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?

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?