Participant Work
Writing in Rhythm with the Spiral of Life - a 3-part Workshop in 2025 -
What Happens to All
by Lois Wetzell
​In order to flourish, one must change…
Parts of ourselves, we must rearrange,
Dynamism is the nature of being,
Whether hopping toad or bird on the wing.
Connection is the first of the phases,
Inspection, next, is a glance past our faces.
Flexion means we are trying our best,
Mental muscles put us to the test.
Reflection happens when we look inside,
Inflection is the change as we scan far and wide.
Correction is next if we notice a flaw,
The result of all the conclusions we draw.
Perfection is last in this flourishing state,
Buffing each scratch, both tiny and great.
Nothing is perfect, you say to me?
Well, my friend, we'll agree to disagree.
Perfection is a wave of dynamic flow,
The closer to perfect, the sooner you’ll know.
Doubt is expensive, resilience is free;
All is as perfect as needs to be.
Death as a Portal
Linda S. (Flagstaff, AZ)
​I remember when death began to crack open
the hard shell that had formed around me
revealing what was still alive within me that I could not see
Death of parents; death of a marriage and other relationships
that could not be sustained;
death of hopes and dreams that had no future, and ultimately,
the death of a false self that could no longer be allowed to live.
Death, I have come to know, is really just a portal for the soul
so it can move on to its next journey.
Sometimes it’s a psychic death and other times the form itself must dissolve
So the soul can be set free
to become whatever is needed for its growth and evolution.
Why do we fear such change?
Why do we cling to the matter
instead of rejoicing in the new found freedom of a fresh start?
Isn’t that the invitation of death?
To look beyond what we call life and see
the reality of what it means to truly exist….
A never-ending story of being and becoming.
Spiral, Birth
by Lois Wetzell
As I tumble in the peace and calm of the water, I spin and roll and do somersaults in the salty mass. I am at home in this water, and yet anxious to leave it…as though my completeness will not be accomplished until I leave the water, of course, taking some of it with me. Once emerged, I watch my skin turn colors of lavender, turquoise, and purple. Near where my arms are anchored at my armpits, fins begin to sprout and wiggle, as though they are anxious too, to see what they can do. Fins also form near my feet and knees. As I emerge from the briny liquid, I stand in the water, and then on the water; my fin feet undulating to keep me aloft the watery place of my birth. Once I establish my balance and kinesthetic awareness in relation to the water, I am ready to be submerged, all fins and extremities moving in sync to the demands of the water. I first wade, then dog paddle, then rely solely on the power of my fins and finlets to keep me floating up to my neck, not afraid, no discomfort, completely at home. Once again, I begin to wiggle, roll, tumble and turn quite like I did in my original watery home. I realize I am now truly home, as I was always home; my birth a sanctification of my existence in or out of the water. I was there, I am here, I will be in, at, or of the water.
As she used her fins to propel her, she left a few of them behind, dropping part of her in her watery womb. Her legs and arms began to build tension, flexion, and strength to emerge and stand upright. Though content, she wondered how she got there; how she came to be. Was she always present in some form…a seed, a zygote, an idea, a wish, or was she breathed into existence by human consciousness? Why leave the water? Despite her comfort and content, something was drawing her away from the water. She remembered hearing distant rhythms in the distance…of language, of drum beats, of waves, of song. She felt a yearning to not only explore this non watery sphere, but to thrive in it. As she stepped out of the water, she took a bit of it with her, a compromise to leaving her finlets behind. She walked and left watery footprints wherever she stepped, a reminder that she would always carry the water with her, as part of her, and she, part of it. As her feet and the earth became one, a new sense of beginning engulfed her as she tried to make sense of yet another new cosmic plane. Once again, she felt at home. Birds, plants, rocks, and animals all welcomed her. Would she survive AND thrive in her new realm? She breathed in the new and commingled it with before. But then, the water never really left her.
Within your wild self, take the water and the air, the sky and the earth, the dark and the light to become that which in some spheres is unimaginable.
Take your water with you wherever you go and the earth will fertilize your wildness, without taming your spirit. Let the seedlings within you become a majestic sequoia; let the water you take with you turn into an ocean of realized dreams. In this way, you will be born and reborn in as many likenesses of yourself that you wish.
Death by Lois Wetzell
To appreciate this topic, I am taken with the notion of dormancy. I ponder a computer image of the salvia apiana, the white sage, and notice that not all the blossoms are at the same stage of flowering. Some are spent; some at the height of their bloom; some with fresh buds just beginning to emerge. Then, I am reminded of Christina’s description of the “clues of many lifetimes.” I see and understand the lifetimes of the white sage blossoms and the varied development of the plants themselves, not just the blossoms. As I sit in the sacred forest of the visualization, I notice the dormancy of the plants in my garden, particularly the Cleveland sage, which sadly, was not planted in an optimal spot for it to flourish. And yet, it always blooms in the spring and stays green throughout the fall and winter. It never gives up, though it doesn’t really receive enough sunlight to thrive and grow. There are variations in its perpetual dormancy. The plant itself is like an archetype of clues of many lifetimes. Through no fault of its own, it was not “responsibly planted.” Bless its verdant soul, it is the model of perseverance. In its dormancy, it is implied that birth was a successful stage. Similarly, that flourishing has come and to a certain extent gone is “gorgeously evident” as it now will move to its death phase, or at least approach dormancy.
Another plant in my garden, an exotic sage comes to mind. It flowers in the spring and fall, but in summer and winter it remains dormant; not dead, yet not alive. It droops, leaning down in such a lonely manner, you almost wish it would die and get on to the next phase of being…or not being as the case may be. It is the tortured soul of my plant world; the forgotten strange cousin of the garden. And yet, with a little water, some kind words, and the flow of the seasons, it springs back to life with full abandon, flowering like an ingenue at her first high school dance. As bedraggled as this plant appears in the off seasons, it never actually dies. I am completely enamored with its perpetual dormancy. It brags of its birth, all the while eschewing death. But its death is inevitable, I must acknowledge. Yet I remain in ignorant bliss, as I have only seen the clues of many lifetimes and never actually accompanied it through its death phase. It is constantly dissolving and at once becoming.
These plant kin that embrace dormancy remind me of us fleshy beings who persevere past hardship, even though we may die a little with each travail. As we approach our own deaths, our perseverance allows us to recover from planting ourselves irresponsibly. Then when the ultimate death approaches, the one in which our hearts stop beating and our brains stop transmitting, won’t we then be approaching our own state of dormancy…moving on to the next phase of being? I guess we’ll find out when we get there!
We are, as are all life forms, “constantly dissolving and becoming.”