open letter to JMcC

I have stories upon stories of angels and spiritual helps.

Could you have been one?

I have suspicions and stories of scripts awry, of snippets and dweary phone calls.

I have hints and glints of selling out and hanging on.

I have seen the light at the end of the tunnel and

I spoke w/o words and listened with my whole body

vibrating with a Love glummed over and hidden on this planet

by lies and fear.

While I sat through the 'tour/proslitizing-prostutition tour' at the greek orthodox church

behind You. I considered how we came to be thus positioned.

I know of You and You know of me.

Excuse me for not speaking the next line in the script.

I do not forget the scripting, the stalking, the psychic trespass.

I do not forget all the 'help' I have been so blessed by.

I do not forget the cacophony of phone calls I would have pulled the plug on

when working at Ma Bell in the mid sixties. Acting stupid.

Insulting my own integrity.

I have been so insulting of so too many people in this town;

I could spend plenty time pouring out aching apologies... and mean it.

I told my Spanish teacher I was a 'bear-oso' feminino osa?

THAT'S GOOD. OSA. I am osa. Among many.

Feed me salmon it still swims the sea and some rivers.

I am tired and not amused. The moon sheilds me from the anger of

one hundred thousand pains until jupiter explods

Luna luna luna. Loba howls with la luna. Osa watches.

Once while practicing my spiritual space I witnessed myself as ancient

and on the march of tears. I saw my children and grandchildren buried

tortured, I could bear it. Acknowledge the pain. Keep breathing. For what each step?

The hope there was answer, for the thousands of prayers for the justice of our

loving ancestors, our great grandparents, our progeny.

Listen Listen Listen to my hearts song, I will never forsake you I will never forget you.

I have felt the love of spirit and abundance of this earth. I have that to offer.

Not to be cheapened. I am as sensitive as you. I can hide it better.

I know how much it takes for you to get around the other evening.

any evening, any time.

And to spend that time to watch a television...

Please consider forgiving my not following the script.

It is now in my DNA to dis-believe although I remember

all the helps and love and helps and love and joy in this world.

Torn into pieces I stand now like a character in a script.

Due to walls to protect from those perhaps not my enemy,

maybe in the words of a former friend; "no one is trying to hurt you June"

aha. another hint.



I didn't even know. I don't have words. Even a name given or taken



when the last tree is cut down

when the last fish is taken from the sea

maybe then we'll know... we can't eat money.

and I must thanks to the many who have helped, fed me, transported me,

housed me. no thanks to those who Investigated me, psychoanalyzed me, robbed me,

burgled me, raped me, cheated me, stolen from me. Keep breathing.