From St. James Chapleroom,  2006

Because you once knew a woman
Who kept the rum of the scorpion
In one bottle and the holy water
From the Jesuit in another

They sat side by side in
The Dove room

Apothecary of the Worlds

When she died she
Gifted these bottles to you

The water was to cool your head
The rum to keep you alive on
The far-off shore where you
Go to seek her

At the three way you bottle
Her foot prints, under the tree below
The offerings, and use it to bathe yourself

In this way you will come to know her
And know why they could not ride small Horses

Horrible, you think how it would be to just drive your fucking car off highway 1 straight into the ocean. Ravenous, you go to China Town and buy roast duck and rice. Eat just about the whole thing in your room, glad your alone, happy to not share.

                          tonight
dogs worry their chains
she can still smell the raw cold steel of the gun barrel
the cherry grip handle, crosshatched, well oiled
tonight she tosses sage, cedar, sweet grass and tobacco into to rubbish bin

forsaking all protection

the acrid taste of a backhand                  copper
                                              rises in her mouth
                                                 brings her home

to

calloused hands, edge of the woods, unseen
where furled leaves turn black when no one sees
beneath the weight

Have had the super flu and coughing up crud for two and half weeks.. blahh. So, here are some of the herbs and resins I have been taking. I am still taking some of them mainly Reishi, Ganoderma lucidum and Maca, Lepidium meyenii to regain my strength.

Just look at this picture, it is what a 'No Parking' sign looks like in the rain forest. How the hell can anyone heal their lungs in all this dampness, constant rain, fog, lichen growing on my face, moss and usnea become my hair. I want to drive to the Mojave and stay there for 3 weeks. Hope you are all staying warm and healthy.

Jacksta's February Medicines:

Propolis

Strikedown, Echinacea

Elderberry, Sambucus

Pau d’ Arco, Tabebuia impetiginosa

Yerba Santa, Eriodictyon californicum

Horseradish, Armoracia rusticana

Thyme, Thymus vulgaris.

Yarrow, Achillea millefolium

Eyebright, Euphrasia

Golden Rod, Solidago

Osha, Ligusticum porteri

Garlic, Allium sativum

Goldenseal, Hydrastis canadensis

Umckaloabo, Pelargonium sidoides

Slipperly Elm, Ulmus rubra

Licorice, Glycyrrhiza glabra

Myrrh,

Olive leaf, Olea folium

Elecampane

Boneset, Eupatorium perfoliatum

Horehound, Marrubium vulgare

Mullein, Verbascum thapsus

Cayenne, Capsicum frutescens

Woad, Istatis

Angelica, Angelica archangelica

Ginger, Zingiber officinale

Reishi, Ganoderma lucidum

you are  the phosphorescence

my leaf

my wing

lunar moth

and are sweet in my mouth as Douglas fir tips

a scent i know well on you, citrus combined with fir

                                            I seek you always

                                            on the singed wings of angels

in the moist tongue

furled in dream

i lay down in the loam with Michael, with Gabriel

who are assigned to the cardinal directions

of your astral body

i hear you on the empty sea

immense tide. mouth of the river

i stand here on this coastal shore naked, holding the red stones beneath the tyrant sky

my unbraided hair

this temple of birds

hallucination

earth and sky day and night

I write to you on running water, I write to you on clouds.

You will not find me on that shore

In the groves of Cypress you knew me to be kin to

My tracks themselves have changed

This blood does not run in the way you remember

And you will not recognize my scent

Your memories are so old, Tall Ghost

lost solider

haggard night

one who whored the drum

Here is my mouth

Opening in a way you never knew

Breathing hot as I work the Ceanothus

Four hours in, just her and I

Her roots bleed blood red; she gives me a good fight

Eventually coming out in one piece

You once froze me and

I grew cold

So cold that touching the fir tips made them whither

And if you looked close you could see the sclera

Circle below the brown of my iris as I looked toward the Farlons

Floating iris

A sure sign that I would die a sudden and tragic death

But my eyes shape shifted

And I am no longer a skeleton

                                      15:00

she cursed the morning star

the page was blank

she drove and drove

On the ridge

The dreamer elks walks the tule fog

Disappears

Today-

Metal hitting wood

I am chopping the old timber for the Moon When the Babies Cry

And am too far north for you ever to be here

This skin holds me           just

wont come back

insane forever

really dying

(For South Wind)

 
Kiss your face

The String of Hearts tumbled

And fell downward

Into your leatherwork

The promises of the Plains

Drains the color from your face

Winds speak of the

Separating                baskets, pottery

Hair pipe, straight cut

Torn, turquoise, quill, under whites

Corn pollen, trade-clothe

Red the Mescal, Beaded Whip

                      She Always Comes at the End of Things

Scalp shirt and, “I’ll be with you til my dying day.”

You vowed, putting her upon your shirt

Along side your sons and daughters

Carry the world as you sing the holiest

Of songs among the men’s societies

                              Scatter

The Wind makes its marks

Looks you dead in the eye

And you know

To set up the drum

Blanket on the ground

Vibration that is flight

Moving the moon

With that song

Auntie wasn’t sick

Just hung over

But still we sang

Set up the drum

 
“I’m the Arrow, String and the Bow, I am the Man who Brings the Extra Arrows, and says, ‘Take them all, and here take my bow as well, I can always make another..”

 
That Summer in the Pines

"..go fetch the arrow!"

 
As it shot behind the old fence

No one saw that big dog there

 
“BOW WOW”, said the dog

And the Wolf Boy grabbed

The arrow, laughing, ran back

To the People

 
Blackberries

Staining his lips with

The Sundown, gripping his

Bow with them Choctaw boys

 
The Intertribal-bling-bling

Sing-sing, Kiowa lullaby had all the

Old Ladies smiling, with their shawls

Wiping the grease from their faces

As the sign on the soup pot read

“NO SALT!”

 
~ North Wind