poem

who pretends to hold the key

who begs God

who laughs and knocks at the door each day

right here, right now.

in the middle of this bar fight

intoxicated on moonshine

the real kind

drunk in the timeless grass on the dark side of the road

I found you there,

beloved, writing my hands.

 

I saw you in my innocent, human prince

I love him always

please

allow in this love

as my gift to you,

heal your broken mind

Let sunlight blossom in your fertile, pregnant heart

As you offer your body to the flowing light

of my strong love

Healing all you touch

Simply like sunlight

Humbly like breathing

My beloved child

You gave up your art to find me

You gave up your games to live with me

you made me your central sun and you made sacrifices

on my behalf

solemn and between fences

Here in the meadow you found me

playing with your hair and whispering sweet nothings

just like you want me to forever

safe and sound, cradled, held

 

my darling child how i adore you

how I hold you dear

so close, so tight

how i am always clothing you in noble robes

if only you would pay more attention to me and forgive all the small infractions and misgivings

meaningless train now sunken ships

I inspire you to grow in that rubble

don't forget me child

i am here, in your pen

 

Bats -written March 2011

Bats

March 10, 2011 at 9:05am

My stories die today

No longer can I blame

Another for the sorrow that is

Clotted up

And caked in caves concealed from light

I have crawled down deep inside

Unwittingly at first

For at first the path had been clear and

I had smelled

The mighty Ocean’s calm breath

And tasted her promises as truth

How easily and gaily did I dance toward that Ocean then!

 

I danced for many days and nights

Through many seasons, planting and harvesting steadily

Cold winters came and threatened to freeze

My memory, but I would not forget her waters

 

And then it was time

I left all the things I could carry behind

And set off alone into the darkness

 

I traveled by night for protection

From the ones who wouldn’t understand

And for a while

I felt joyful

When creatures big or small came to me asking for favors

I gave them whatever bread I had and lived off of my laughter

I’m not sure when the hunger began

I only know that it surprised

And confused me

I sat down then to think

The trees that once comforted me hissed at me I felt

Startled

I looked around and

Couldn’t find the path I almost

Wished for the things I had left behind for the

Timely winters, and the dry, dry land

And then I heard the voice of what I already knew

And had forgotten

I looked up to see the Ocean

I looked up to see the Ocean

Rising fast against the sky

A shriek

So shrill from within me came, and I wished to run

But found my body frozen, my will numb

I looked down to find my feet

And found them bound and painful

Buried beneath the mud of my ancestors

I looked up

To find my hands raised in fists

So tightly clenched I could no longer use them!

What stories did pass through my mind then

Words of every color shape and size

Flying as bats fly from a cave only to hit against a glass

And fall back inside again

They echoed like that for some time

And I was afraid it would never stop

 

The water swelled up, high and mighty

The sounds of the forest were absorbed into it as it rose

Neither the sun nor moon could shine through it and

All the forest was cast in its shadow

As it fell

I pushed beneath it and pressed my belly to the sand

 

Hush said the water

Hush said the sand

And it was silent at the bottom of the Ocean

 

I live at the bottom of the Ocean

This sand is the fertile soil of my mind

Where senseless seeds were sown and have grown

Into stubborn weeds, weeds turned into bats taking flight

I have tried to swat them and they have returned enraged

And so, surrendering I say

 

Bring before me

All flying things

All black and vile things

And let them loose into this night

Though they echo in the caverns of my mind

They are not me

They are not mine

stream of consciousness

Whats inside of me
More than I will ever see
Eyes bearing down deep into that darkness
Within unmanifest glorious shameful black
hidden efforts
Standing on a platform restless react
who will I be in 25 years?
I'm alone but I'm not on my knees yet
Like this man with no teeth walking towards me he smiles at me from within and without
who is my enemy
why do I beg him to please me
with his mouth
with his sexual energies
I am not him
I am not his
And i will never belong to anyone

what makes me happy what makes me successful
what makes me blind and strive belong below
I belong to life's heart
life wraps me in her wrapping paper
I am a present
for someone
I am a gift
My smile the cold edges of my skin
I am warming in the sun
I am warming in the simple easy breeze
The flowers caressing me tenderly
as they unfurl

I am alone
I am not alone
each cell each fiber of my being within within
busting with darkness
bursting with light with life
microscopic microorganisms
within within within
and up there on the street light
on the post i see two birds carelessly watching, calmly watching
Looking for scraps of food
are all that they need, filling their bellies
whole and home
cooing their pigeon sighs
who am I but new york city, left, detached
boomeranging away from my origins, who made me who wove me
I resisted I hate hate hate
all the things that made me
and yet I love them I long for them, i am them
you are a stranger
you are my face in the crowd
you are forgotten concrete driving wheels under my feet
You are alone begging me for something
begging me to heal you to release you
then I'll know myself, I'll know my place
christ manifest through me
so that I may serve
the most holy light
I rise up on a ladder
I strive to pick those apples
the sweet and juicy red flesh
I reach, I bite
the juice drips down my chin
Still I reach, still I'm reaching
higher higher and higher I go
filling myself on those fruits that fall from the sky
That hang that grow from clouds
that climb that whither
that falter
that are endless that are edgeless
That are within each cell, eat fiber
this is what I'm saying
I know who I am
I belong here

Please smile for me
please smile at me
Please show me please tell me please teach me
hello hello I'm calling
somebody has left the door open
I'm really really wanting to know
who am I looking for around every corner
is it you?
please belong to me
I'm asking you
hold my hand
please don't let me dance alone.
I'm dancing alone here in the parking lot
there is nobody around but wind and grey buildings
all the cars have died all the people have died all the bees have died all the life has died
and I am driving in a car alone over a tiny bridge stuck in traffic
A big tsunami is on its way to take me
That was the dream I had

But i was warned in time
so here I am exiting
stuck in traffic
On a tiny bridge before the tsunami comes
will you be there in the waves with your smiling face
wiping me away into oblivion?
is that a peaceful place?
sometimes I long to die and go home
not in a morbid way
just in a way that i know that i will be free
my spirit in every molecule in every place
understanding that time past present future
was never a thing that bound me
yet here I am one person inside one skin looking out behind eyes
trying to be appropriate trying to fit in
trying to be an example
trying to be humble
trying to be small and trying to be beautiful
trying to be and trying to be and trying to be!
the pressure in the cooker boiling me
boiling me like beans
mushed up to be eaten in a taco
please give me mexico
please give me africa
please give me exotic foreign strange
please give me culture steeped in history thousands of years buried bones
in an old burial ground beneath the concrete
This culture we built out of plastic
this palace we built out of bones
giving and receiving on the surface
lines lights
I know its beautiful
I belong to it

I am america after all
I am new york and texas
I am stirred up in a swaddling cloth
babies in my bosom babies in my heart
I am born here again
I am born here every moment
every time i look to the sky
take in that deep infinite breath
and ground it down through my feet into the earth and up
breathing in the depths of lava smoke
breathing in the depths of hard nickel
I am safe
and I have many questions unanswered
my mind tries to untie the knots
but can't quite reach them
grappling there, fumbling there in the darkness
thank you for belonging to me
thank you for holding me
please help me find my enemy
i am thou

 

 

 

Bein real

I'm reflecting and realizing a pattern in myself- that it's challenging to stay vulnerable in my requests. If I'm not met with the response I want, my mind sometimes responds in a hostile way. It sometimes does this preemptively. Does anyone else have a similar thing? I've been catching myself doing it and kind of marveling at it. It seems like a defense mechanism put in place to keep me from feeling pain, but it doesn't really work. Actually it keeps me in a sort of prison, where I'm not fully expressing myself. Ideally I want to be able to be honest, speak my truth without being attached to the person's response. I want to be able to see people as separate and understand their wants and needs and be able to honor them without taking their opinion of me to heart, or their ability or inability to meet my requests as a reflection on me. I think this is the process of learning how to do that! First... being able to honestly observe my less than desired responses, my projections onto the other, and my pain at perceiving rejection. In the past I let other people's reactions to me affect my ability to speak my truth or request what I need. No more! I've been challenging myself to speak up, be transparent and honest more and more. I don't want to be submissive, nice, or subtly dishonest. I just want to be real!

gymnastics

I was a competitive gymnast for 18 years. I spent most of my youth training to be better, stronger, more fit, and more perfect. I competed all over the country once a month and by the time I was 12 had made the level 10 junior Olympic national championships, which would be the first of 4 over the next 6 years. I put an immense amount of pressure on myself to be perfect. Every toe point, every score... every podium, trophy and medal meant the world to me. All the girls who would turn into women who would come in ahead or behind me... how did we treat each other? How did we view each other? And more importantly what did we think of our selves?

We were sisters, and we were teammates. We shared everything- chalk, stories, dreams, broken bones and hearts. We believed in each other when we were giving up on ourselves. We laughed harder than anyone laughs and saw each other cry almost every day. We learned about life together. We assessed the crazy grown ups. We got into all kinds of hilarious mischief! You sisters taught me what it means to be a friend, and truly you were my best friends (you know who you are.) And also... we were young, wounded, scared, and impressionable. Sometimes we were so freakin mean. We put each other down and talked badly behind each others' backs. Maybe we even hoped once our twice that the other would fail, so that we could have her place.

I got a full gymnastics scholarship to Penn State and competed there for 3 and a half years. I am still dismantling deep seated beliefs of not feeling good enough and comparing myself to other people. Stuffing my emotional and physical pain inside of me so that I can look good and be tough (ya feel me?) But I have learned through time that it isn't being stoic that is really heroic, it is being vulnerable. Honest, transparent, and real. Forgiving, loving. Sometimes I just have to stop and feel gratitude for all the hard work, dedication, effort, time and willpower that me, my family, coaches put into supporting and helping me to become the badass gymnast I was (and will always be deep down). And sometimes I have to have a little compassion for myself, dang that was no joke.

I'm 7 years gymnastics free! The lessons keep unfolding.

October

Infinite love
from here to everywhere.


from the painful wounded heart
reaching for love
in all the wrong places


to God, God of Gods
Who lives in everyone.


I want to be your child
Only you can make me whole

The Heart

Come all the way here and I will whisper so sweetly to you.
Call you forth with the sweet melody of my form.
Believe in you, as the earth believed in me when it built me, my skin and my limbs.
I am but a particle of dust, a grain of sand, that famous and unspeakable first notion.
Who spoke of passion, of time?
Who spoke of an impetus for change.
A green audience, the blades of grass.

I am that original product, I am that first idea.
I am that impossibility, made manifest by the yearning.
Him for her, her for him.  The way I feel now about you.
Take this poem of love and know that I've only just met you.
In a battle with myself, I reach to find you, your silky impression, subtle smoke wafting among the swirling landscape of my life.
I meet you there- a whisper on the wind, and I harmonize slowly with you, for fear of blowing you too far away with my thundering bloodshot heart.
All ropy scars and wounds still sneezing out their goodbyes, healing and disappearing all too slowly. I hope you don't see what you wouldn't want to see.
And I hope I don't judge you too quickly.  Put you in a jar in the refrigerator with some outdated label marked wrong.  Ring out the sound of your voice and trap it on some old voice memo. Category of past, present, future- say "I know you," say "I love you," say "I once was like you."  No… I won't do those things prematurely, won't bend you, mold you, coerce you or me.  I won't subject you to such violence.  I won't make you what that hidden part of me might want you to be. I'll let you be as you are, oh I will try not to pin you between my knees or lock you inside cold glass.  Of what is this, and will it last?

Instead I embrace the sweetness of your form today, the delicate flower of your essence, your delicious exhalation and I trust.
I long to open to you and embrace that mystery, the one that speaks of right now. Further along, when more nooks and crannies of ourselves are revealed, I will think I know you then, but of course, I never will.
So many times I lost
because life pried my hands shut and shut eyes open.  I hope that I find you there, my beloved, your features and attitudes molded into the skin of this new beauty, his precious love so new.
My beloved, I've found you. Again and again, in the gathering clouds, in the winking rain.  In the soft, warm earth upon my bare feet.
I pluck you from that dry desert.  I rub you clean of dirt and cactus spines and press your sweet red juice between my lips. You are not unlike this young man I've found, not unlike his long limbs and the lines that wrinkle his face repeatedly into fabulous, reverberating smiles.
Oh sweet kiss!
I can't help but look for my beloved in him, this sweet one who bowed my violin heart unexpectedly at first glance, took my breath and tingled my hopes so definitively.

I argue with myself, as if it's some offense to even try. As if there is bitterness in this longing, as if there is loss even in the finding.


 I'll try something new. I'll open, I'll embrace this without fear.  Let me have it, all of it, without knowing if it will last. For what is something that lasts? Show me one thing, and I will show you withering and death. But does not the flower gracefully give up its life under the cold vigil of snow? Let me open, and let me let go. My prayer is imperfect, like the skin that ages, like the feet that ache after many many miles of walking.
But beauty withers not with age or time. And so this love is sweet and new, and has already blossomed, succeeded and renewed itself, and by the very nature of itself is newness.
It is in and of itself a delight. It is, in and of itself, a success. It is delicious! It is water for the thirsty plant. It is a promise after hopes were dashed.  It is the rekindling of faith in a young heart who's already grieved thoroughly, because she gave so much love and lost it anyway. To violence, and yet still longs.

Does she even deserve any more, a true love? Has she really turned this bitter, sweet pure heart, once so young and faithful? I hope to heal the bitterness because she gave up on that love.  She had to, I know, but her loyal soul is still reeling, wanting to love the object that betrayed her so. Cut her, ripped her, smashed her, broke her.  That's what they say about hearts.

But I say no, a heart cannot be broken. A heart is not a thing, not the muscle that beats within the chest. Not some metaphor, or that symbol drawn by children upon the blank page. It is not sweet adoration, the source of infatuation.

The heart is much nobler. The brightest star in all the galaxies, above below and beyond. Beating not for anyone, drumming its sounds into infinity.

I am yours it says, straight to the heart of its own beat. It promises, promises to be true. Forever, I do. Heart of love, I am yours. Take me and direct my course. I surrender.

Last year- 10/7/16

Im here looking again at myself through the eyes of the other, another, apart, inside out. I am a being, a beautiful beating heart in a body, seeking light, warmth, growth. Just like an animal on a cold winter's day, a flower unfurling. Struggling and trying to emerge. And my chances are good. I've been shaking, shaking at the roots. I am hungry, tired, thirsty, alive, and alone inside of the endless whirls and whizzing of the city. 27, with veins starting to show, and eyes weary from tears, of sadness and gratitude. I have left my home, the one I was building carefully, stone by stone. A storm came and shattered the bones, and the mortar dried up into dust and scattered from my unclenched palm. Who am I? Alone on a cold desert mountain, or surrounded by loved ones, cherishing the same invisible power, senseless, wordless, love and faith. I am one among many, a refugee of time. I am one among many, a prisoner of my own design. I am one among many, a song bird soaring high above the trees. I am so much more and less than I was, so many new layers and so much more raw. Present to the suffering of this lonely planet. And the beauty is crushing for those with eyes to see beyond the rushing whispers of the mind. The words dance, filling me with surrender. I am whole, I am complete. I am what I tell myself I am, and also a body, beyond the words. The intelligence of stars, of soft touch, of courage. I am not giving up, and I have so much to be grateful for. Thank you to every breath, every heart beat. Thank you to every smile, to every frown. Thank you to every mountain, every pair of feet. Thank you to the strangers I greet. Thank you for all of this profound sadness. And thank you for the lessons, to see beyond myself, and learn what my soul is yearning to know, and my mind will never comprehend. Again, again, again.

Class on Humility

I waited in the back room reading while the guards attended to the woman on lock down in the room where we have our weekly class.  In maximum security everything is grey, and I surf through an invisible sea of hardness and gloom looking for the softness, which is always ever-present at the center of things, no matter where I am.  Breathing calmly within my force-field of good intentions, the mystery of all the things I'll never understand unfolds around me.  One guard is forceful and urgent outside the room, another behind me laughing as the unexpected contents of her locker spill to the floor.  Eventually the room is cleared and I'm allowed to enter-immediately 12 women, 8 of whom I've never met, come in behind me, talked loudly as I try to sort the contents of the day's lesson plan.

Humility.

What is humility?

I brought up the topic because a) It came to me and b) because I sincerely want to know. Here are some of my thoughts about it.

It is a building block of happiness. It is an essential way of being. It is the only way to fully embody our greatness. It is the truth. It is sublime.  It is our experience of the Lord letting us don his clothes, the clothes of a King.  How can we dress ourselves in that fine linen, in that golden purity, bliss and ecstasy of the soul, with even the slightest inkling that we alone might be the source of that goodness- us with our puny mortality, our sacks of skin and bone that we can't so much as move, breathe, think, or blink alone.  Alone without the help of that inexplicable electrical current, the heart beat automatic motion of that crystalline perfection, that pristine impossibility, LIFE!

(And yes- it's semantics here.  Life is... what it is. And in some respect we are the source of it, as it is the source of us. And yet not to acknowledge the sea, the soup from which we came, and the soup to which we will return... is to be blind. I won't get into it too much further here, as this might lead me into meanderings about the nature of the Lord, Buddhism and Christianity which I really have so very little right to even entertain.)

The most moving part of class:

After 5 minutes of free writing about a humbling event and the virtues gained from their experiences, we had a class discussion. Each woman went around and shared.  There were many tears, and much reaching out with mutual support. I listened and watched in awe, reflecting and giving feedback for clarity. Circumstance is a great teacher, and there but before the grace of God go I.  More writing to come...

 

We read this at the jail

We went around... and each woman read a stanza. Some whispering, some broken. One woman settling into it more and more with each word, like sleeves she slipped her bare arms through.   And I could hear her wonderment, the revelation as she went on.

 

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

 

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

 

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I’ll rise.

 

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops.

Weakened by my soulful cries.

 

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don’t you take it awful hard

‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own back yard.

 

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.

 

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I’ve got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

 

Out of the huts of history’s shame

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

-Maya Angelou

 

How do we find inner peace? I'm doing this as a unit at the Del Valle Jail- it is my honor and privilege to witness these women with their great wisdom, their great hardships. Their violence and grief, and guilt.  I am beside myself with awe as we study together.  As our lives and paths intermingle- me with my stories, and theirs. 

Inner peace as a building block, the root note of the chord we are vibrating... vibrating.

Pain as our teacher. Shame humbling us.  Nobility of the soul, setting us free. In the darkest of places. Fenced in by circumstance.  Liberated by ineffable light... in the mind.  In the heart.

True wisdom dawning at the rocky bottom of loss.. women alone in a jail cell, finding themselves and each other.

I'm here... I offer my eyes. I let the rebelliousness and tensions roll off of me like water, and I laugh with them.  I offer my heart, and my sincere unknowing. My dedication to our mutual illumination. 

Next week our class will be on humility and how to develop a sincere sense of good will for all.  We may dance, we may sing.  We may write each other notes... we will change the way we think.  Instead of looking for what's wrong, we will look for what's right. And in a place where your neighbor is a potentially vicious stranger, we'll pass an hour as friends.

 

 

My Little Bird

Oh where oh where does my little bird sing?

Over the mountains and across the stream

And beyond the river she is waiting for me

Oh where oh where does my little bird sing?

 

Oh where oh where does my only love hide?

Below the ocean and beyond the sky

And deep in the valley where my lonely dove cries

Oh where oh where does my only love hide?

 

Oh who oh who will teach me to sing

Like the bright leaves of autumn and the dawning of spring

Like roses and kisses my favorite things

Oh who oh who will teach me to sing?

 

Oh who oh who will teach me to fly

Below the water and beyond the sky

And deep in the valley where my only love hides

Oh who oh who will teach me to fly?

 

And when she did find me she wrapped me in wings,

Held me in starlight and drenched me in dreams

Pulled me so close then she whispered to me

And taught me the song I was destined to sing:

 

May goodness fly with thee

May goodness fly with thee

May goodness fly with thee

May goodness fly with thee

 

When you love somebody like that

When you love somebody like that

How do you move on?

When you love them with every ounce and fiber

of your being.

And even more than you knew you had

When you pour yourself over them

Like milk over cereal

And wish hope and pray that the mixture is sweet.

 

What do you do

When time has passed

And the love beats on

Like a wingless bird in your heart?

 

Do you cry out, or die, silently

a million times a day

for eternity?

Do you mourn, wail, moan

Shaking the memories from your hair

your teeth

your bone?

From your cells, your DNA?

How do you do this?

Is there some un-catalyst, some trick to untie the knot tied so tight

That did not fit quite right.

 

Is there some other way to love, I just have not discovered yet?

 

Still, each smile betraying just a little pain

Each sun rise, a re-remembering why they're not here

I brace for each new step, forwards, not backwards

Speaking in sweet words to my new beloved: myself.

"Your pain is the breaking of the shell which encloses your understanding." -Kahlil Gibran

There's just you.

There's only you.
You and you.
I and I.
The same.

There's only you, only one.
Lonely, only, empty, pain.
Raw and ripped,
Tired and gripped,
The weight of the world, not one, but many
Backs and shoulders aching with greed, violence, and pain.
I can understand how they act that way, and I can see it, clear as day.
When the pain is too unbearable to feel, we throw it up and out and upon the faces of those around us, even or perhaps mostly, those we love.
I've seen it within, so within it is without.
A projection, an infection.
So have compassion, and know your heart.
That is the only remedy.
To know your heart you have to feel, you have to feel to heal.
Oh it hurts, and it isn't easy, but together we hold the net.
An intricately woven web of same, of same of same.

If you want to connect and share yourself, you have to open up and be vulnerable. When you do that others can see into you, and share themselves too. This way we support each other. But many times we've walked that line and been dropped carelessly like a glass vase.
The pain built up until we could take it no more. So we built a wall, became numb. Pulled up the drawbridge and then there was no one home.
And how many are left there, alone in their castles. Raising children with broken hearts who raise children with broken hearts.

Oh pain pain pain, you strange intolerable beast.
You doctor, you medicine, you relief. Let us feel humanity's grief. Let us hide no longer behind veils of feigned perfection and half-hearted chuckles. I see you, your white knuckles. Clenched in fists. It hurts it hurts, make room to feel. Stay up all night, take back the time you wasted trying to correct your reflection, finalize your beauty, success and perfection.  All things fade, except the bright holy light, all things get lost, except the all pervading, all things end, except that which has no beginning. Breathing in and out, there is no time. There is no I. There is no giving and no receiving. No giver and no receiver. The phone hangs off the hook. I'm alone, and I lost my way.  I can't find my way back to perfection. I dial the phone, hello hello? No one is there. I'm thinking, I stare. I turn to face the white light, that lives inside me.  Hello my true face, the faceless one. I remember you, I go home. I find the love beyond the beating heart, the love that beats behind art, the love the floats like clouds, like that moon who loves us, who in belonging, belongs to us. If I was only in the woods, with my bare feet on the earth, I would know my worth. For she is me, that queen of the forest, that one who holds me in her secret bosom, the crickets chirping their pure songs of delight. I am she, earthly mother, womb wisdom, holy peaceful night.
Goodnight.

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!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angulimala

Martin Luther King Day 1/16/17

Ideas

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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