Question: Dear Luise: If you got the perfect question for you, what would it be about? Is there anything you would like to write about “just because?” I have been reading your website for over a year and I just love it. The main reason is because your subjects are so varied. I know you have lived a long life from reading your bio and I just wonder sometimes if there is anything that you would like to share that no one ever asks about? If so, consider this your readers’ invitation to you! Love, Millicent
Answer: Dear Millicent: Well, thank you! That was nice. I guess if I had a burning desire to sound off on any particular subject, I could ask a friend to send in a question about it, but, frankly, the thought has never crossed my mind.
Lets see. What would I like to tell you about myself and/or my life?
OK, here goes. Years ago I took a two-day trip to Eastern Washington with my “sort of” daughter. By that I mean, if I had ever had a daughter…Sonja would have been my choice. She and her husband were looking for a piece of land in the rolling, desert hills above the Methow River for their eventual retirement spot.
I must tell you that I’m a web-footed, Western Washington person who loves the green and the rain. Still, while she was talking with the owner of a strawbale house on twenty acres, I sat alone and just got the feel of the place and wrote a poem about it. Thanks for asking. Blessings, Luise
ADOBE OASIS by Luise Volta
Cool in this strawbale house. Very quiet. Peaceful.
The building snuggles down. Solid. Welcoming. Protective.
Just “there”…”here”. Being.
Hot outside. Prairie winds.
Distance folding and unfolding. More than quiet. Silent.
God’s footprints everywhere from glaciers of old.
Harsh land. Soft, too. Ancient, not just aging.
Primal, forceful nothingness.
Invisible animals: gophers, wild cats, deer, coyotes, snakes.
Landowners of yore. Wandering still.
A place to meditate and not know that you are.
Water can tame it, what you want to tame.
Trees and plants can be made to flourish in safety…behind fences.
They will nuture and nourish.
Off the grid. Primative and modern, why not? Why not indeed.
No bed downstairs. No way. A floating loft only.
It feels holy…like owning a cloud. Oh, the rain on the roof!
Guests can bunk in the tent trailer. Temporary migrants.
Stately Ponderosa pines, silent.
Quivering Aspen, like silver pennies, whispering their silly secrets.
A homestead was here before you were born. Before your parent’s parents.
It speaks of the eons after you leave and hardly notices your footfall.
Yet beneath this land lies the heart of “all that is”…beating.
It calls to you, “Come and reduce yourself to manageable proportions.
Come…rest and reflect. Come…work and heal. Get comfortable with yourself.
Melt into the mold of The Mother and become.”
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