She Breathes in Serenity

Drawing By Lydia Wolfe

She Breathes In Serenity
By Mushroom Montoya

She breathes in serenity,

Lifting her arms up,

She closes her eyes,

Trusting the spirits to catch her.

She floats

To her ancestors,

Meeting them,

One by one,

with each breath.

She breathes in serenity,

Listening to them teach her

How to hear the truth,

How to see the beauty,

How to be a blessing.

She floats

To her ancestors

Rooted in gratitude,

Grounded in solitude.

She bows

In tribute

For the wisdom

They continue to give her.

She floats

in the ancestral arms

of her being.

 

My Inner Light

By Mushroom Montoya

Light shines within me,

Even when it's sealed,

Not waiting to be revealed,

Deep within the caves

Of my presentations,

That I paint

To obscure

The beauty within,

Fearing

Other's thoughts

That I can't really know

Until I take the risk

And shed my many representations,

Exposing my unshielded pink

Underbelly,

Allowing my authentic self

To shine

Unhindered.

Only then will I see

The magnificent beauty

That is me,

As I share

My inner light.

How Denise and Mushroom Met

June 2^nd 1948 was the day my parents were married in the Land of Enchantment. 25 years later my brothers and I hosted my parents’ anniversary party. I had returned from my first tour of duty in Viet Nam, from my circumnavigation of the globe. I can attest that the world is indeed a sphere. I had been away from home, away from my only son, for 12 months. I had requested a transfer to a ship on the west coast. My request was denied. I, then, requested a swap, in which I would trade places with another sailor, and we would pay for the move. Although our request was not denied, it wasn’t approved until my ship “acquired” a Chicano, to replace me. I was the only Hispanic on board at the time.

My younger brothers and I had invited all our parents’ local friends and neighbors to the celebration at my parents’ house. I manned the bar on our backyard deck. Eda Bea, a neighbor whose daughter, Holly, was my sister, Mary’s best friend, walked up to the bar and asked for a Tequila Sunrise.

We chatted for a bit about the girls, her sons, my brothers, and my parents, and then she asked me if I knew Denise. I told her I didn’t. “Oh, I’m sure you do,” she said. “You’ve been over at the house to pick up Mary so often and Denise has been over to your house to pick up Holly.”

Whereas what she said was true. I had been to her house often, but I didn’t recall ever meeting her older daughter, Denise. Eda Bea talked about Long Beach City College and told me that Denise had gone there while I was attending.

“Certainly, since you two were in choir at the same time, must have run into each other,” she said trying to figure out how it was possible for me not to know Denise.

I shook my head. “I was in Men’s Chorus when Denise was in Choir. Although Men’s Chorus and Choir sang together often, I don’t remember Denise.”

She sipped the remainder of her Tequila Sunrise. “Don’t go away,” she said. “I’ll bring Denise over and you will see that you recognize her.” She handed me her empty glass and left.

It wasn’t long before she returned with a young woman, who I had never seen before. Denise wore a tiny blue mini skirt, showing off her beautiful long legs. She had long brown hair and dazzling blue eyes. I beamed a smile to her as I held out my hand to shake hers. Eda Bea stared at both of us, with her eyebrows arching toward each other. “You’ve never met him, either?” she asked her daughter. “How is that possible? Well, I’ll leave you two alone to get to know each other.”

After the party died down a bit and I probably talked too much, I invited Denise for a walk in the park. I wanted to hold her hand, but I didn’t want to appear too bold. As we walked by the pond, I reached out and took her hand. She held onto mine. My heart danced. We continued walking under the trees until we were almost to Willow Street. We stopped under a smooth-barked tree. I stood on my toes and kissed her. And then we kissed some more.
We walked back to the house hand in hand. 

Denise’s Laughter Filled Life

By Mushroom Montoya

 

Laughter explodes into a disarray 

                                         of flower petals,

She arranges into a plethora of piles,

Each proclaiming their own logical placement

On the shelf,

floor,

tabletop,

    or adjacent to the door.

 

Her presence is ever-present,

Persevering in her pursuits

of the pleasure

Of priming the pump

 

from the wellspring

        of growing things

                    from seemingly

                                        nothing.

 

She mushrooms a hullaballoo of laughter,

Mixing requirements of exactitude,

With a gregarious attitude

That trips over its own feet.

 

And that is where we meet

And giggle,

             jiggling

                      and wiggling

                                     our bellies.

 

Unlike my former Navy chief,

Whose need to be the very best,

    Distressed

                the crew 

                            to rebellion.

 

Denise’s drive to be her best

Includes a healthy bowl of jest,

Spiked with a barrel of intoxicating laughter

That is perpetually chasing after her.

 

All the emotions burst 

                          into the room

Banging drums 

                with the loudest boom,

Sweeping away misery 

                            with her witch’s broom,

Which is covered with flowers

                                     always in bloom.

 

She takes command of the forces she’s gathered:

Her family, 

            friends, 

                    employees, 

                                or volunteers,

Who bend over backward

To accomplish what she says is needed,

 

That she has already seeded

                                 Into the soil

                                                                                                                from her own toil,

To boil a brew of fantastic proportions,

Making everyone ooh and awe,

 

As each one drops their jaw,

And then can’t help but be bewitched

By her charm and her laughter,

Which is what I am always after.

 

That is why, 

                so long ago,

                                  My heart reached out to her,

Writing love laced letters

 

from the war in Viet Nam,

Enticing her to become

My one and only.

 

And I tell you truly, she’s not my wife.

The priest declared us 

                           Mates 

                                   for 

                                         Life.

And it has been so wonderfully great,

We’ve been married forty-eight

Marvelous years.

 

Many of which brought me to tears

                                          Of Joy,

Of course,

                what else could they be,

When I am married to the one and only

Denise Montoya.

Your attitude affects what you create

Your attitude, the emotion that you are feeling while you are crocheting affects what you crochet. In fact, your attitude affects whatever you create, whether is it a scarf, a meal, or anything.

There is no superstition when it comes to infusing love into a piece of art intended for those we love. At the subatomic level, we are beings of energy. 

Read The Secret Life of Plants. You will see that our emotions, our attitudes, affect the plants around us.

Rent the movie or read the book, The Secret. It shows you how much power our thoughts and feelings have.

Anything that we create with intentional love will hold the energy of that love within it. Those who touch it will feel it.

Try this experiment; Make something easy, like a scarf, for one of your grandchildren. Wash the yarn before your start. When you place the yarn in the water, ask the water to remove all negative energy from the yarn. This also works with smoke from sage, cedar, and other plants. If you use smoke, ask the spirit of the plant to remove all negative influences from the yarn.

As you start to crochet, state your intention, aloud, that you will fill each stitch with love and affection for all who touch it. As you crochet imagine love, security, warmth being intertwined with each stitch. Imagine, in your mind's eye, your grandchild feeling so good, so safe, so loved, wearing your scarf. Try to "feel" those things within yourself as you crochet.

When you finish, take it over to your grandchild's house, unwrapped. Give it to your grandchild. Watch their reaction once they hold it. Don't be surprised if their pet dog or cat wants to sit on it.