Happy Old Year to You!

It’s the last day of this year. 

In my attempt to ignore New Years’ celebrations I am reminded of the disappointments that cause me to do so. Ugggghhh.

This whole concept of getting excited about a new year and a new beginning irks me when I hear people talk about how horrible this past year has been and how they hope the next one is better. Seriously- can breaking through the confines of an annum like some super-charged hero really somehow magically cast a new spell on you? If so, why wouldn’t you have summoned a new minute, a new hour, or a new day- and hope for the same?

What if, instead of seeing the bad with its neon-flashing, bold colored, italicized, badass fontness, you see instead the broader thinking it has quietly gifted you? What if you hold the good as well as the bad, in this life, this year, this day and this minute, to offer you balance?

These last couple of days of 2011 have been beautiful beyond measure here in San Diego. The sun is shining, the warmth is soothing and the doors and windows are all open. This would not be feeling quite as spectacular, had the previous days not been cold or stormy. 

With all of this sudden splendor I keep finding myself outside on my patio, soaking up some sun. My beautiful tree whose arms stretch across the hill beneath me is going bald.  What is left of its pale yellow leaves is now dwindling to an emptiness through which I can see the Eucalyptus tree beyond, dancing for me. The remnant leaves petrified by the loss of life sporadically plunge into a crinkling melody on the ground below, where the breeze lifts them and they dance, mingling in a symphony of life and loss, in the key of beauty. 

Today I am thankful for this minute which showers me in golden leaves, on this day when I am called to acknowledge what has made me this, in a month that seemed mostly hard, in a year that was more painful than most, in a life where I have learned to love the dance of the leaves. Time stands still in every moment that we are alive. 

But heck yeah, I too am looking forward to a new year- one that will bring me the love I have longed for, a world more peaceful with each day and hour, friends more beautiful than ever, and eyes that will revel in it all.

Cheers!

the odd petal

Maybe he does
maybe he doesn't
maybe he someday will

flitting slowly through the air or
spiraling to their senseless death
plucked questions carpet
the wet, salty ground

down

one thousand flowers
one million petals
queries of the heart do squander
the life that was meant to

live

maybe he does
maybe he doesn't
care to pluck my sweets

maybe she will never again question,
escaping new reasons to sacrifice
the odd petal, never plucked from
its bountiful, sumptuous field in

love


Twelve or so years ago I was climbing Picacho Peak on the 10 between Phoenix and Tucson. The volcanic remnant was covered in orange flowers, calling to me from a distance, like a fiery dream. I got a bit of a high from the tizzy of poppy wealth and bent down without thinking, and picked one of the glorious little gems. Before he yelled at me, I was unaware that a grumpy conservationist was on my tail. Having picked it without thinking, I was disoriented as the reality of my crime sent me spinning. What was my defense? How do you defend insanity? I think I probably just looked at him with shock that someone could be so angry at me for this non-meditative sin, for I truly did not realize the harm until the deed was done. He wouldn't stop scolding me. All I could manage to utter was that it was "just one." He was even more disappointed with me once I had answered. I fear I ruined his day.

It's bad enough that we pick and kill flowers for our own satiety. But the pressure we put on the poor thing... all that it should ever be is a beautiful flower.

 3 he loves me

2 he loves me not

1 he loves me

An apple a day...

Last night as one of the great loves of my life was leaving after a sweet little visit, she noticed that one of my baby Christmas trees which adorns the entry way, was sagging. Having a black thumb myself- (it's genetic, my dad used to hum The Funeral March any time my mother dared to bring a new plant into the house) I was grateful for the helpful advice to stop drowning it with too much water.

Don't we do that sometimes, though? Maybe coming from a life where there never seemed to be enough of anything to go around, now that I can, I drown things in overabundance. God forbid I let something go or die, before I find a way to squeeze the life right out of it?  Okay, so I'm being a little dramatic.

Children are the most incredible gifts. From the baby smiles when they learn to recognize your face (validation that you are loved and appreciated) to statements made from their adult consciousnesses, (which affirm that maybe, in spite of the mistakes and horrors that you dwell on, because you inflicted them) that they have somehow turned out to be amazing human beings.

Anyone who knows me knows that I can be a little hard on myself. Fortunately I have also learned to do it in a way that does not disregard the wonders that really do dwell in me. My belief that to be a good parent you need to allow your children to become their own individual wonders, has been both the difficulties and the successes of my endeavors. One of my proudest moments as a mother (who raised the two older ones pretty much single-handedly) was when my older son told me that what he admired about me was that I never inflicted my own opinions on them, but allowed them to believe what they wanted to. This took great courage for me (I don't mind telling you) because it would have been easier to just follow rules and traditions and not have to think or try so hard.

In some of my closest relationships I have seen people that act out of obligation, blindly disciplining because that was what they were told to do. I have suffered on the front line of blind enthusiasm for a legacy of anger that was handed down from one generation to the next. I watched my children suffer and cringe because of this. I saw myself check out, causing my children to starve for affection because I was no longer there. A 'chip off the old block' is a heavy, jagged stone that can maim the spirit and the joy of a blossoming child.

Along the way I chiseled away at the fear that paralyzed my hunger for something better. It wasn't easy, but it resulted in something- plainly, beautiful. My great fear and regret in the most recent years was how my beautiful children were hurt, maybe even damaged by their step-father's rage. My focus on the negative worries blocked me from seeing what might have been good. What a waste of time because there is SO much good. My daughter is one of the most caring, empathetic and generous people I have ever known. And then there's Frank- the boy who didn't want to live, who is now a 4.0 Berkeley student, heading for the Peace Corps, who is going to write Christmas letters as his gifts to his family.

Last night at dinner Frank was sharing some of his college stories with us. Loving him the way we do, we of course wanted to know the intimate details of his life beyond us, like what he eats, at what time, and with whom. When he was done answering our petty inquiries, he started to tell us about how he would take an apple (hidden safely in his backpack) out of the cafeteria with him, for later. He only ate two meals a day because that is all he can afford, and sometimes he would get hungry in between. I don't know what it was that brought him there, but according to him he had an ethical epiphany where he realized that taking those apples was illegal. You're supposed to pay for a 'to go' box if you want extras. So Frank went and bought a bag of apples and brought them to the cafeteria manager, to make amends.

I'm not sure if the manager laughed at him, but I cried listening to this, because I was never so proud in all of my life, for that apple that fell from this tree. Frank's incredible spirit is what makes him so resilient, so driven and so pure. But I am so proud and honored that my choice to not smother and drown him in dogma and pretense, has lead to this authentic and bountiful force of life.

Truly, the greatest gift of all! Thank you!

Dark waters

My dream was one of those dark and haunting scenes crafted in artistic flair. We bobbed in the dark ocean, and you could not see me through the reverse fog... that space between the molecules of air and mist that were filled with the ether of dreams, but this time, the air was clear and just the space in between was foggy. You called me- by my name and then you reached for me- but you could not see where I was. It took every ounce of strength that I had to not grab your hand and pull you out, but I hovered lovingly and watchfully to be sure you didn't slip away, in the murky blood-drenched water. How can I be bleeding so when we barely scratched the surface?

The calls we cry in our sleep- these are our deeper awakenings. The light of day washes them out while we "live" in the midst of what we deny. Safely in the light of day we refuse to fear that which might drown us. But it is in the night that our souls open themselves to the darkness, the truths of our bare, uninhibited souls, into which we must plunge.

The choices that we make with our own hearts, and not borne of fright or obligation, are the ones that will set us free.

12.19

I always knew it.
It just took me a lifetime to learn
not to define it.

Lulla bye

Handsome and tall, at me, you look down
my jumping heart furiously pounds
Shamelessly begging- me, for your kisses
like candied sweets, full and delicious

Reaching for the stars above,
on the tips of my toes I steal some love
This, not mine to dream, to keep
yet real in night's sweet dreams, so deep

Lulla-bye, lulla-bye, lulla-bye, Love
how can g~d's beautiful face be not enough?
Lulled in the rocking of waves in the wake
when you leave my heart, drowning in ache

I once read that the moment just before death by drowning, is euphoric. It's kind of fun to think this is true.

Falling

Evidence of Autumn

She breathed in, and then out again
air
colder than the dark afternoon
as if
death had already seized her limp
soul
Staring into the gray blue autumn
sky
watching the still clouds frozen
as if
the very last moment before the ice age came
to freeze
Remnants of life and love and hope
in
the pictures scratched by the bare, stark
twigs
that cling listlessly to yellow threads of
life
Lingering in the cold, all alone again til her
breath
shattered the stillness of death's frozen
scene when
she dreamed of sleep's blanket, to awaken one
day
the new life, the warmth, the promise of
spring

patience

Beauty has that way of rising
through the sludge and the muck
through the dark and into the light
because we breathe and hold onto
and worship the warmth
trapped in the bubble
at the bottom in the dark
we hold it so close
never letting it go
while it slowly rises-
into the light

Wake up!

The strong smell of coffee
filled the rooms and halls of the
house this morning
Restless puppy, little kitten
rousing in their hideaway
sleeping bags
The mother quietly
washing dishes in the sink
but none were from last night
Lost in thought, not seeing the
puddle on the floor til the smell of
the burning coffee wakes her

Come in and sit a spell. Cup of coffee?

Beholden to you

In a whisper that should have seemed so sweet

He exclaimed how beautiful I was to see

I asked if then he had seen me dance

On the leaves of the trees which the wind did hail

Or had he heard the crumpled leaves which

Swayed in the breath of my new song?

Had he seen me burn in the heat

Of night’s distant, twinkling light?

Did he feel my cringe while I watched

A starving child who could not be touched?

Could he smell the sweat of the long, hard day

When I wasn’t sure I could take any more?

Did he watch me care about the dying man

Who never even knew I was there?

I wondered if he saw me there, dancing on the swaying leaves

And I wondered how beautiful he was, for this, I’m afraid, I could not yet see…

(Awww c'mon... tell me what you did see...please!)

A little birdie sold me

Replaying the events of these last few days, I sat in the warm sun this morning watching birds take off from the tips of the pines. I couldn't help but wonder how different things might have been, if...

The birds were pretty loud this morning, probably in anticipation of the warm and wonderful day that is unfolding. As an exceptionally large and vocal crow took flight I realized (once again?) that courage has very little to do with holding on to things like past, opinion, fear, love... and everything to do with letting go of it.

Oh, but we can fly now, can't we?

Thank you!

The house of cards

While watching a group of people building a house of cards, so many thoughts flooded my perception of what was happening. The first was my wondering, how far will they get? How much of what they are doing now, determines the outcome- both in the physics of the building and its fortitude, as well as any imperfections, or how many imperfections will send that house into a total collapse. How all of those cards land is dependent on how they were placed. I don't think that I've ever seen a house of cards only partially demolished. When the house falls, they all fall down, don't they? You can never really know who placed what, where or when- and it doesn't matter all that much, does it?

I guess all that really matters when you're building a house, is that you do the best you can with every effort, and that you enjoy building it. Then it won't really matter, if and when, it all falls down.

The World: After every obstacle has been faced and surmounted, after every path has been travelled and charted, there remains only the last step to the next level of existence - the World, the final gateway. After the union of the conscious and unconscious, the mind and the body, in Judgement, all that can remain is union with the Divine in whatever form it appears to you. This journey is over and the next is only beginning. The cycle is complete as last, with the vindication of the traveler and the immortality he has gained through development of the self. It would seem that the Fool's Journey may not have been so foolish after all.

un.caste.d script

She spied the mud on my shoes
and the smile on my dirty face
before her eyes fell to the pearls
strung 'round my neck
Had I cast them, once again,
before the swine? she demanded
No, I simply let him watch
as they hung and swung all pretty
from my neck...
as I smiled, while trudging through
the thick mud...
when he offered me his
scarred and calloused hand...
and I think, (I told her)
he saw something beautiful
(and oh, so did I!)

11.24.11

Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence. 
Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance. 
Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence. 
Winter passes and one remembers one’s perseverance. - Yoko Ono

Being grateful takes effort, courage, patience and understanding. What these yield is a surrender to life and all of its gifts. This is enough and then some. My cup is spilling all over the place and I am honored to be me, to be here, and to be love.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Crashing on Memory Lane

Don’t be looking for me here in my big, fancy house

I’m gone now, racing down Memory Lane

It all started with the second glass of wine and a trip

To the garage where I spilled a box of stuff

All over the floor- there were poems and kids’ awards

And cards and souvenirs and a black, velvet box which

At first I did not recognize

Til I opened it and saw the name and remembered

The day that I went to the jeweler to pick out a ring

I was told to pick anything but I picked this one because

It was neither big nor small but it sparkled like the fire
that was inside of me

And it seemed to fit my finger and all that I thought I wanted

But now the box is empty
I couldn’t at first remember

But then came the story of that sad little September

When I couldn’t pay the bills so I took it into town

And turned it into food, and brakes and tires and power

Earlier today I stared at my hands and thought, ‘not bad for an old girl’

Then I moved my mystical gem to my left ring finger and

Admired how it sparkled, and swooned with how it made me

Feel to remember how good it once was to belong to someone “forever”

How funny to think that I would want that again and how funny

That this sad, empty box made me remember

On the day that I thought how nice it would be to love someone

Who would also love me forever (or maybe just for a little while)
that I would go crashing down Memory Lane

breaking the rhythm

Standing on the edge of another dream
I was blown away by the stream of a new wind
My hair was not moving nor was there
rustling of the leaves on the trees or debris in the breeze
Or the call of birds of whatever
it is that they want to be heard by others
The air was so clear, as if not even there
and the light of the day sunk beyond the horizon
There was nothing to hear neither near or far
all that there was, was not to be heard but by heart
The sound of wind moving against wind, in the dark
the rushing could not be seen, nor was it heard, but by my heart
The rushing of only wind against wind squeals
strokes of magnificence which slice through the dark
Where nary a blade of grass so much leans
not to be seen, and never to be heard dancing with another
Just the silence of the wind alone, rushing and forging
through the cold of the dark, solaced night
To make me wonder if this fantasy could be worth its wait
in golden pearls or will it simply eclipse the raven's call?

Let it

Lay on me your heavy
let me bathe in its newness
its ripeness and its fullness
let it lift me up
and make me something
more than I was thinking
that I would ever be

Let it make me...

Smoothsayer

The flickering candle across the room seems to have a face with its double-wick eyes. The illuminated circle on the front of its container, back lit by the glowing, melting wax whispered its secrets across the darkness. Waves of burning thoughts cast shadows all about the room. There is doubt that dances with these phantom visions. We see things that are not real, they are illusion caused by circumstances or by fear.

I have been surrounded, lately, by people who need to know when the world will end and how. There are mountains of explanations and readings and prophecies (which all make me want to change the channel). There are the people who must know the wheres, whys and hows of their past lives and how this affects the way they now burn.

There are people running through grocery stores, melting with grief. Children with not enough food to eat are filling the streets and the cemeteries. We all have our demons and we are all blessed by angels. If we spend time wondering why and how, we are somehow missing out on the wonder of the lessons we have come here to learn.What if, instead, we did our best with what we have right now...

In the midst of a blue mood I thought what might be best for me, was to send my love to others. I sent it to myself because right now a little more strength would do me good. I sent it to the man I knew for just one day, whose world feels so painfully empty- because his angel asked me to. He probably doesn't even remember me. I prayed for a friend who thought her heart hurt for another, but I saw her sweeping up an armful of lilies and crying her own tears. I prayed for understanding and love to fill a hardened heart. I begged for openness in the heart of someone else and the realization of desire in yet another.

There were no fewer blue tears when I was done sharing my love, but as the candle flickered across the room my eyes caught the light instead of the phantoms of its flickering darkness. I saw the glow in the hearts of children and broken hearts and angels.

Ajo!
            

11.17

Why is it raining on me...
and not the quenching of thirst
that I sorely need
but the cold wet
sopping that chills your bones
and makes you feel heavy
Why can't the sun shine
and warm me up
like a walk on the beach side
that quiets all the noise
in my crazy old head
when I get too tired
Why can't I laugh today?
I just don't want to cry
because tomorrow will be
warm again, and light
like when the mountains bow
before the bright sunrise

Definitely not the best day I have ever had. Oh well. Can't have light without the dark, right? Isn't that what I always say? I started to wonder if I was just being a sore sport or a big baby. So what if I am? Maybe I'm just weak because I'm tired of doing it all alone. Where's the reward? Where? Sometimes I just can't see or feel or touch the wonder. This is one of those times. All of this trying and giving and I'm still waiting. So I guess I'll wait. Wonder will be waiting for me, whenever I'm ready to go find it again. It doesn't hide and it certainly never runs away. It just waits. It just waits. It is waiting for me.


Just lay your hands on me for now...

the silly little dodo bird

Swimming out into the deep blue sea

Floating quietly for a moment til

Thoughts of returning to safety pale

In the light of going for it

Reaching for the splendid dream

Of love or light or bliss

I cannot shelter my heart or soul

From the fear of maybe, losing it

In each day or hour or moment

When fear and doubt are spurned

The moment of bliss when I  touch the light-

This is the point of know return

in a week from yesterday

Don't be sad
there is nothing left for us to lose
In this emptiness remain
very few things from which to choose
In a world with no apparent riches
there is fullness in the dreams
those which offer simple gifts to us
those which fill the emptiness
with songs of love and light for us

-I always knew you and I always will

Engraved in sand

When all else seems to fail, there's always this...

...always something to say, always some flavor of bliss.

Defensive driving

I wondered about you today
You left a mark on my table
or maybe it was my car
(or maybe it was my heart)

I remember all the things you
said to me and how I believed
that you really meant them
(you opened my eyes and my world)

My car crawled through
your sweet little town today and
sent you love and light
(I hope you felt it)

I wondered if you thought of me
if you still thought about the
time we spent together
(do you ever think of me?)


That night as we were touching
I wrote my name across your heart
the way I write my dreams in the sky
(Did you feel me?)

Driving by the water today
I heard a beep and turned to see
that place we laughed together
(Oh how I loved our laughter)

I wrote my name again today in
the dreamy, cloudy sky, and in
the sand beneath my feet
(the sky is my slate, the clouds like chalk)

Those moments in life
where love and light are true,
are always written in the sky
(Did you see me there, over you?)

Love n light 2 U, babe...

Good morning, love...

The light caught my eye in the middle of my rushing around, cleaning up frenzy this morning. Whenever anything calls me, I stop and listen. It was a misty light that illuminated the wicker patio sofa. It's starting to come undone. So much of what I take for granted is a remnant collection of a former life- one that I no longer crave and most certainly, no longer subscribe to.

What I saw in that light was simple beauty that wraps itself around all of life- the wounds, the ecstasy, and most importantly- what this has all crafted in us now. I saw it because I stopped to listen, and now I am lost in its spell. LIFE! Life, why do you love me so? I think I am ready now...

blue cyclops

It was a dream.
She took me flying through the purple night of skies
Visiting people who were dark, light, broken, and alive
She showed me my caring and my tears
When we heard the voice not scarred by fear
Our hands were warmed by the fires of hell
My dress was feathered, and flowing red
We lingered forever in one thousand places
And touched the light in those thousand faces
What I saw, what I heard, what I always knew
Became so real through my eye so blue
It was a dream

"...and now you come in my awakening, which is my deeper dream." -Khalil Gibran

The horns of plenty

One of the best things that my children ever learned, was how to do without. Once you know this treasure, being "with" something re-defines words like joy, remarkable, wealth and happiness.

Thank you!

Understudied

How is it that once we have found a success, we settle for it as a standard? Once we do this, we are subjecting ourselves to limitations that tether creativity. Write like this, stroke the brush like that, move your arms just so...

The birth of impressionism opened a whole new world for artists and lovers of art. John Lennon gifted us new horizons of thought as well as music. So did Beethoven, and the toddler down the street who is just letting loose to some Elvis.

I suppose we are all subject to influence on a daily basis, if we wear clothes woven by someone else, eat food cooked by another, or read a book. Our thoughts can't help but be remnants of those carried by our parents or idols, and our hearts can't help but be products of our loves and losses.

Do you ever wonder who influenced Adam or Eve to name the animals or the days as they did? How in the world did Moses ever think to write those rules? I will never forget the day that my older brother took off running for school because he could not contain his excitement for having discovered that if you square the long side of a triangle, it equals the sum of the two remaining sides (each squared, of course). His dejection, as he crawled home after finding out that some dope named Pythagoras beat him to it, wrecked me.

Why does it matter what someone thought or how they worshiped? We always seem to need to understand the thoughts and rationales of people, particularly groups of them. The thing about religion is that it seems to me to be nothing more than an arrangement of your beliefs for you. It's kind of like having your spouse or career chosen for you. Where's the love in that? 

My mind gets knotted up in itself time and time again as I imagine the long vines that hang from life's tree, only to be re-discovered and played with over and over again. I can't help but wonder who held them, climbed them, walked beneath them, or loved them. So no, I don't care to know how to do this right. I need to do it so it honors my dream and not someone else's. Sometimes I rhyme and sometimes I don't. Sometimes I don't even make sense... like squared sides of a triangle...whatever that means. I'd rather be the baby cutting loose with the giddy laughs and funny moves- and not the person playing a part in some other person's play.

Oh, Life

In every touch of every breeze and

every rush of every stream, you move me

Your gift of love in every flower and in the

birth of every bloom, you make us one

In every new day and in every death

you give me bold and daring gifts

And I, the meek and curious soul

filled with wonder, ask

Life, why do you love me so?

a vow of silence

We ran naked and unafraid
before we ever knew not to
We drank waters from the still lake
where we could clearly see a beautiful face
Inhaling ether from the heaven
we danced wildly and unashamed
We reached for love among many
and we we never thought to be afraid
How did we forsake the life within us?
What madman gave sin its wretched name?
How do we get back to living raw, this life
-to kiss and touch god's beautiful face?

Do you ever touch the earth or breathe the light?

I cannot hear your words no more

ear's pressed against the earthen floor

Your thoughts no longer wear my face

my depth has won that measly race

my skin now pricked, releases the throng
of the toxic rights and righteous wrongs
snorting the light and huffing on love
of these my heart now, can't get enough

the bloom!

sliver of a chance

What is it about

color and subtle contrast

that ripen possibility

to see the hope

not the hurt

that takes you to the light

in spite of the dark

that is only moments away

In a sliver of a chance

we are once again 

alive

the last cookie or a sweet lullabye...

Judgement Day

The thing about opinions is that they set limits. Once you have defined what someone is, what their intentions are or how they should be; you steal from them their most basic freedom. Very few people act with the intention of doing wrong. We all choose to do the things that we view as necessary or right. Some of simply define "right" a bit differently than our brother.

Lighten up, friend... you know... if that's what you want. :)

A new day

The new moon is a perfect opportunity to ask for a new dream. In the moments before sleep a few nights ago, the darkness found me asking for just this- a direction to start, to honor this gift of life which I've been squandering. Last night while waiting in my car for someone, I looked up and the deep autumnal hues of purples and burgundy that colored the transition between day and night, were sliced with a long, low sliver of silvered moon.

Now that the darkness is gone, my request before sleep last night was a peaceful, dreamy slumber. Nine hours later I awoke with an abundance of energy and excitement for a day that I know will be wonderful. Just 2 days shy of five months since my accident, the only thing I could think to do was to visit my beloved hills. I knew I wouldn't be able to climb them, but I could certainly circle the magnificence while clinging to the access road.

My car pulled into its familiar spot as if it knew the way. Turning around and looking at my welcoming tree, and then glancing up my favorite hill, my eyes progressed toward the sky which was a bluish purple with bright, white clouds. It was more of a psychedelic dream than an atmosphere. This beauty lit something up inside of me that caused me to abandon my safety strategy, and I rationed that I could go in just a little bit and stick to an easy path. I wasn't sure how I was going to navigate the storm-ravaged river bed with its steep drops, but I didn't care. I figured I'd try and if all else failed, I could always turn back.

I think there were angels singing when I got there, as I saw that someone had flattened out the access, turning them to hills instead of drops. God, I just knew I could do it if I was careful. And I did. As I turned the corner on the path and saw my familiar rocks and lush, gnarled trees- once again, I felt I'd been kissed by g~d.

Not that I had never really appreciated it before, but when we lose something that we love- we learn to love it more. Wanting gives us a clear vision of what it is that we seek- things which we are shielded from in bounty. Strolling slowly across the earth, ignoring my pain, my stomach was jumping and rolling as I succumbed to the flood of relief, for finding this love again.  There was a sadness in me when I realized that I never before knew this wealth.

The tears' tracks on my face scribed my new prayer to life, that I never love or appreciate, any less, this love I now know. May it always cut quickly to my soul, and not be fettered by disappointment or pain. To this day I still believe I brought this injury on myself when I asked to be more understanding of slow people. It never occurred to me that it was my slow heart that needed the fixing.

Fifteen minutes was about all I could take as the swelling of my knee started to overtake the other swells. So I wrapped it up and packed Pooey in the car, then leaned against it, staring at the tree, the hill, the path- they were never more beautiful. After a few minutes Pooey barked as my frozen gaze gave way to the realization of how cold I was. Suddenly the yearning to be home, wrapped in a blanket, sipping hot coffee became my newest passion. CRAP- I forgot to buy coffee on the way home yesterday. I fretted about this for less than a minute before I realized that it's just going to taste even better, tomorrow.

Light hearted

   Dream drops falling
between rays of splintered light
where there is no room for fear-
only love and warmth and kindness
   Darkness steps aside
as there is no room for madness
midst the vibrations of the
angels' wings, their ethereal touch that dances
   Time cannot be counted
when the rhythmic coursing beats
in to the the dance of timeless age
frenzied by the dreams we choose to heed
   Lost in time and lost in this space
holding firm in this enticing place
heart beating quickly as if in a race
to save my soul, my life, my face

from losing once again while
dream drops are falling all around me
gently tapping out their quiet song
in the secret key of dreams that move me


Sometimes these things come in senseless pieces- a lot like life, huh? Then one day, it flips a switch and suddenly looks beautiful in its new light.

The new moon

She told me to ask for a new dream....

Prancing down a darkened trail

lights have all gone out

The sun has settled in to rest as

creeping critters greet the night

Whispers from the hidden eyes

which never see the light

follow me to another world

where they can be so bright

 *I cannot see the moon tonight

It hides its face from me

But in its place I see the stars

The ones you picked for me

Inside the dark and frigid night

I watch with wonderment

As stars propelled by magic's spell

Race quickly across the heavens

 *I cannot see the moon tonight

It hides its light from me

But in its place within the dark

Shines splendor in a new me

The night guard watches, waiting

As the new moon hides its face

The owl cuts loose and rises

Giving dark's stars quite the chase

The cold but silent chill I feel

Brings shivers from within

But oh the stars that light the sky

Make quite the raucous din

*I cannot feel the moon tonight

It hides its pull from me

But in its place the bright stars whisper

Their quiet secrets to me

Animal Instinct

Last night a friend's very sweet kitty came to visit when I was resting, sprawled out on the floor. Sweet purrs and unquestioned love were her offerings. She moved in close, laying flush up against me, getting what she wanted and needed. Today when I was thinking about her and her keeper I wondered why I even question my own needs and wants. How is it that we, as the intelligent species, put so many restrictions on our own natural yearnings and their acquisitions? Why is it so hard for me to just move in close and get my purr on and warm in its glow?

This old dog is hungry for some new tricks...

Carnivorous

Prowling the hills
solitary we hunt
for sustenance,
we scour the earth

Finding the kill
that pertinent fill
but rooting for pain
we’re just hungry again

Rip it to shreds
mouth dripping with blood
Coming up for air
we have nothing to fear

Can you survive the stream
Of the blood that flows
Can you rip it to shreds
Will you break bread with me

Will you wear the warm pelt
As we worship the sun
And peacefully slumber
Once the feasting is done

Can the warmth of our flesh
thaw the raw of our souls
Can the depth of our truths
quench us, hungry carnivores

As they lay in the dirt
our hearts beating aloud
They poke and they laugh,
The finger pointing crowd

Can you swim up the stream
Of the blood that flows
Can you rip it to shreds
Won't you break bread with me

the gold standard

Does gold ask of flame,
"Why, fire, do you burn me?"
No, it simply beams
in its lustrous alchemy
a new state
of beauty and elegance
as it shines also,
without question

The right to strife

Guilty! I, like countless other parents, have the awful habit of trying to make things easier for my children. Forsaking necessities for myself, in exchange for the purchase of cool clothes or dance tickets, by gosh... I want my kids to be happy.

There's a little Honda sitting in front of my house that doesn't seem to want to move. Should I fix it? Get it up and running so one son can take it back to school with him? A little wave of nausea overtook me as I pictured him trying to find his way to the BART, getting on the wrong line, getting off at the wrong stop, and never able to find his way home again.

When I lived in Binghamton, working til all hours of the night trying to pay down my medical bills which I amassed due to some misfortune and a lack of insurance- I found my way home every night, on a borrowed bicycle, in the dark. Tired and sometimes lonely and scared, I did it. When I think back now, about how difficult that might have seemed to anyone, I giggle a little. What I really harvested in those days was not the trial of the financial or physical difficulties, but the independence and confidence that became the weathered but durable soles of this journey.

My list of stupid mistakes, greedy horrors and broken hearts are the hill of debris on which I now stand, able to see things more easily and clearly. I have no right to deprive my children of the same. They will move forward, earning their own rights to wisdom and conviction. You can't buy wisdom and love for anyone- but you can certainly love them and hold them as they find their own rights to an authentic life.

October something, some year in the past and the future, for this present

Stepping out of that skin

They squeezed you in

Breaking free from the box

You’ve been rotting in

Take a deep breath

Once you have escaped

This thing you now own

On your own, THIS is faith

Thank you for all things beautiful!

Hoping

What we're looking for always seems to find us when we are not really looking.  We have all heard this and I know that I have wanted to believe it, but lately I haven't been believing in much of anything other than just letting things be.  It's been about a year since I have felt the kind of joy I have since abandoned. Maybe it's the time of year that stirred up my emotions and desire again. So I had been keeping a watchful eye out, hoping to find that thrill again.  Around every corner and as I opened each door, I held my breath hoping to find it. But more times than not I have reminded myself that the yearning and burning desire for a magnificent dream needs to take a back seat to the simplicity of being grateful for all of the little things... the things that make every day wonderful.

My overpowering craving for grapes guided my car into the Stater Bros parking lot this morning.  My hunger being a bit more voracious this morning than usual, I also grabbed some of my favorite yogurt before heading down the power aisle toward the far end of the store, not sure what it was that I was looking for. You know how your eyes just catch a glance from a stranger and your insides get all crazy and dizzy and you see what you have always known, all of your life and with all of your soul? My heart started beating faster, making me a little bit dizzier and I wasn't sure anymore if I was really seeing what I thought I was.

Taking a few slow, but steady steps as I shook with excitement, I got a little closer as I became more sure of what I was seeing. This, the hope I thought I had lost, was staring me right back in the face, making my tummy flip. No words were needed as I reached out to touch, to be sure- and I grasped the beautiful neck of the firm body and I swooned.  Pumpkin Spice coffee creamer! And to think that I never thought I'd see it again. This little reminder to never give up hope came at a time most surely needed. Life's little gifts...

Taking a chance

Funny how just one moment, one little giggle or a smile
changes what you thought a day might be
Stranger still the way a sadness steals your light
and leaves you someone a little bit different
Watching the sun set into a bank of clouds on the horizon
or looking down to watch the waves tickle your toes
We choose the moments that make the differences
We see what we want to see, feel what we care to know
Somehow I'm not certain that everything matters so much
as what we get from those moments
It's in the choice, not the chance
Chance is just a lucky streak or a big friggin sinkhole
Why does everything have to matter?

Yes

Maybe

I should have...

I would have

If I could have

This time

If I don't

Just do it

I'll die

shadowing truth

Against the setting sun my shadow walks beside me
Darkness is that blurry sight which cannot be denied

Walk alone, I cannot, as my shadow is my companion
We hold it all, we hold it close- for it and I are two but one

Today I told my shadow of the glory of the wanting,
the joy of all the sorrow and the bliss for all the trying

Her darkness did not wane nor did it call surrender
her weightless darkness stretched itself and grew a little thinner

the lyrical miracle

Dreaming death within

My restless infant sleep

Wearing scars beneath

My skin, so cracked, so deep

I learned to cry 

before I ever knew how

For with me came the 

rocking of the salty waters' bounty

The home I knew decorated

With a paddle on the wall

But in the house of friends,

Love and laughter filled the halls

Fear and quiet rage

The only noises in my head

I could not hear the quiet calls

Of joy for I was deafened

I’ve got one more song to write and

Another 10 to sell

I was wondering if you

Could help me sell one to myself?

If we listen to the rhythm

Then we may not hear the words

Can you turn it up, turn it up

For I am sounding quite absurd

The song that I was born to sing
and the dance I never learned to swing
Shame's filter sheltered me from these-
the dreams I never dared to dream

The love you gave to me, so sweet

Changed everything I thought was real

When you whispered secrets I never knew

My heart opened, wanting to be well

But staying here was not your thing

They made you go away

You never told me how to swallow this

You were gone and life was never the same

And we had one more song to write and

Another 6 to sell

Can you show me how to clear the shelves

And find another tale to tell?

The cords are always changing

My fingers just can’t keep it up

Maybe if you listen you can

Tell me what is not enough

With one more song to write

And another two to sell

Can we listen with our hearts

Cause my eyes have now gone deaf

It’s that fear within my head

That drowns the sweetest sights

Can you tell me that you’re buying so

I can sell it to myself?

In the holding of the leaking pen
on crumpled paper flow the lyrics
I was wondering if you could
sing to me the jingle of your miracle

When love and light became your harmony
And you walked unscathed, through fiery heat
Oh, play for me the chord that cracked the seed
For your heat alone, so beautiful, will surely set me free

I have
Just one
more song

To write…

I'm having a mid-life cry, sis

Those awakening moments
when I'm suddenly caught
between there and here

The knife that cuts and
slices, sharpened by my new
depth of awareness

Why did I hang on so long
why did I let go too soon?
Why did I do those things to you?
 

All those times I could have chosen
more love instead of holding it
so far away from you,,, from myself

So many years are gone and
I can't help but cry for the things
that I should have done in my life

Instead of always just surviving
forsaking life and living in
favor of dying

And cry, yes I will, for what I lost
but take a deep breath amidst the sobs
as I brace for what is left

Give thanks that the
letting of this diseased blood
does not bleed me dry

But tears, they will drain
this wealth for a time, with no end
so hold me close, hold me tight,
be with me sweet friend

Words Of Wisdom

"When we realize that this moment, this situation, this day, in this life, is just a rehearsal for the next thing coming our way- we can relax, do our best and enjoy what is." -me

Why is it that people give credence to things in quotes, more than the sweet words whispered in their own silences?  There is that beautiful center point within a quiet moment when wonder is revealed. There are no quotes around these silent epiphanies. Or are there?

Crayons

So today I wasn't so good at finding pieces of joy... the hurt welled up... the fear overpowered me... and the defeat just drained me. It didn't help that I drove down a street that reminded me of someone I can't resist remembering. I couldn't help but think and wonder...

My fight wages on and this warrior just keeps going. Not always with a smile, but always with at least a little bit of hope. Closing the garage door behind me I realized how hungry I was. Threw the boots into the closet and headed back to the kitchen. I started a pot of water to make some good old mac n cheese. While the water warmed I poured a glass of wine. Drinking alone never bothers me but tonight I couldn't bear the loneliness so I headed out to my patio and WHOA! Clouds so thick with distinctions that lined the sky about them, hanging so low, and framing insets of the rosiest, luminous hues. I wish my camera had done it some justice. Looks like someone got a new box of crayons today!  But isn't that just what every day is? A new box of crayons.

Thank you!

What is reality?

Seems to me it might be as fleeting as the moment it owned. We believe what we want to, for as long as it serves us. But when we're done, is it gone? If you blow out a candle, where did the light go? It doesn't really matter, does it, because it's gone.

We can resurrect it any time we choose, by remembering.

Last night I asked the angels

to show my love to me

to bring me to his splendor

awakened in my dream
 

Perched on the edge of a thick white cloud

I spread my wings and calling out

you heard my song and then you came

and we danced across the night
 

When morning's glory gently woke me

from my soft, green grassy nest

she dared not take from me,

You, my greatest awakening
 

Walking the path the whispered

pleas wafted to me from the trees

The words, unclear, I could not hear

yet I knew they spoke of you, my dear
 

So I ran through the streets

of this big, scary city

searching for you

in every nook and cranny
 

Scanning the faces of

each one in the masses

Holding my breath til

each soul by me, passed
 

And I wait tired in the light

on the corner in the night

Oh angels, hear my prayer

One more time- please take me there

the drought

You know when you want to cry, but you can't? It goes on for days and days, building up pressure, waiting to explode. But you won't because if you do, you might never stop. Sometimes I feel that if I succumb to my weak feelings I will somehow insult the universal abundance of gifts which I know I am fortunate to know. This is what keeps me from melting... until I pass a sweet little kitten in the road, laying on its back, struggling to move a forearm, in some delirious effort to escape the road... which is now to be its grave. For this I can cry.

Watching a little boy beg for a toy from his parents- just a cheap little truck.  The parents who are half-filling their carts with the biggest box of inexpensive laundry detergent they can manage, and some Kmart sales rack apparel. There is nothing I want more than to go pick out a REALLY nice truck and give it to him in the parking lot. But I don't... I just slink into my great car, close my eyes and fight back the tears. Half way to my big, beautiful house I realize that a few drops have quietly rolled down my face, reminding me that hurt was there.

How is it that I have learned to be thankful for the abundance of things such as the flight patterns of hummingbirds or the sparkling light filtered between leaves, or the the glowing halo of colorful light that hugs the hills' tops once the sun has set? How is it that I have learned to be thankful for what has come and what has left, yet feel so blue when I am alone in the magnificence of a luminous morning?

Someone told me today that when we embrace abundance we have nothing left to want. I'm afraid that if I hug it any tighter I'll squeeze the life right out of it. You know, when I finally get to take a walk in my hills I think we will be like lovers who have not touched, but for our yearnings, over time too long to measure. Why is it that I always crave the magick I cannot see? When is what I have going to be enough for me?

Is there something wrong with wanting? I'll bet that little kitten wanted to get up and run right out of that road, or away from the car which must have struck it. I'll bet the little boy dreams of trucks and cars and maybe someday he'll have a real one of his own. Me? Well sometimes I would just like to cry and feel sorry for myself, instead of transferring it to someone else. I don't know if this avoidance is an effort to work on my gratitude and positivity, or just an underlying desire to cling to my misery.

It's time to wake up.

I AM Laura

Thirty-two days into my hiatus of hoping...

Thirty-four days since my heart has hurt. As with anything that I choose to do (and I can do anything I choose), it's just a matter of wanting to. So I granted myself six months in which to finish healing my body and regaining my strength, unleashing the bold energy I've been harboring inside of my hurts and disappointments.

This serenity is like a blanket of fog- cool and refreshing, engulfing me in an anonymity that blocks all entities that might tether me. Free to be alone in my own wonder. Free from all expectations which are merely limitations of bliss.

Waking in the morning to see nothing beyond the faint silhouettes of my soaring pines, I no longer pine for that which would stifle me. Now I join the morning's magnificence as I breathe in all of this quenching water, the conductor of energy so electric... the connection between me and the bliss, the wonder and the source.

There is nothing left but to be grateful for the love I have been given. Not bitter for what I don't have, but blessing that which will always be with me. I send love and light to that which has made me more beautiful.

As the sun rises in the sky the light between the water's molecules brightens and my energy glistens as the glow intensifies in both my eye, my spirit and my body. But not even the sun can burn through this thickness so quickly. This is the moment where I wait for nothing and its wonder carries me to a world which I have not known- and I am finally home.

I am
the wonder in the light
I am
the song of tapping rain
I am
the joy within a giggle
I am
the ocean's crashing fury
and the moon's mighty sway

I am
the night's bright twinkling
I am
the morning's rising way
I am
the tears which quench the wanting
I am
the air we breathe
and the life in the seed

I am
a tree's bough reaching
I am
a bold heart beating
I am
the magick you are seeking
I am
the cry in the night and
the warmth of the light

I am

Seeing red

Long day
worked hard
did some good
loved some people
laughed
cleared some clutter
opened my heart again
listened to the quiet
adored the setting sun
felt the moon rise
the days filled with
the simple things
are the ones most
wondrous,
the ones that feel
so good
when I lay
my head down

It's no secret... it's life

Tired of this dull little lull that makes me want to go bye.  Got some red nails, all 20 of them and a new red dress that was oh so pretty. Maybe I'm done feeling this way. Maybe I'm not. I guess I'll see again tomorrow. Time to rest...

wake up you sleepy bear

wake up the morning’s here

the light shines through

that cracked old door

and sprays across the dusty floor

wake up Rumplestiltskin

wake up- the day is new

the coffee’s on

the eggs are done

the table waits for you

wake up, sleepy head

wake up before it's night

the sun is warm

outside we’ll run

wake up and feel the light

9.10.11, the winnable war

We speak many languages 
but we are all of this earth
We call our god by different names
yet we all seek goodness
We construct our own rules
for we all love our children
Sleeping in mansions or huddled against buildings
we all touch this earth
We drink from the same sky
and splash in the same oceans
for we all thirst
We must all survive madness
We must all feed our families
We all crave laughter and love 
We all crave kindness and understanding
No matter where we are
or what we call it
or for whom we love
Goodness weaves us ONE
blanket of love
ONE body of caring
ONE thought of hope
to win this war


If in this hour of remembrance if we focus on the injustice, the anger and the pain, not only are we antagonizing old wounds; we would also be murdering the victims again.  If instead, we let go of the ick and celebrate what we have learned, then we honor the lost with our gratitude.

So many people choose to blame and harbor hate against Muslims for what was done on 9/11. Islam is a religion which encourages morality, an adoration of nature and peaceful living. Sin is defined as forgetfulness- because we are all good, but sometimes forget to be.  Hating Muslims for the despicable terror of 9/11 is as silly as hating Catholicism for the degeneration of a few pedophiles, or for despising patriotism for the lunacy of Timothy McVeigh, or hating all Romans for the slaying of Christians. The aberrant ones are not representative of their associations. They are the forgetful who cannot see the good.

Many have gone before us and many more will follow.  The majority of people whether Christian, Muslim, Jewish, atheist or otherwise are good.  They all have their reasons for following a set belief path that encourages living a life of integrity.  We all call it something different, but it all boils down to goodness, regardless of its naming.  The important things are to continue in our goodness, in spite of the wrongs.  To learn from whatever life teaches us, and to move forward in a spirit of caring for our brothers.

We speak many languages but we are all of this earth. We call our god by different names, yet we all seek goodness. We construct our own rules, yet we all love our children. Some of us live in mansions and some huddle against buildings in the cold night- yet we all touch this earth. We must all survive madness, feed our families, and we all enjoy laughter.  We are all in this together, no matter what we call it.

So this day has come, the day that we knew would hurt. Ten years ago we were raped of our dignity and our security. We thought we were the untouchable giants who could have it all. But we lost so much and its cost was beyond measure. If anger remains our only paycheck, then we still lay in debt to the force which harmed us. Quietly we must lay down our venomous conceptions to become the most worthy opponents of our adversaries, of ourselves- when we embrace the wonder of what is and what is in each other. Then, and only then, can we win this war.

A quickening

I caught a butterfly today and held it in my hand
flutters of its wings warned me so still, to stand
Cupping it within my hands, I could barely steal a peek
and could not see its wonder, its color, its freedom

How can a butterfly be beautiful if it is not free?
Can love mean something if you choose not to give to me?
Can something be what it longs to be
if I dare to impose on it that which is me?

Can beauty live enslaved in want?
or color beam even when choked by dark?
Does the earth still spin if I hold my breath?
Or does beauty entice us in spite of ourselves?

gift

Roaming the earth with
scorched and blistered feet
Face burned by the sun
hands filled with dirt
filled with air

We had so much to learn

and when comes the night
with its dark, soothing cool
we will feast on the stars
hearts filled with the light
filled with love

We have so much to live

090511

I don't know how to do this.

Where is the madness, the screeching, the wind?

I don't know how to do this.

The only thing sweeter than a hilltop view is watching the dry hills drink the rain.

This I can do.

More beautiful

Dreaded daylight's dimming
quiets remnants of the light within
when dark descends and steals from me
what I thought would be my dream

No words to bless this emptiness
no touch to feel this dwindling bliss
the dream I stoked throughout this day
is closing its sleepy eyes to rest

The wonder of  this fire within
consuming what's been sorely missed
has burned a deeper dream so sweet
which whispering winds have promised me
 
But oh- another night and one more day
have now come to fruitless pass
but tomorrow brings another hope
for the brighter light I yearn to know as

The mares cross night time's burning hills
their thunderous pace in silhouettes
against the flames that are scorching these
fiery dreams whose heat can free the seed

of sweeter dreams, more beautiful

I think that what I miss the most about being loved is the warm, strong chest to lay my head on, while we talk, lay quietly, touch each other sweetly, bask in the light...

or maybe it's someone to talk to each night, who cares about whatever it is I have to say whether happy or sad...

but oh, the feeling of warmth when I'm shopping in the grocery store, to make him something delicious for dinner. And something sweet for dessert...

Waking up early and staring at a beautiful face, so peacefully sleeping. Drinking my coffee and thinking about him, then climbing back into bed to be next to him, to be with him...

Feeling as if the world is mine because this beautiful man loves me, and cares for me, and exercises his thoughtfulness and sweetness, always giving to me...

Someone to laugh with...

Someone to cry with...

Someone to be silent with...

Falling asleep next to him, touching. Then waking up in the middle of the night and making love again... maybe for a few minutes, maybe for an hour... maybe forever...

Let not my heart be weighted

Nor my love be blind or shaded

If my light be sadly faded

When love once again comes fated,

Knocking at my door

May two fiery souls’ union

Come to me none too soon then

With a blessed and warm reunion

Of souls' unabashed communion...

Oh love, come call on me

Puzzled

So I was thinking... (imagine that) since I got lost in a thought this morning, about why some love stays and some love goes.  Earlier I wrote about how giving love is never really a loss because it all adds itself into the love that someone is and becomes.  These gifts are never in vain.

Countless childhood memories see me as a child watching my mother putting puzzles together.  She would sit there humming endlessly because this one event was always her passport out of reality.  There were no chores to be done, no supper to cook, no children to be tended to.  There was just a pretty picture to hum her way through.

My favorite part of assembling a puzzle was always putting the edge rows together.  Those always made sense to me because they were sharp, clear and had limited directional possibilities.The insides always frustrated me and unless the puzzle was 100 pieces or less, I usually walked away before it was done.

It took me a long time to realize that puzzles are just not my thing.  I wonder what else I need to learn...

Firecrackers

You know that hot, stagnant day that seems to last forever.  Then there's a pop, another crackle a few minutes later.  It happens again after a little while.  Then it's like a brick of firecrackers ferociously exploding in an abundance of noisy energy.

That's what it's like inside my head, today.  The fourth of July.

Stretch marks

For I, who dances in the starry night
me, the one who sees the colors
within the brightness of white light
I called on you to hold my hand
I beckoned you to see me through
I felt you walking by my side
but now tell me is this real...
or have I simply gone mad?


In the secrets I hear in the morning hour
near the edge of breaking dawn
within the abandon of cloudy rides
or journeys to the fire within
The maddening edge from which I jump
to arrive at bliss's door
Tell me, for I who once did not believe
Is this sweet dream my heaven?

The form of emptiness

Why do the days when your heart is so heavy, last so damn long?

These last few months have brought more disappointment and heartache than I would have chosen had life offered me a menu.  Really- who would consciously choose from the back page "Lose it" category, when appetizers, entrees and desserts are an option?

Heavy in my thoughts is the possibility that I am working out my previous lives' karmic debts.  I do not dare to make a decision on my opinion on that whole possibility, as I have nothing to go on, other than it would explain a lot.  But what I am left with must not be wrestled with, as that will simply exhaust my energies and probably result in nothing more than two losers- me and a theory.  Instead I must just be with what is.  

Leaving Frank in a state of fear and anxiety could have done no less than break my heart.  It's still broken and leaking and I suspect will remain so for quite some time.  And yet, it forced me to see not just the residues of both the mistakes I made along the way, as well as the shattered debris that I once thought was the absence of joy. When his brilliant light shined on those streaks-I saw an incredible man who didn't only suffer because of my flaws, but one who chose to realize all of the things that were good and right.

Countless hours and tears I have spent over the years, worrying that I had wasted time and goodness in vain attempts at life and love.  All that I ever wanted was for my love to matter to someone.  When I think about all of the love that I have gifted, I can't help but wonder if any of it ever made a difference.  It is sometimes hard to imagine that it has, but just like with Frankie, when you watch it move forward and you see a person win and find love (even when you once thought it would be you), then you know that it really has, don't you?

For all of the love that has been given to me, and for which was received from me, I am thankful.  For all of the wisdom that I have acquired, gratefulness fills me. To all of the joy and the heartaches that brought me here, I am indebted. 

08.24.11

A couple of meditative moments from this morning:

• The best that you can expect from a relationship with another, can never exceed the relationship which you have with yourself. The love, respect and appreciation which you impart to yourself, is then available to share with another.

• Gratitude does not begin with Thank or end with You. It is an explosive attitude beyond occasion or giver. It is the love that fills the spaces between molecules, that holds beauty and light. When we are receptive to life we know to be thankful for all that we are, and everything that happens.

• Love is not to be limited to that which loves us. There is never enough love that we can give. ESPECIALLY when it's hard. This is when it matters the most. To know and practice this is to be truly blessed.

And speaking of love and gratitude... today I was able to assume the downward dog position.  It didn't even hurt. I am tingling from head to toe right now, and grateful for the healing I have achieved which will allow me to be healthy and whole again... and better than ever before.  Every day brings new challenges and every day brings new insight.

BLISS!

What is...

the morning's light
peeking through the trees
kissing your face

the afternoon's breeze
sneaking through the heat
playing with your hair

the sound of the ocean
drowning your thoughts
and setting you free

trekking through forests
held safely in the hand of nature
releasing all fear and judgment

raising your hands to the heavens
and calling your angels, then
bowing down to thank the earth

touching your finger to the sweet
smooth skin of a lover
to feel the heartbeat of your god

the sound of giggling children
unabashed and loudly ringing
as you watch their bodies shake

flying through the night
amidst the stars
to touch the light

to be silent and lost
in your own breath
and your own heart's beating

to hear the whispers
of the mighty trees
and surrender to their fallen leaves


to touch the earth
to light the sky
to bow to quiet that I Am

...bliss

the artist

Everything happens. How you let it change you, paints its reason.  There are no promises nor guarantees from life, only chances worth taking and victories worth claiming.  Sometimes the victories are not what you envisioned.  Sometimes they break, then re-make you. Sometimes they send you reeling through space with your hands in the air, squealing.  But make no mistake, things will keep happening.  Happen with them.  Offer no resistance.  Yield.  Learn.  Give thanks.  It's really pretty simple.  Everything is part of your canvas.  What you paint, is your art.

Namaste,
Lala

Just a little game I like to play

Last night as the four of us finished dinner, the realization sunk in fast and deep, that these days would soon end.  In just three days, Frank will be setting off on his new life's adventure.  I could see it in all of our faces and I could certainly feel it in the lump welling in my throat.

Turning to J, I asked him what he loved best about Frankie.  The game began.  We circled the table three times, each of us telling what we loved about Frankie, then me, then Jake, then Kate.  There were no rules.  The respect for the person speaking was an unspoken mandate and it just seemed so natural for the person speaking to look into the eyes of the much loved recipient.

Have you ever heard really good news that you weren't expecting, making it seem as though it wasn't really happening, leaving that woozy feeling in your head?  I got dizzy several times, as the realization that I have truly amazing, deep thinking and feeling children, whose substance affords them an appreciation of truly great qualities.  Wow.  These children, the older two having lost two dads, and the youngest, whose life was turned around at a critical time... these three who sustained move after move, across this big country, who watched their mom hit the depths of despair, and who battled their own suicidal demons and worries of all sorts... these people who now have become responsible, driven, laughing, appreciative, caring, thoughtful souls...

they are love and happiness, they are my bliss.

"Everything happens. What you do with it, paints its reason." -Lala

Ruins be gone

Joy


Wunjo – “Won-joe” – Literally: “Joy” – Esoteric: Hope, Harmony, Perfection
Key Concepts: joy, perfection, the art of correct wishing, correct application of the will, well-being, contentment, hope, expectation, relationship, family, bonding, trusted kinsfolk, shared ideals or aims, group harmony, symbols of shared identity, optimism, cooperative effort, like-mindedness, friendship
Psi: contentment, optimism, like-mindedness, wishful thinking, shared identity
Energy: harmony of like forces, effortless ease, fellowship, fulfillment, wishing, genuine friendship,
Mundane: parties, friendship, family, community

Divinations: Joy, harmony, fellowship, accomplishment, prosperity; or stultification, sorrow, strife, alienation, warns of caution, blindness to danger, deception, betrayal.
Governs:
Strengthens links and bonds
Invocation of fellowship and harmony.
Banishes alienation and other inharmonious impediments to trust
Creating joy through the use of true will
Realization of the link and multiplicity of relationship of all things
The art of correct wishing, ‘law of attraction’

Oh what a brilliant web we weave

A few weeks back the minister at the Unity Center challenged us to "release our inner spider."  She talked about how they just jump, always knowing that the result will be that everything will be okay, and that the end result will be a web.

The past few mornings as I practice walking around my backyard with unsure, slow, careful, baby steps, I have noticed so many spider's web strings that reach horizontally for an impossible distance.  How can such a small thing make it two feet away, and reach the desired height to begin their webs?  While drinking my morning coffee I watched a video about how spiders spin their webs.  It isn't just blind faith that they count on.  They must also, for that first strand, which is to become the footing of the web, ride the breeze.  This gift of nature carts their weightlessness across the expanse of the space which is to become their canvas.

Now this riding made me think of the Wu Wei which is the effortless force of living, which allows us to do without doing.  Life cannot be manipulated or directed, we must ride the winds that are set before us.  Of course once we are moved, it is up to us to spin the web, put in the work, and be driven with determination.  The end result is something wonderful for the whole wide world to see.

Wish I had something to say
like
hey, how was your day, or
what is going on with you?


Wish I had something worth hearing
like
telling you about the dreams I'm dreaming, or
what's going on with me

Wish someone would listen
to
things that make my heart beat
things that make me cry

Wish someone heard me crying
when
I see the children bleeding, or
the mother's empty arms

Wish someone cared about
the
oceans that are drying, or
the animals that are dying

Wish someone saw me
when
I reached my hand out gently
to the soul who truly needed

I wish someone would turn their heart
on
and feel the beating that
beats in time with every other

I wish someone would see
that
their ideas of divinity only choke
the bliss of others

I wish someone would feel
the
wonder of the light in the bliss
of each, his brothers

I wish I could say out
loud
that you are your light
and all you ever need

I wish I could stop wondering
what
would make this world much sweeter,
because it already is


I wish I had something to
say
today, that would make the hatred, fear, and disillusion
fade away

I wish I had something to say

My foggy notion

Looking out over the hills this morning, all I could see was the cloudy white sea beneath my feet.  A mere feet below my footing was a thick fog that masked thousands of heartbeats, dreamers and doings which all slept peacefully in its pillowed softness.  Its thickness was so inviting, causing me to think about stepping off, and into it.  Is there any way that it could hold me?  Or would I just drown in its fluidity? Surely I could not fall, or if I did, I would not be harmed.  It was far too beautiful.

Dreaming out loud- when you have already woken- when you are already walking with your consciousness...
the fog was real.  The air was gray and heavy and before long, the distinct line that had been the sea's surface started to evaporate into an undefined thickness that permeated upward, as if it was smoke. I lost sight of the trees, except their fingertips reaching out to me.

How is it that water moves up?  Isn't fog water?  How do we avoid doing the ordinary?  Have the courage to rise above? Give up? Move on? Not worry? There was some kind of magic that held me above the sea, that allowed the sea to reach up toward me, and kindled the reaching of my beautiful trees.


The late morning sun has burned away the fog and seems to be dancing with the cool breeze that brings the whispers from the trees.  The birds who were silent in this morning's chill are now singing their songs of thrill. And I who wept this morning for what had drowned in that cloud, now feel grateful for these dreams I dream aloud.

How is it that anything can be so wonderful?  It is because no matter what, we choose wonder.  We choose it in the dark and the light, the day or the night, in dreams and in waking, in giving or taking.

The space between the water drops or the molecules of air that we breathe that are filled with whatever we choose.  That is where g~d is, that is what we are.

It is in the long shadows within the shade
it waits for me til I call its name

It is grimmest gray as it hugs yearning earth
dowsing parched, withered greens, quenching their thirst

It is explosive light trapped in a singular cloud
unabashedly longing to be bursting out

It is the dark within a dreary, cold night
that reaches for more, as it craves warmth and light

It is rising sun's splendor kissing ocean's still plane
til its rushing and swelling spawns joy's crashing wave

It is spilling your soul into hands cupped with care
that hold it so dear, just let go - and you're there

It is in the long shadows within the shade
I dance madly, gladly, calling its name

 

I'm not sure if there is
anything more beautiful
than watching one person
reaching for another
with a big smile
or open arms
or is it a very warm heart...
that swallows their
wholeness, both
the flesh and the soul,
the good and
the not so good,
all with such
gladness
to be honored
by the warmth and
love of
another

Today I saw a beautiful person's love for another, do exactly that.  All I could think was that I want to be loved like that.  All love should be like that.  Don't ask me if the person getting the love was all that beautiful, because I was mesmerized by the lover.

The gimpy gull part deux

Hobbling down the beach today with my sexy brace and crutches, the water never felt so good on my feet (I wanted so badly to be playing in it) and the wind never felt so good as it did messing up my hair.  For hours I sat watching people running, jumping, playing, riding waves, laughing, smiling and being blissed.  Every one of them, in their happiness, was so damn beautiful.

The short hair, the long, tousled curly hair, the blonde and the black hair... the curvy, the skinny, the muscular and the fluffy ones... so damn beautiful

The finale was an older couple, both a bit hunched.  Both with skinny legs and pot bellies.  She carried an oxygen tank and he bore a lot of wrinkles.  When they looked away from the water and at each other I could not help but wonder which was more beautiful to them; the ocean or their other.

Just another Friday at Torrey Pines.

What you see is what you are... and what you are feels beautiful.  Gawd... I can't wait to be whole again.  I can't wait to be in love again.  I can't wait til I am squealing again, like a little child running down the beach... lost in her excitement.

It will come.