Sueños Imposibles

I wish
I could see all the people I love
living in one city
at the same party
I wish
I could take the perfect parts
of all my lovers
stitch them together
and live together happily ever after
I wish
I’d had an easier childhood
with happy parents who delighted effortlessly
in my authentic existence
I wish
I’d learned years ago
to love my deepest most obvious flaws
and to savor my glorious talents
I wish
time would pause when I wanted
or fast forward on command
I wish
I knew when you were going to show up
so I could maintain
my patience
Life has granted me abundant wishes
like a powerful genie in a generous mood
all but these
and even so
I find myself contented
inside their impossible bondage

© S. Rinderle, 2012


Be Gentle

There is a time for Speaking
when words that can no longer lay silent
issue boldly from our eager throats

Now is not the time

Now is a time for Listening
for receiving messages from beyond
letting them lie, wordless

There is a time for Doing
for gathering thought into action
manifesting mindful purpose

Now is not the time

Now is a time for Being
for noticing who you are
when doing ceases

There is a time for Expansion
for venturing beyond former tamed bounds
into wild possibility

Now is not the time

Now is a time for Contraction
for neither muscle, nor breath nor tide
can live without pause and retreat

There is a time for Growth
when new ideas and beingness
spring forth to flowering

Now is not the time

Now is a time for Maintenance
to marinate in gratitude and
fortify for later expression

There is a time for Fighting
to exercise will and push through
stuck and stagnant scars

Now is not the time

Now is a time for Recovery
to heal our wounds
to marvel at courage
and feast bouteously

There is a time for Light
for bright seeing
illumination of night and
stretching upward

Now is not the time

Now is a time for Dark
for blindness and shadow
for faith
and downward seeping

There is a time for Going Out
into the world
with statement and exclamation

Now is not the time

Now is a time for Coming Into
with commas and questions

There is a time for Pushing Out
of ourselves
out of the tired, spent ground

Now is not the time

Now is a time for Pulling In
gathering nutrients
from the dead and decaying

There is a time for Dreams and Waking
for envisionment and inspiration
future forward

Now is not the time

Now is a time for Memory and Sleep
to honor and learn what was
past in whatever shape

Dear One…

This does not mean that
if you are to speak, do, expand, grow
fight, light
go out, push out
dream and wake
— now —
that you are wrong

It means it will be harder
it may be too soon
leave you too empty

Allow your Body to fill
to remember seasons
eons of cycles
that let our Spirits breathe
Remember that Winter is for
cozying into huts
by warm hearths
and hot, hearty drink
simmering in story
while the dark fields lay fallow
and sleep with us
letting the frost sink in

There is no time, you say!
The world thirsts for hope
aches for justice
craves r/evolution!


And the world also
thirsts for your renewal
aches for your rest
craves your wholeness

You are the World


Now is not the time for everything
No Time is
There is still time
Do not be fooled by the illusion of scarcity
Now is just
what is called for

Be gentle
Yet be fierce
in your gentleness.

© S.Rinderle, 2014
(Winter solstice 12/21/14 4:03 pm MST)
Published in Catching Calliope, Winter 2015.

December 11th

I do not know
when our paths first converged in the wood
I do remember our first meeting
on the eve of Aquarius moon
it was a gathering
a clearing
an assortment of noble creatures
fur, feather, scale, bone
leaf and bough
river, cloud, mountain
a tree
long since a sapling
44 rings at my trunk
yet my roots would deceive
short and shallow for lack of water
branches stronger than winters past
yet more frail than they could be

I was more Zeus than Hera back then
more Huitzilopochtli than Guadalupe Tonantzín
soul more old than wise
hands tired from so much grasping
soil too compacted for rain or seed
scale tipping
flesh heating
more fire
than water or air
more movement and phallus
than quiet or chalice

But it rained that spring
and all summer
Rain like Goddess
Rain like Life
flow like Spirit
purging debris and stuck places
from the river
of my soul
quickening this Winter earth child
sinking down
seeping in
plus yielding earth
equals adobe
bricks to build a new home
new life
with many rooms

The Rain has been good to my roots
they reach down to the core
Wisdom Strength Truth
they reach up to Source and Intuition
nourish my thickening trunk
into six branches
Awareness of thoughts
of body and feelings
extreme Presence
Brilliant Possibilities
Peace of fulfillment

I hold a strong, safe
fully accepting space
I fiercely stand for true, best selves
and possibilities
to emerge

i am a tree woman. tree woman
I am a Tree Woman!

my fellowship
fellow creatures and travelers
my Teachers and Mentors
fur, feather, scale, bone
leaf and bough
river, cloud, mountain
with a new song
thickened pelt
lengthened tooth and beak
broadened breastbone
vast expanding reach
and outstretched wing

We go now
Sagittarius wanes
we gather again in the clearing
another floor up on the spiral staircase
we are the burgeoning tribe
the burgeoning wise
the wild
today is Thanksgiving
and New Year

I do not know where our paths lead
now that they diverge in the wood
But I do remember our first meeting
and as gratitude surges in my wooden ribcage
I will not forget the last.

© S. Rinderle, 2014
Dedicated to my fellow graduates of the CFT DL03 cohort (yesterday)
and La Virgen de Guadalupe/Tonantzín (today).


I’m from here
but I don’t belong here
is not home
where I exhale
the set for my night dreams
my heart fit
this place is just fit
movie set
fast breath
big lips and small dogs
tight butts in tight jeans
skinny spandex, white teeth
tidy coiffed landscapes
and green
rolling in dough
(k)needed by mountains
of gold

As I wander
the trees root more solid
than I remember
all thickness, texture and joy
they invite climbing
and stretch beams
one gaze not enough
to harvest all their races…
bougainvillea in four flavors
hibiscus in two
bottle brush, lemon, eucalyptus
exotic pods and broad leaves
hummingbirds and gold finches
in November
palms of diverse size and shape
curious like Dr Seuss trees
birds of paradise
this is paradise
to a spirit of stone
and sand

Yearning wells.
Things grow easily here
the desert is hard
desert people stark
cracks shift cracks
the ancient sedimentary rock
of memento and heart
like the Whittier quake
I collect familiar leaves
like memories shaken loose
oak, magnolia, liquid amber, birch —
my mother knew them all.
She is a bird now
above I spy others
fly like her
I must have met them before
wild emerald parrots
up a spiky trunk
chatting atop slender fronds
unnoticed and mundane
yet I stand

People smile more than I remember.
They say hello from their bicycles
sing while riding solo
talk to babies in strollers
cross the street with traffic
their grass is thick
sprinkled with tiny shamrocks
like abundant good fortune.
I wonder if they know what it’s like
to live in a desert
make sure everything is always locked
and held tight
middle class here is wealthy rich anywhere
I see it
but no longer believe that
all money is sin
all poverty virtue

I crave ease.

Maybe my parents were right
I waste and surround myself
with the not-good-enough
while the not-yet-good-enough
still isn’t

Things are now changed.
I root more solid
broad feet planted
trunk thicker
taller branches wide
eyes clearer
sternum forward
I’m ready now
I belong better
I still believe
just no longer sure where I believe it

Maybe it’s time
to come home.

©S.Rinderle, November 2014