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Love Making, Naturally!

by admin on November 16, 2011

Blanketing quilt of forest greenery

And the dim of evening’s light ~

Love comes to embrace thee

Setting the day to night

 

Now is the time for love making

Beneath the evergreens bough

As lover’s bodies are aching

The moment has come for the Vow

 

And nature’s love is with me

In every thought I hold

I am forever yours I say ~

In autumn or winter’s cold

 

To thee I pledge made sacred

For as long as the stars will shine ~

I will lay with thee alone…

As my heart will always be thines

 

For here you will never hunger

Though the body be racked with pain,

Love is shared and partaken

As life looses its sense of strain

 

As the horizon lifts your burdens

Amid new morning’s glow

As sure as the salmon swims upstream,

You are loved and forever will know

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Cradle of the Universe

by admin on November 16, 2011

 

Wind blown treetops and young forest sways…

Bark rubbing together gives

The creaking sound

Of rocking chair or cradle round

 

We are at the moment of creation

Sparks from the rubbing of two sticks…

Earth is the universal candle,

Tree tops the candles wick!

 

The stars up in the heavens

Shine their light below

We sleep tonight in this cradle…

Swayed by the forest’s glow

 

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The kindest of times ~

by admin on November 15, 2011

 

I came upon a pristine moment…

Just the other day ~

Right before I judged myself…

And promptly lost my way!

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Medicine Singing

by admin on September 8, 2011

Write a poem of medicine–

Write a poem of song

A poem of those you long for, and

(That wound when you were wronged).

Of the bridges you have burned (and)

The dreams for which you yearn “and”

Of your life and all its lessons

Blessing each one in their turn.

Live in the place where poetry is born.

Poetry is medicine singing–

For both the hopeful and forlorn…

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A Line of Smoke from The Black Hills

by admin on September 7, 2011

An ignorant white mind…

And so it was

I thought…

The Black Hills ~ Immovable.

Unbelievable:

An unborn mind

Blind.

Bison Beast,

Black Hills Bounty…

Placenta bursting forth from Wind Cave

The earth breathes, heaves ~ Birth.

Spirit of a moveable feast ~

Bison, Beast,

Tatonka.

Sage is lit…

A line of smoke ~

Moons glisten upon

Ebony horns trumpeting the

Coming of the

Black Hills ~ Eternal,

Tatonka

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December’s Sorrows (Wounded Knee) by guest poet Tom Brittingham

by admin on September 6, 2011

Awakened…from somewhere deep within…

A trembling fear engulfs him…

Shivering – he is cold…

Time – standing still so quickly…

Leaves him wondering why – still hopeful it shall pass…

Only yesterday – when life remained –

As if there was no end –only now the fear of death is all he feels

Children, crying – as children do – reminds him of all he has become…then wonders,

What shall he be remembered for?

A promise broken – the simple lie of those who take…

Has left him broken, cold…starving…

His dignity is all that remains, his stories of the elders…silenced.

O great giver of Life, he questions…

Angry for his loss –

Bartering he says -

“ I have lived in truth – what do I have left that I must give?”

Yet he already knows the answer…

As his wife weeps…he is finally free.

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Fairure’s Cairn

by admin on May 10, 2011

With every failure and every fear,
Yet another stone is placed
There upon the growing pile—
High upon the hill.

For far too long
My failures overwhelmed me–
Stones immense and mighty, waiting there,
High upon the hill…

Until the day I learned
To turn my failures
Into faith, and put an
End to hate.

And now I am returning
(wiser for the learning)
To home’s safe
And embracing harbor—

Only to see my failures have borne fruit,
Like fattened grapes
Upon an ancient arbor
As I look high upon the hill.

And failure’s cairn
Now guides me from high upon the hill,
As I sail upon the currents
Of a sea of milk and honey.

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Sworn Covenant

by admin on May 10, 2011

The Central Andes with the

Peruvian cordillera (like all great mountains)

Keeps me awake until morning’s light…

Shawna, Stephen and Peruvian shaman

For what is most sacred and is written in stone,

Comes down from the mountain tops…

Writing itself on the tablets of our hearts–

Around the fires of the

night…

And so it is and so it was with Moses on

Mount Horeb, and here

Tonight, sleeping at the foot of Machu Picchu!

Daughter Shawna, Stephen and

don Oscar  Miro-Quesada, NYC 2011

Peruvian Shaman

If you too had been here you would know–

Why I have sworn a covenant

With

The God

Of the Mountain!

I shall grant no hospitality to fear.

I shall entertain caution but briefly.

I shall always and forever

Open my heart at the hearth

Of the God of the Mountain!

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A Line of Smoke in The Black Hills of South Dakota

by admin on May 10, 2011

An ignorant white mind…
And so it was
I thought…
The Black Hills ~ Immovable.
Unbelievable:
An unborn mind
Blind.

Bison Beast,
Black Hills Bounty…
Placenta bursting forth from Wind Cave
The earth breathes, heaves ~ Birth.

Spirit of a moveable feast ~
Bison, Beast~
Tatonka…

Sage is lit…
A line of smoke ~

Moons glisten upon
Ebony horns trumpeting the
Coming of the
Black Hills ~ Eternal,
Tatonka

Stephen playing Native American Flute

at Wounded Knee Monument, Wounded Knee, South Dakota

Flute by Joseph Whitefeather, Eaton, Ohio

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A Sacred Letter from a NYC Physician – Poetry, Yoga, and the body.

by admin on January 26, 2011

I wanted to share this incredible letter we have received. Both Shawna and I are deeply touched by these words:

Dear Dr. Emerick,

I am a student of Shawna’s and I wanted to share an experience I just had after listening to the radio interview you and Shawna did here in NYC. After listening to the interview, and then looking at both your and Shawna’s websites, I then traversed the internet looking for information about surviving the suicide of a loved one, as my father committed suicide a year and a half ago. This search led to a support group site, where I registered and wrote some posts, and then to a site that highlighted a suicide prevention program for physicians, who are at high risk for suicide.

I logged off and went upstairs to do some yoga. I was chatting with my husband about the risks of suicide among physicians, and how women physicians were the only group with the same risk of suicide as males. I began thinking of all my risk factors for depression and suicide: history of substance abuse, history of sexual abuse, personal history of bipolar disorder, family history of bipolar disorder, being a physician, being a woman, family history of substance abuse. On and on. And my struggle lately has been to somehow rise above the scripting and the legacy of my family (which is rife with suicidality, suicide attempts, suicide completions).

After talking with my husband, I did Arha Chandrasana, a balance pose. It’s been a difficult pose for me, but tonight it felt effortless, like I was flying. And then I saw myself flying over all of those risk factors, all of those statistics, knowing that I was in touch with Something Greater, that could take me beyond the probably, and even the inevitable, into the miraculous.

So the work you and Shawna are doing (even as I write this) has touched me. That the poem of my life is written in my body was something I could never understand. Until now. Thank you and Namaste.

P, M.D.

Bronx, NY

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