And he splashed the sky
With a blazing orange ball,
Snaring the entirety of my attention,
Filling my soul with gratitude.
For I am now awake,
And fully alive,
Ready to dive
Into each moment,
Smelling the flowers
As they spread their wings
And flutter their beauty
Into my heart,
While the hummingbirds dart
Their dazzling coats
Here and there,
and then they hover,
Sharing their zest,
Doing their best
To remind me
I am beautiful, too.
by Mushroom Montoya
Feeling
naked and exposed
Blades of grass shivered in the cold
winter night.
Huddling together, they sang
as distant church bells rang
Out the time.
They sent their tiny voices
Up to Father Sky
Who looked down upon them
from on high.
He inhaled deeply
while strumming his harp,
inviting the snow-filled clouds
To dance.
The slow floating roly-polies
twirled and swirled,
sprinkling intricately carved jewels
Onto the cold and naked
Blades of grass,
Who wove them
into snowflake blankets,
Keeping them warm
enough
To sing songs of gratitude.
By Mushroom Montoya
Even though I barely
heard her whisper,
“Look over here,”
Cactus beamed her wide
smile,
Shushing me,
“Shh. The others are
still sleeping.
Aren’t they so precious
in their slumber,
Waiting for the sky to
ombre,
So, they could sing,
With gaping mouths,
Their glorious arias
To la Luna.
Piss On It
By Mushroom Montoya
When
the luster within me refuses
To
shine
Because
My
life feels like the dog of heaven
is lifting his leg
and peeing on my feet
Just
to piss me off,
I
remember what Coyote told me,
Far
more than once:
“Be
what you want.”
I
tell you, truly,
Hearing
him say that
Used
to piss me off.
“Piss
on it!” he chortled
As
he lifted his leg
Threatening
to piss on me.
“You
can’t stay pissed forever,”
He’d
say and laugh.
“So,
piss on it and let it go!
And
once the shackles of your agitation
Have
fallen to the ground
You
can, then,
Be
what you want!
Be
the kindness,
sweetness,
and charm
That
you think is missing.
And
then your luster will shine
Once
again.
I
glared
at
Coyote.
“You’re
ruining
My
mad!”
“Oh,
I would never deprive you
Of
your mad.”
Coyote
smirked.
“Wallow
in your dark hollow place
Stirring
up your wasted rage
Until
you see how much it tastes
Like
piss.”
I
had to laugh
And
then I asked him,
“How
can I get out of my self-pity pool?”
He
sat on his haunches,
Howled
at the moon,
And
then winked at me.
“Your
words
hold
magic,”
He
said in a melodic tone.
Leaning
close enough
To
put his nose onto mine,
He
whispered.
“Cast
a spell upon yourself.
Create
an incantation
To
change the woeful state of being
You
are exposing.”
“Easy
for you to say,
When
you aren’t drowning in…”
“Your
own piss!” he interjected
With
a gleeful grin.
“Silliness
will ejaculate you
Out
of your self-pity pool.”
I
burst a laugh
at
Coyote’s words.
He
dimmed his eyes,
Crossed
his paws,
And
said,
“Breathe.
Let
the emotion
pass.
State out loud
who you truly are.
And
then that is who you will be
As soon as you get off your butt
And
do to someone
What
you want done to you.”
I stopped riding my bike to check out a sloth I saw lounging against a
tan concrete trash can next to the San Gabriel River bike path.
The sloth wasn't being lazy. She was relaxing, after picking up trash
on the riverbed. She asked me why I felt the need to zoom along the river, when
there is so much beauty to see.
"Testosterone poisoning is to blame," I said. "And it
is the American way. Because time flies, and everything runs in America."
She released a long, slow sigh. "You and your Americans are
missing the point of life. Being beautiful is what's important."
She put her hands behind her head, waiting for me to respond.
"Being beautiful? There is a whole industry racing to sell us
beauty products, clothing, cars, houses, and more" I said.
She inhaled, letting her eyes shut. She took her time before opening
them again.
"That is not beauty. That is the distorting of what is already
beautiful. Why do you paint your already beautiful faces? Why do you cover your
beautiful bodies with clothes when it's too hot to wear anything?"
"Do you think we should run around nude?" I asked.
"Absolutely not. No need to run. Walk slowly, without the silly
decorations
You call clothes. Just be nude, the way the Creator made
you.
You do realize that the Creator only made beauty, don’t you?
Everything is beautiful just the way it is. There is no improving on
perfection."
"We aren't perfect," I protested.
"Oh, but you are. To believe otherwise is to say the Creator
is flawed. Is that what you believe?"
I had no idea that sloths were this philosophical. Since they are not
in a hurry, I suppose they have time to think. Her comments and questions
were making me think.
"Are you telling me that I'm beautiful?" I asked.
"Of course, you are. Why would you think otherwise? Didn't your
mother ooh and awe over your beauty when you were born? Without decorations?
Completely and beautifully nude?"
How could I argue with this wise sloth?
I trust that this sloth story will bring a smile to your beautiful
face and remind you that being beautiful is the point of life.
This is a heartwarming meaningful message from a bright and brave girl named Isis. If you have school children, have them watch this.
Posted by Mushroom Montoya on Monday, July 11, 2016
By Mushroom Montoya
She pitter-pattered
across the roof
Looking for a jump
stop,
A springboard to party
A megaphone
Big enough to call
Her friends to swarm
and play
Their drums
while they danced
and ran,
Tiptoeing at first,
Then pounding their feet
To a gregarious beat,
Blooming an
exuberant chorus of laughter,
calling more and
more of them
until thousands of
tiny drummers
were pounding, giggling, and laughing
over and around each
other
splashing their
giddiness
on each other’s
faces
All the way across
the roof
To the platform
Where they poured
themselves
Over the edge
Disappearing in the blackness
of night,
Without the slightest
fright,
Their tippy-tappy feet running
And jumping
Off the roof,
Onto the ground,
Or sliding like thieves
Onto waving leaves
That they paid
handsomely
In the morning.
For catching them.
When the sun peeked
out
And erased the dark,
And the meadowlark
Began to sing,
My ears perked up
To the invitation to
go outside.
My eyes glowed in
awe
For before me I saw
A bedazzling array
of gilded gems
Sparking and twinkling
All over the plants,
the leaves,
And even in the nearly
invisible
Spider webs
That winked at me
With an invitation to
see
My own beauty
They were reflecting
Back to me.
I heard them say
They threw a hilarious
drumming party
In the wee hours of
the night
And they laughed at
the ones
Suspended
over the open jaws
Of the sharp-toothed
succulent
Reminding me
That nothing went wrong
While the rain pounded the roof
With its fluid feet,
Leaving glowing jewels
For the sun to eat
Throughout the day.
By Mushroom Montoya
My body is a living vehicle, as one might consider a horse, who obeys most of my commands, but not all.
I put my vehicle in a soft blanketed stable for the night. While it sleeps, I fly out into tangles and brambles of could be, can't be worlds where I try out other vehicles on different terrain.
By Mushroom Montoya
Life may humble me as I age.
My body may slow me down.
And when I stop and think
of all the time
the Creator has gifted to me
I see that I have filled every moment
With experiences.
For each and every one
I am grateful.
Even the painful ones have given me
Something to experience,
To learn from,
To grow from,
To repeat
Or to avoid
In the future
Or right now.
That is how I’ve grown
Into the me that is evolving
Into the me who is here
Right now.
Therefore, no time has been wasted.
No time has been lost
Because without each moment ,
Without each experience,
Regardless of how mundane,
Each has contributed
To my personal evolution
Making me the me I am
Here and now
Wherever I am.
