Spirituality

Crumbs

/ Pam Goode / 6 Comments

Some say the purest death
is to be ravaged alive
by beasts —
a final communion with creation
and instinct.
I could give myself to the lions
as red men gave their flesh
with joy to birds of prey, a feast
laid high on offering altars of pine,
their bodies rising
bite by bite to fill
the mouth and longing arms
of god.
And if I should die on African soil
at the pawing of tigers or men,
I pray the ants will piggyback my
sun-pressed crumbs across each undulation
of the ancient and bare breasted earth
and leave me soul to soil,
to nurse the hungry wild
and mingle with the stars.

© Pam Goode, 1995
Adapted, 2025

NOTE: Artist, Writer, Wanderer, Introvert, Philosophical Rambler, Teacher, Worldwide Art Retreat Leader at wildhairadventures.com with LauraMcRaeHitchcock.com and pamgoodewrites.com

Life and How We Live It

/ Pam Goode / 6 Comments


I may have mentioned a few or fifty-seven times that I’ve spent almost 100% of my time for the past five or six or seven weeks cleaning. And I don’t mean sweeping and dusting obsessively — that will never be my goal.

What I mean is that I’ve been digging deeper and deeper into the “I can pick them up and carry them around” bits of my life — memories from across the decades, moments of loss and moments of euphoria, talismans that helped me through various decades depending on my spiritual quest at the time, aches that I’ll carry forever because they were a critical part of my growth, and aches as well that scarred me deeply and took up residence in my soul for far too long.

And yet all in all, it’s been, and continues to be, one of the most healing times of my life, taking me from emotion to emotion as I try to place each into the part of me that will keep me moving forward with wonder and sharing and joy day by day.

Love to All!

A Walk Along Bromore Cliffs, Part 1

/ Pam Goode / 6 Comments

Yesterday we had a long, blissful walk along the Bromore Cliffs near Ballybunion. I can’t really tell you how these voluptuously sculpted cliffs have affected me.

The 180 foot undulating cliffs are magic.

They are life, light, and lichen, striated at angles that show the tumultuous heaves of the earth.

They are water, both calm and screaming, and breath, both soft and harsh against the sandy shore.

They are tiny flowers seemingly too delicate to fight for light and space, and yet they thrive.

They are hope and bliss and longing and celebration and dancing like a hurricane.

They are peace and hope and joy.

They are every one of us.

Inspired by a month-long artist residency graciously provided by Olive Stack Gallery, Listowel, County Kerry, Ireland.