2:31

Is it wrong to wonder

if there is a purpose to life
Is there really a need to endure all
of the pain, heartaches and loneliness

Is there cause at all to
wish to be something
with no cost, pain, or understanding

to ask of life, where is your gift
and then stand bewildered in the
silence of no answer

Is it wrong to question fate
when fate will happen
as it will or won't

How is it, life, that I have naught
but wait and listen for your
lovely song

Is it okay if I forget for a moment
in the face of my own need
the gifts you have already given me

I wait and I listen
for your lovely song...
is that wrong?

There must be a better question


I was a bit disappointed this morning when I realized that (according to some FB posts) I had missed the new moon. The new moon is a promise of hope for us, on which we can cast our fondest wishes. Not that I believe such things, but I do believe in new beginnings and anything that affords me some hope is always a welcome relief.

So I researched the validity of new moon wishes and then the moon's calendar. My hope was to find a magical formula for wishing that would rival the most convincing 100% money back guarantee I'd ever dared to believe. I found some pretty devoted believers who shared their hope with me. The calendar stated that the new moon was at precisely 2:31 pm on 1/23/12. Quickly I glanced down to the corner of my computer screen to check the time. It was the exact minute of the new moon, so I dedicated the next 120 seconds or so to my fondest wish.

I wished for love and affection- the kind I can both give and receive. The kind that will bring us joy, understanding and delicious companionship. A love that will transcend difficulty and make us both better- not farther apart. One that is hungry and thoughtful and generous and definitely sexy. Love that makes living so much better, redefining every taste of every raindrop or tear. One Love that fills us with wonder, not questions.

So I am wishing on every star in the moon-free night... send me my love... it is time.

Med.itation

Take me to that place where
all I am is free where
speckled raindrops filled
with life, radiant in
their falling stream
Take me to that time when
there are no ticking clocks where
life is but a single breath
dancing in the moment's glow
of wondrous light
Take me to that feeling
that life is but a dream
as we glide within the space
between the raindrops where
love and light shine freely
Breathing in and then out
once again I draw
another high when I find that
place, sweet angels, where
I am love and light

It is...

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 moon'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

It is what it is, nothing more, nothing less
cuz you get what you chase so go follow your bliss

Silent night

The house is so still tonight

No dust bunnies tumbling down the hall

no children's laughter

or wrappers crinkling on the end table

no children are crying

(It's just me and silence when the refrigerator stops its humming...)

I could hear the heat from the candles burning

feel the pulsing of my red hot blood

know the loneliness of  sad heart's yearning

see the wavelength of light that fills this room

smell the burning of a will that's dying

taste the fear within your cold, dark tomb


As I touch the silent sounds of

what there is and what is not

beyond the space that's filled with fright

into the place no sound has won


Where two candles joyously burning

two separate flames across the darkened night

two glorious fires, together

in the symphony of silence, light the night

Missing in Action

Watching a feather ride the draft

Oh how I miss the wind

Listening to the splatter outside the door

I do so miss the rain

Seeing the snow fall softly down

I miss the breathless view

Smelling the lilacs blooming sweet

fragrance sorely missed

Watching the hawk soar overhead

I do not care to follow

Singing a song of words so sweet

I cannot hear the tune

Feeling my heart beat thumping strong

Oh how I miss you, Love

 When I blow out the candle, Love, where does the light go?

The moon's light

My waking dream yesterday was about death. Death has been haunting my consciousness lately as I grieve the loss of a childhood love. If I hadn't already been in the reflective state of evaluation as I celebrate my midlife cry, I suspect this could have been a catalyst that could have driven me there.

If you have ever pictured your own funeral, as I have, you may have wondered what people would say about you. My fantastic eulogy would emote that I was caring, loving, creative, and made their worlds a little bit better. Some would even claim that I brought joy to their lives. But...at this point I have committed no monumental acts of radical change, other than in myself, nor have I offered the world anything concrete to perhaps make their lives a little easier; and for this I grieve. When I think of all of the talents I was given and how I haven't done much with them, I think about the sting in my heart when gazing at the unopened Christmas presents still sitting in the family room, unappreciated. Such a shame.

Driving home last night I noticed the cold, sharp stillness of the oh so clear night. There were only occasional cars around so I felt as if I owned the place. Racing up one particular wide-open road I felt like I was soaring. Suddenly as I crested a hill, there it was... the big, heavy, bright moon, barely hanging, just above the horizon- magnificent in its grandeur, in spite of its three-quartered status. Was it just too ripe to rise quickly?

There was a saturation of wonder, I noticed as I continued to drive that it wasn't chasing me tonight- I was following it. It would disappear behind mountains, but as I came around turns, no matter what direction I faced, there it was. Like a toddler who never tires of the clown popping up from the musical box- I was no less amazed with each recurrence of this show, as I chased that big reflective ball home.

Laying in bed, replaying the wonders of the day I found myself once again chasing the question of my death and forecasting the summation of my life. Then it hit me, like the surprise of an enormous globe in the sky, that what I should be driving toward is what will be said of me while I live.

Cursed

When I see love whether I watch it in an act of kindness, or see it in the face of a lover being kissed, or hear it in the words of defense or the words of exaltation of one so loved- my heart swells. There is nothing more beautiful to watch, than love. It's everywhere. It is the light in the midst of a caress, argument, hug, affection, kindness, desire, envy, and jumbling tummy.

How can something so beautiful have been learned to be something to be ashamed of? Something shunned, dismissed, erased, invalidated and feared? Love doesn't strip you of security or joy, it fills you with their wonders. The profanity of this insanity...why did you make love a four letter word?

Definition of PROFANE

transitive verb

1

: to treat (something sacred) with abuse, irreverence, or contempt : desecrate

2

: to debase by a wrong, unworthy, or vulgar use

Brava

Oh let me be the one

Who fills and moves your sails

The one who thrills your senses

Love that never pales

Let me be the coupling

That conducts your flowing current

The pulse that beats and quickens

The one your yearning dream meant

My heart knew yours

So long ago

It might have been a dream

But then I saw your

Face once more

Among the living realm

Why don't you want to be the one

The one who’d die to move me

The one who craves this radiant vibe

To soothe your soul completely

Oh won’t you be the kiss of g~d

Your lips upon my lips

My sweetest song, like heaven's touch

Strummed from your fingertips

Your heart knew mine

Before, I know

In a different place and time

but when I saw your face in

this familiar place

I knew you’d soon be mine

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?