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...