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?