Reaching out beyond the dream of what you thought was real, spinning on this ball of life, head now under heel. Ready to die, to live this life so raw, alive on ledge- dancing, hurling, freeing your soul to finally stretch the edge.

Monday, August 31, 2009

Latitude adjustment

7:02 pm The light has been changing. A new angle wraps deeper hues of rosy pinks across Mt. Gower, highlighted with the brightness of waning light. As if it were afraid to die, it burns with an intensity not to be forgotten. The hill beneath it, which corners Gunn Stage and San Vicente, sits in a darkness, untouched by the light.

7:05 pm A thick cloud layer hovers over the Cuyamacas, showcasing unprecedented shades of gray, brushed ever so lightly by a purple feather.

7:09 pm The moon’s non-committed face seems to be in the foreground of the smattered clouds which smear the sky. (How can that be?) The swelling canopy of clouds is growing- both larger and more purple.

7:27 pm Barely a glowing of light’s remnant memory accentuates the white stucco on the hillside as the hills’ sleepy eyes grow heavy.

Those hills- I have climbed and played in them, been sung to by them, loved in them, daydreamed about them, watched them burn, and run from them. Tonight I breathed in unison with them, as they anesthetized my weariness.

When I was little I thought that if I jumped high enough, I could suspend myself long enough to be able to land in a different spot.

The earth is moving.

The light is changing.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Zing dong


What a week!

If it weren’t enough to be in more pain than I’d anticipated, there were the added bonuses of my heart crapping out during surgery and my kidneys shutting down after the fact. When I finally got out of bed at the hospital to walk around I had to tote a “Kool Aid piƱata” attached to my IV pole. Internal bleeding- but not much to worry about because it’s normal after you’ve lost an organ and had your innards re-arranged. Besides- they’ll fix that this coming week, with a quick, additional surgery (if necessary). The pain is excruciating. I can’t do anything for myself. Even sitting here, typing, is taxing me.

This was my ~12th surgery that I recall having. I usually go into these things with an “oh well” attitude, because I know that as everything does, this will also pass, and I’ll be better when it’s done. It’s getting harder and harder to sell that to myself as the pain has been intensifying instead of subsiding. (WTF?)

What I miss more than anything right now, is my ability to transcend, to meditate, to openly communicate with the universe. I’m not sure if it’s the narcotics or the pain that are interfering, or if I’m just too weak. Since I couldn’t generate this ethereal state for myself I picked up a book that I had acquired at a sidewalk sale, and read a few pages. The first meditation talked about being still and listening. Okay, ZING! I get it. The last one was about pain. Pain- that ill that infects and drains us, pain that will not heal. Pain, which needs to be accepted, and we must live in spite of. Pain, which we must not hide from, but must let mold us so that we can improve. Sometimes we must be the victims- but only if we do not dwell in the ick of it all; only if we accept these limitations and work with them. Life is a divine gift, in every form.


Sunday, August 16, 2009

Check out time

"Be with me... I know you'll be with me."

So life deals you a hand and strangely, it's easier to fold than to play. The only outcome in folding, is losing. Work with the cards. You never know! (Don't give up)

A wound that will not heal just can't get licked enough. Maybe you can find an alternate means of survival. If you lose a leg you can sit there and moan and groan, or you can learn to hop, roll, crawl... but you need to want to. I think that there's nothing more difficult than digging through your emotional rubble, accepting your flaws, and being brave enough to live out loud, as your true and original self. You are a beautiful light within your own darkness.

Radio silence- communication breakdown. I'm sorry. I needed a little space to re-fuel and prepare. Thank you for hanging- for caring, for hovering, for loving my strength in spite of my weakness. I'm a little scared, but comforted knowing that you are there waiting. Love is an amazing salve and it will get me through this. (Well... love, some sedatives, an incredibly wonderful posse of friends, and a few tubes of Percocet!)

Thank you!

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Conflicting Resolutions

You have your answer!
Now you need to find your true question.

So it's here- finally! I'm like that magical little ballerina in the musical jewelry box who popped up into perfect form as soon as you lifted the lid. I never grew tired of watching her spinning. Never. How many times did I try to see how far I could close the box without shutting off the music?

The treasure is right there in front of you. Dig it up, pull it out, crank it up and turn it on. Fall on your face or don't. Break the glass and run barefoot through it.

Sunday, August 2, 2009


The color is about to change

The ambience

is waning

The sun-drenched, moisture-parched,

Crown of color


Silvery sparkles

Now covering

what once

I took for granted

The wisdom of time well spent

Trumps youth’s rich

colors planted

It’s time… to dye… my hair

Taste not, want not

Hue move me


The moisture rich mornings always seem to be the ones that move me, and this morning was both cool and foggy. As I untangled the dogs’ leashes I heard that bird call again- the one that I have not been able to erase from my memory. The sound was so rich, trill and happy- like laughter. I heard it again and again. The dogs were busy sniffing the scents of the trailhead, while my eyes stayed glued to the top of the welcoming tree to see if I could get a glimpse of the bird. It did not take long to realize that the sounds were coming from more than one tree- there was another tree down the flat path which also harbored these melodious birds. There was so much frolicking amidst the leaves as I stood watching and smiling.

Two of them shot out of the tree in sync and flew almost directly overhead. They were green- bright green. Parrots!?!? Wild parrots in Ramona? It had never occurred to me that parrots flew free in the wild. Don’t they belong in pet stores and cages? With clipped wings? I giggled- at myself for being so narrow-minded and silly, and at the little gift that I was just given.

How is it that you can pass something by time and time again, and never really see it?

A bush!

A bush with hues of orange and maroon so rich, that it had extracted my deepest breath. I forgot to breathe. Unprecedented in intensity this indescribable hue of autumn, encapsulated within one mind’s lens, is beauty for the taking.

That feeling is like a bow striking the deepest groan from the strings of a sweetly played cello. Shivers ripple down my spine as my soul quivers. Beauty cannot be owned, but revered.

And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.
It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,
But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted.

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,
But rather an image you see though you close your eyes

and a song you hear though you shut your ears. - Khalil Gibran


Saturday, August 1, 2009

The Gimpy Gull

In celebration of my last beach day of this vacation, I intentionally arrived at Torrey Pines well before my friends. Just had to have that blissful fix before the chatter started. I headed straight for the north end because I knew I'd find solace and serenity there.

Everything- the chair, the un-assembled umbrella, cooler, bag loaded with oil, bbq chips (the must-have,staple beach food), book, music and extra clothes- all hit the sand at once, with an emphatic thud. Whipping off my clothes, my gaze fell immediately to the horizon, the line that borders excitement and uncertainty. I breathed deeply for several minutes before plopping into my colorful chair, then allowed myself the luxury of the question I was to ponder today.

Since I was a child playing at Jones Beach, on the occasions that someone's parents agreed to bring me along, I have loved seagulls. I must have a hundred or more snapshots of them from over the years, either on photo paper, or in my mind. The one who first caught my attention yesterday had an extraordinarily long beak. He seemed to stay in the same spot for quite a while until the remnant of a wave (which was receding faster than it was advancing) urged him to move.

He hobbled away, favoring his stick of a left leg. At first I felt pain thinking that this was a debilitating injury for my little friend (but refrained from crying for once). After an intense couple of minutes of watching and wondering, I grew relieved to see that in spite of his limp his life was a vital, enduring force to be awed- perhaps even more so, than the others'.