Public Service Announcement 5/7/17

I have a strong conviction that Donald Trump is going to wake up, like Angulimala. Can we hold him and his heart in the light, with the intention that the still small flame within him will burn brighter and brighter until he's illuminated, and realizes what he's doing? Can't you see it now, that tiny orb beating inside him? Look closely.  It's the same as yours and mine. Then he will stop what he's doing and become a champion for peace, correcting and improving everything he's done wrong, and becoming a leader and visionary of the new world we all know is possible. This is the vision I am having. If we all hold this vision together, holding his heart in love and seeing that flame glow and grow... maybe it will happen! I believe in the power of prayer, the power of intention and the power of conviction. I've seen it work wonders in my own life and in the lives of friends. Think about how powerful it is just to be witnessed, just to be held in the loving space of a compassionate friend. Sharing whatever you have to share in such a space can allow you to release and transform. Let's hold our president in this light, instead of in hate. Please help me make this vision a reality!

Martin Luther King Day 1/16/17


I'm on a positive wavelength. One I slipped into, heart open, heart in front.  In the mind, there are many pathways, many ideas, many contradictions and traps.  Sometimes I think myself into a tearful hole and feel immobilized, like the splintered remains of an explosion.  And then woven throughout there is a peace, there is an understanding, and an all encompassing love. A forgiveness and an acceptance of what can never be solved.  It is inherently unsolvable. And so huge.
And then there is the pressing question of time, embodied life- the years ahead and the years behind.  There is the ever present reality of free will, and the willful surrender of the guiding force of goodness and strength. I see it's mark on the face of beloved friends and on strangers, in the eyes of the Gods and Goddess in the Hindu paintings and the serene winking eye of the Buddha.  Who are these ideals, these Gods and Goddesses who beckon us with their fearsome love and compassion.  How can we tap into them and entreat them, belong to them and with them, become them and let them blossom within our selves?
And then there is the question of belief, the rabbit hole of confusion that leads us from one dead end in the maze to another.  And the choice again of free will, and which path to take.
I believe that the truth is a pathless land, and yet I have seen many seekers of truth with bosoms full of love. Whatever rituals and markings they may carry, they have found something pure and holy, and in this world saturated in superficiality, I bow to them in hope and faith.
What brings me my sense of stability, my sense of I?  When I put on a cute pair of jeans and walk out, I know I look good and I feel good, I feel a bit better. And yet I can see the triviality of it- this externalization of what I long for inside- a feeling of completion, of expression, of wholeness, and of beauty.  Of control.
Is this wrong or bad?
Where do we draw the line?
Today is Martin Luther King Jr. Day and I listened to a speech he gave on the three evils of society, materialism, militarism, and racism.  I wonder what makes some one greedy and what makes some one kind. I wonder at the linear, earthly and logical ways in which people live illogical lives, a part of a greater system laden with hidden potholes and falsehoods.  Built on domination, competition and destruction.  And I am a product and a piece of this giant web, I am here, a luminous spark, a simple embodied miracle of female.  And what am I doing with my life?  What contradictions burden me and what falsehoods betray me, what beauty and ignorance glisten in my smile.  What honesty and frustration grace my good will, and what lies and dogmas prevent me from truly seeing myself?  I am a non-self, an emanation of light in the physical.  I am a reincarnated soul many light years from home.  I am an alien to this rough world, a fearful, tearful little girl.  And I am spider woman, tirelessly weaving my way home.
Thank you divine spark of life for this opportunity, this language to create with. It brings me infinite pleasure to be able to do so, and to share it.  God bless this world.

Are you my savior?

I'm working on this song… Finding myself within the process of exploring deeply with another person.  Untangling unhealthy attachment patterns. Understanding and learning how to be whole within relationship.  Ouch and yes! No and more please! Do ya feel me?

Are you my savior?

Or are you my captor?

Sometimes it seems hard to tell the difference.

If I was someone

I would be no one.

A voice for the voiceless aching need.

Who will comfort me.

Who will confront me?

Words 2/24/17

The macrocosm pieces of the microcosm of the whole. Or, a reflection. Or more- less, plus some- intangible extras.  How does it all fit together? Yes that's what I'm trying to say. Relevant to myself- is the mere act of getting in a car an offense? I'm waking up on a timeline- a thundering river thrashing through, whereas before I was glued to my raft, could only see the walls. How much damage has been done to this Earth? Where am I, and who am I, really?  Is getting in a car and showing up in a place that has no eyes to see me helpful? Is it better to live amongst the flowers and make no impact there?

I have questions, the same ones, and yet they take new forms, they gain gravity, they meander and they recreate themselves.  I am surprised to find myself a beautiful woman, coming alive at just the right time.  Grasping at handfuls of air.  And other hands, searching, lonely. Trying to build or unbuild something. Collecting pieces of information and throwing them at a blank wall. We are collections, and yet we are pure, unadulterated presence.  We are not of this world, and yet we are in it.  We are vulnerable creatures, in need of love. We have access to all of it, now, and yet we sip from puddles- each others and those forgotten ones.  Someone came to my well and memorized my lines, the shape and curve of me-
Then he quickly forgot- as the tides of me welled up and the waves threatened to grow.  The clouds gathered in the once clear blue sky- reminding us of weather patterns.  He was just someone I met, unexpectedly, as most stories begin.

Unraveling the handfuls of time.  Unraveling the strings of bellowing beasts who prefer not to be tethered. How many times we tie and untie, trying to hold ourselves to the mast.  But the ship is rocking and we have no control. Better to stand on the waves, remembering the breath at the center and not thinking we can conclude anything at all.

How many words leaping and thrusting from mouths.  How many bodies born warm and riggling, perfect and forgotten already.

I know, none, I am one, I am whole, I am sea foam, I am beached whale, I am deep sea diver, I am home, at last, on the shores of my own soul. I am the deep insides, the empty pocket of beggars, the stolen moments of mothers, the last cigarette smoke break on an empty office block,
I am horrible, horrified human crying why, why me?
I am grateful, indulgent, superficial mess.
I am beautiful, untethered flying free.
I am words words, and hands,
I am you.

You are me.

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