Portal Ranch
Near Half Moon Bay, California 

Land calls me in these days
As people call me
Often the two are alchemically interwoven

My sister dreamt of me the night before we met       
For the first time in this life-time
Within a cabin with large windows looking out
Into a sequioa grove 

This recent addition into my nomadic life
Of being dreamed and called in by souls
Makes the re-unions much easier
On the humans involved
Now weeks later
I stand looking up into the sky of three crosses
Remaining alone
To care for space that stretches between mountains and ocean
With a wolf-ish puppy playfully chasing a white bunny
With a beige bunny madly digging to potentially ride a behind-wire female bunny
With the recent grave of three frosty baby bunnies that we buried
With three wolf-dogs and three horses and two white goats
With the silence of stars and my head conversations

Having lived on several portal ranches
I have already learned
How time melts into both eternity and each distinct moment 

At dawn I walk with wolf-puppy
Running along-side me through icy grass
As my toes numb into an ache so deep that I am almost in tears
I get to the hen house to let out rooster, hen, and two geece
Rooster first pecks at my leg
Then jumps onto the hen in a mount
Green goose pecks at my leg until my fingers teach out to pet her
Each peck of hers is met with a loving touch
That’s all her pecking needs
Is that why all of us peck at one another? 

Brown horse is working hard on establishing his alpha
I watch his mean moves around the others
Taking over their hay
Taking over their bowl of grains and beet root with water
I ask his higher self why he’s so mean
He responds that I don’t know how hard it is to be a horse
I suppose he’s right

None of us know what it’s like to be another
Mean brown horse teaches me the same lesson
As I’m taught over and over
Don’t judge
You really don’t know anything Joanna
You can’t make a single assumption about another
Simply by the actions you see in that moment
That being has had endless experiences
That led to the instant moment when your paths connect

And perhaps
The action that you judge to be mean
Is the best that the being can do in the moment

So in the moments when I feed the three horses
In their pasture overlooking the Pacific Ocean
I observe brown horse always
Taking over another’s hay
Taking over another’s food bowl
I no longer see him as the mean brown horse
Instead simply
As brown horse
Doing the best he can with conditions around him

I know I’m back in my cocoon
I lie on my sleeping bag in the hammock
With an Indian blanket thrown over my body and face
Watching the glimmering orbs of sunlight pass through the blanket
And float around in my cocoon
Force of the wing strong enough
To rock me in the hammock

I feel myself heading deep into my last known wound
My fingertips swirl in the congealing blood of it
My yoni flushing out black fluid
That reminds me only of the black putrid fluids
That drained out of my grandma
For months leading up to her death

I feel myself heading into my next death
And the next re-birth
How many times will I have to birth myself
Back into life? 

White goats with vertically slitted eyes
Greet me by jumping up with their front legs
Onto the fence
When I lean in to take a self-portait photo with them
One of them begins to chew on my straw hat
I giggle as it does resemble the hay I feed them
Rain and winds pound at us all day
Ocean view misted
Lighthouse no longer visible
I lie on silk sheets
With a Russian Blue cat purring on my chest
As I reunite soul parts with my entire being
I speak with parts of myself
Each with her own outfit
Each with her own story
Each with her own pain 

Little 6-year old me
Stands before me
In white sandles with hearts cut into the leather
Blue and white checkered school dress
Her pain cuts into my adult self 

I compare that little me
To the beautiful blond-haired 6-year old mystic child
Who lives on Portal Ranch
We play like little girls
Giggling together over silly made-up games
I sense her ancient wisdom
Still trapped in a little human body 

Teen me greets me
Laying in bed on her belly before me
Clad all in black and heavy boots and leather
“I feel nothing at all…I feel nothing at all…”
She repeats with her burning incense and pounding music
After our chat
She changes into a bright-orange dress and high-laced ballet flats
Melts into me

I am working on forgiving how the masculine divine
Has appeared in my life and then disappeared
Over and over and over
He comes in through one boy after another, through one man after another
My first love appeared before either of us could speak
So we created our own language
And would play singing in a language
Only we knew 

My deepest wound connects my heart and my yoni
Better stated
My deepest wound disconnects my heart and my yoni
Best stated
It’s all a work in process
We all are
A work in process

I let the thought cross my mind
That perhaps it’s time for me to experience
I keep forgetting the word
Which perhaps is the best indication
That I am not created to function
Outside of sensual relationships

Wrapped in my blanket
I sit looking out at the ocean
Within Windbreak
With its large glass windows and thick logs
I check in with Source about my potential dip
Into abstinence
“It’s not about you,” I hear

He asks me to repeat those words into the wind around me
Which pulls the words and carries them
Over fields of violet wild-flowers with a sprinkle of yellow and white

I lie under my blanket
On the black trampoline
Repeating the words
“It’s not about me anymore.”
I get that more and more
This Shift that we’re here to support
Is about work we’ve done for countless life-times
And the me defined within a body and actions in this life-time
Is simply one of the many me’s

These days
All of us are here to awaken
To the many me’s
Which then makes it easier to see
That it’s not about me anymore

Watching wolf-puppy learning the brutality
Of this world
Saddens me deeply
Yet I too contribute to that brutality
By allowing myself to get frustred into grrrr
Due to her endless energy and sharp teeth

This little puppy is like every little being
Full of love and play and energy and curiosity
She races over to the elderly wolf dog who growls at her
When she comes in too close
She races over to the sleeping black wolf dog who growls at her
When she interrupts a nap
She races over to the gray young cat with yellow eyes who hisses at her
Reconsiders possibility of play due to similarity of youth
Allows a bit of chase but then too holds his ground
Reaching out with sharp claws and a hiss
That send poor puppy in confusion
Running into the electric horse fence
Physical pain so intense she whimpers and cries
Running home
To where other tired beings
Will continue teaching her
About this world

I observe this beautiful puppy
Feeling like I’m watching a children’s book
Play out around me
How is it to be a playful and curious being
In a world where playfulness and curiousity
Are traits that lead to unexpected reactions?

What would it be like
If every adult dog instead of growling at her
Took her instead out for a walk on the property
Showing her to dig out a hidden bone
Took her instead for a run
Showing her the limberness of her legs

What would it be like
If every child was treated as a precious being
By every being who connects with that child? 

What would that kind of world be like? 

I must give all the adult dogs and cats and myself some
As we don’t always growl, hiss, or grrr
Often we take time with puppy
To show her gently our ways
I simply wish
That we always took that kind of time with her
Perhaps I’m too idealistic
Some grr toughens up
Maybe someday
We won’t need to be that tough
One evening my sister gives me a reading
Pulling from cards that have a purple circle on one side
Through several card pulls
Almost all the masculine cards in the deck lie chosen
The reality of that much masculine energy in cards
Reflecting that masculine energy all around me
In my actual life
Leaves me with a smile on my lips

Funny that I still feel alone through it all though 

I read a book written by a shaman whose words
Inspired me years ago
In the book is a photo of the shaman with whom
I had done my first sweat lodge
Who afterwards had tried to cuddle and hold my body
In a way outside of the rules I was choosing to live by
In those days 

I reread of an eco-shamanic ritual
Of being buried in the earth over night
And again
That ritual calls out to me strongly
I simply need to find a shaman to aid me in digging
My earthen grave
Strong enough to hold space for
Yet another re-birthing 

What would it be like to be buried alive?
To feel earth worms move over my skin?
To feel the bite of a critter?
Would inch-worm come spend the night
With me again
As in the death lodge? 

After many walks through the tall grass
I feel ticks crawl over my body
It’s more of a sensing
A knowing that they are on my skin
As I’m still amazed that they can bury into my flesh
Suck out blood
Without me feeling any pain 

How many other beings
Are buried into me
Sucking on my energy
Without me being aware? 

I swing on the long-metal roped swing
Pushing my legs higher up into the air
Feeling flight with a plastic seat
Holding me as I move through space
I giggle
I laugh alone
As I don’t feel alone
Surrounded by the fields of wildflowers and dancing grasses.

******************************WE ARE ALL STARS***************************

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Printed version available upon request.
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