if a pile of ashes could speak

30 Jun

there may be a faint memory

that speaks

of a time –

it asked,

And what if I just stopped

trying so hard

and just let the love,

knocking at the door,

inside?

A dangerous question…

Gestures

are having Richter waves

in and out of this body-

a student’s obligatory email

wishing me a good day

suddenly is seen for the kindness it contains and

when one speaks with anger

out of her own pain,

I sigh, so kind!

Living in the seat of now

helps me to see all I overlooked before

but this seat is also

hot like an electric chair,

which causes me to hop off

some times…

Will I burst into flames

sitting here too often?

It feels so, at the tender edge,

where death by combustion is certain.

Running from the fire

of our own beauty

and peace

is a silly and dramatic pretense.

Right now it feels like

there’s nothing left to say

about anything other than that.

Now, I’m only able to practice returning,

10,000 times a day.

My charring is on the menu.

Every face that enters my world, my mirror,

every bee, as well.

Every watermelon too heavy to carry,

it’s thickness a testament

to the persistence and strength

for the will of matter and life,

inedible from my palate,

yet still holding up its end

of a cycle

from seed to fruit to seed

sown in soil

of waste turning into food,

given time.

I think I am.

I perceive this world as broken

but as I stretch beyond myopia

I see the world rightly aflame,

but really,  I am,

and

you are, you are–

Life happens on the skin

and in the sinew

but really in the cells holding

an agreement of flesh together

which we forget to register.

Pat your belly

and eat the watermelon

and feel

what is here

now, right here

that close.

So simple,

the fire

of your existence.

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play this game with me

5 Aug

Pretend in a very real way that you have just been dropped into your life

from another realm

like one of those science fiction movies

where the protagonist

is time traveling or beaming into different places and times,

sometimes appearing

without clothing or a dime to his name,

only now, you are beaming yourself, like a lab rat

dropped into a maze,

into your own life,

with all its glorious conundrums and astounding beauty

that you can now see with an interloper’s eyes.

Pretend you don’t know any of your problems,

and you are learning everything anew.

Stumble through your first day

as if there are no patterns to uphold.

Meet everyone a stranger with a clean slate of interest.

Ask GPS the way to work, to home and to the park.

Wander into your obligations like a tourist.

Tour your neighborhood.

Go to the movies alone in the day.

Ask your partner to sit with you for tea.

When you read the leaves on the bottom and side of her cup,

tell her of this stranger, you, who has entered her life

and let her know you are not who she thought you were.

Close your eyes while the chocolate melts on your tongue

and travels down your throat,

enjoy the new land of your life

your body, a new suit,

and your life uncharted now

by your old, conditioned mind.

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make everything a thing

6 Nov

Years in coming

but seen now

in spurts

is that the dance of divine

(just everything

as far as we can see and smell and lick)

is my play dough queendom,

when I arrive at the preschool table

equipped with my able hands

and lively visions.

i sit with my boisterous classmates

and we build the world

side by side

in tiny chairs.

We take potty breaks

and breaks for snacks,

but we eventually learn

to make every moment

holy with our attention.

We have freedom to not,

but also pointing toward,

the serious task of staying loose

with wisdom

to never marry

any moment

nor mourn the loss

of any joy.

Courage is gathering

for holy sleep

and holy tea

and holy walks

and holy talks with plants and chocolate and blankets

and traffic noise and headaches, too,

holy holding still

holy inner smile

bowing for what is here

seen through eyes that work

and a brain that can decipher,

for now,

and a tongue that can stop moving

until the words arrive.

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how we all are waking

5 Sep

so many years

and tasks

it has taken

to get to a spot

where brief

and luxurious

days – mornings

open with breath

and dancing sun spots

behind the eyelids

before the self suit

gets put on –

self talk

ceases for whole moments

and when it comes back online

one small voice seems to say

wait, do you need the clothes of self?

there is no hurry,

stay in naked,

linger,

BE today

and tomorrow

and maybe

for the foreseeable stash

of nows

piled in the closet.

unseen is whether it

is a mountain of nows

or one last one

before the dawning that

now continues beyond

our ability to hoard

beyond any idea

of what is next

or needs to be answered,

For now

has oxygen

and nutrients

aplenty,

and needs no

peanut gallery of support

from the crowd

that used to live-broadcast

commentary and opinion,

silent outside

this head,

outside all heads,

tuned to a similar station,

now

signing off

for good.

 

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without within without

29 Jun

I am the space in which i move –

not the other way around.

Motion happens in this shift, oh and stillness, too.

I am watching out from eyes i can not place!

Oh, who am i? kidding.

Cleaning house(a joyful chore!)

now that I am

so much larger

than i perceived

whom is watching

me to BE.

_ /’\_ X I\I

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settle down

27 Jun

When the flow of adrenaline hit the belly

I knew something big was approaching.

I was kicking the dirt

and blowing brrrray

behind the starting gate door.

Small portion fear mixed with ample dollops excitement

ready for the next disaster

sure to be a doozy.

A rough hour in jittery anticipation

until I remembered, oh, the left over coffee,

which you do not normally drink,

in the fridge, was caffeinated,

Lightbulb on.

Dear girl, this morning’s prescient omens

were all a playing out of chemistry

in this reliable and forgiving body.

Simmer down, now, m

All will unfold in its due time –

there is no fire 

or another blessed disaster

in the immediate.

Goodness, how beautiful, the playings out

of body and mind – who haven’t yet learned

who is driving the car.

I can remember 

that part which is beyond the effects of our everyday drugs,

Watching, watching, quiet at the center,

laughing with love

at my overwrought avatar,

hitting again and again the key

we use for GO.

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now-wish

17 Jun

there is

no time,

no desire, but

someone is

hungry for completion,

while also still and happy,

mellowed out

hollowed out

laughing

and watching

whatever arises.

The now wish is

sharing parsley with my friend,

my trippy colored, hungry friend.

 

 

 

…

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I used to live there

13 Jun

I used to live there

and I admit

I do still visit

when I forget,

sinking back 

into the piles of laundry,

the dust under beds and on the blades

of outdated ceiling fans in every room,

so many things left undone and haunting

when I could not find

the key to start the engine

for motion

most days.

Moving the house and home

of me

from the sink hole

started slowly

at first,

a notion

of another possible address

where a clean slate

could be gifted

from me

to me

a space

unknown

but felt enough

to at first help my head rise from the pillow

more toward

the day

and less, less the night.

Moving is never a matter of money,

but instead an issue of inner knowing

of just where one lives

in truth.

I see the one who lives there, now,

in the front

still in his pajamas

watering the weeds

that won the battle over the grass,

and my chest muscle tightens  – 

remembering the pain of my own lost address,

but what can I say?

Only to whisper,

gentle, from the distance

of my passing car:

remember

you don’t have to live there

one second more –

you too

can be one

who knows

that you used to live

where you are now

but you will have learned

that you don’t have to

live there

anymore.

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touching my toes

12 Jun

it occurs to me this morning

that flexibility is the higher order

of this earthy trip

from amnesiac birth

and warrior marching

through weed

and thorny ways

on toward an exit

back stage left

even as soon as tomorrow.

at the first sign of tightness

in thought and id

is the time to jump on that confusion,

(which creeks and aches like arthritis

in me, a short lived wow-man)

not when it gets too late

and I have cemented myself

into my own confusion.

does the world need my allegiance

to a side?

I hope not –

sides are always born

of confusion.

may the head to arms to toes of me

BE free of the tightness

born of rigid thoughts.

i like to linger in bed

and avoid the chill of morning

but the calisthenics needed

are not optional

if i want a lucid

view.

I whistle at the squirrel

and dance with walter the cat

and stomp confusion out as

i plunge myself into the frigid bath

of truth

breathing into the spacious air

shaking off all my thoughts

on a constant refresh rhythm.

for now, tea is still waiting

with heavy cream to boot, rich my life.

i’m getting it while i still can

and i’ll have no regret

as breath leaves this body bag

alone alone and together i am

with every worm and vulture

waiting to clean my bones

that served me well.

 

 

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garden metaphor exhausted

5 May

I’m letting the root rot open to the air.

holding the shovel at bay,

not ready (yet) for the tender hug

of mulch.

Dirt under the fingernails for days.

The smallest of shifts felt

while I trace a line

between self-indulgence, fertilizer,

and truthful, detached seeing-

walking the rows at sunrise.

 

The birds’ songs and chirps

an invitation to now

to breath

to exposure of even the slightest

inkling of maladjustment,

browning leaves

wilting old growth –

(loved

even so

on her way out).

Meeting needs

as they arise

in the garden outside

and the garden within

is enough.

The world is allowed to die back,

so paradise (undergrowth) can be exposed.

 

 

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