Archive | June, 2013

now for something completely different

9 Jun

I refuse to make myself a resume,

As much as the mind continually wishes to do this.

A pulsing of life in a body moves from experience to experience.  Even if it choses to stay in bed with the covers to its neck, the experiences come – through the light in the window – through the thunder outside, the mosquito in the ear, the pounding at the door –

All of the moments can be stitched together in such away to make a story – an attractive one – a funny one- a pitiful one – all still story.  The story adds layers upon layers which the deepest part of you knows is false.

dancing in  this world of ours of falseness – of suffering projected out into judgement of others’ worthiness – no one takes me seriously!  really?  why should they?   What has that to do with a thing?    Wanting others to view us in any sort of a way is all the act of resume building.  This conglomeration of bones tissue blood memories preferences achy fingers bruised shins sagging breasts twinkling eyes – is nothing.  In this realization of nothing lies great freedom.   There is no charge – no combustion – there is no thing here to get a rise out of.  My back may rise, yet know the hissing is just a fun game of pretend.  Look at my claws, meow.

I have taken the daily beating of the worst sort of sadistic suffering guards – and I learned to shower them with love.  If you expose your pain to me – even if you think you are wounding – I kiss it.  I know it.  I give because I need no reason – I am an empty vessel tapping into the thing greater than me – empty out the identity and you can know the universe and secrets within – and have no wish of personal gain from that.  Others think they kick me while  I could tell them wonders that I see in their buried parts – I can read the iris of their eyes and the lines on their palms, but they know not.  I kiss the bleeding wound, dank with infection and sully my lips none.

You can take and are a taker – this trait is obvious for all to see – has been all along – and in your peek upon my breast, you reveal your own.  In your wrath and prickliness, you reveal your soft underbelly – and desire to transcend your animal nature by diving deep within it – go on in head first, I shout.

I am coming to see the irony of the artist’s journey – the desire to be something to do something ties you to the flesh and to your experiences and to your pain.  Trust the alchemy of this – and know all are accepted in the lap, all are allowed to suckle – there is no shame – there is not wrong but an infinity of choice – to engage or to provoke or to accelerate or to stagnate for a bit – matters not – free choice –

All water flows to the amassed mysterious sea – or evaporates into the hot air, to be rained into the sea, again and again.  the games of who is good or who is talented or who has read enough to be deemed intelligent or who can name that line, “east is east and west is west, and never the twain shall meet,” in 30 seconds at the drunken literary dinner party – only to realize all is lost in the haze of chest beating and booze, let us fuck on this couch while my wife sleeps in the next room – she is hard of hearing – bravado.  if inspiration is borrowed, that is taking too, without permission.   And one says it sucks, one says it speaks, matters not, but that it was a choice of how to pass the time.  we are all floating in the same mind space oblivious and sharp edged – for now.  some awaken and merge and care not where one begins or another ends,  who creates or who absorbs,  or who is top or bottom; the merging is deeper than the mind can fathom.

* I feel the need for a disclaimer – All poking is at me or versions of me – boring, safe, predictable.  I allow myself to push publish as I flow into different spaces.   I find the format of a blog, which allows for free expression, also becomes a confine of identity at times.

glory be

7 Jun

sunrise over ashley river

in the middle of the night – it all becomes so clear.

Sleeplessness can be the same as sleeping.

I do not know what is on television,

I have no news except the sky – a storm arrives

without

a name known by me.

I can easily escape this bed, this house, this little body shell –

I am as big as my whole city, silent

watching the clouds roll in on eye level.  The lightning

illumines the billowing mass insurgency of storm.

wind whips – I have no body, yet I am here.

sky dome cracks in two, crashes down,

the vacuum of space sucks out all the filth of man-

who cares where it goes now.

A night can pass this way.

Clockwinder, I see the mystery of

Birds awakening before the light.

Why now do I shrink?

Back in this woman body,

listening with human ears,

the rattle of the shutters,

the bending of the trees;

glory be.

Thoughts knock on every door;

one little crack and in they rush,

silly men in suits.

I do not follow them,

or read from their notepads.

The meeting at eight is cancelled, you know,

Loosen the ties, get thee to the beach.

Choke yourself on salt and surf,

and let the rip tide take you out.

nothing left to lose

4 Jun

Just now, I sliced a purple onion to put in my garbanzo bean salad – have you looked at one of those lately?

– How utterly beautiful they are –

Red_onions

But the slicing brought a deluge of tears so strong, that I shut my eyes and continued to cut by feel only, slice, slice slice, above the whoosh of the dishwasher.  The tears stung and cleaned me out – even if onion induced – nothing feels better than a good cry.

Now I have those onions carmelizing in the pan; will that be good in a salad?  I don’t know, but I will try.

I am moving forward without so much definition of just what exactly that means.

Moving is such an opportunity for release and reinvention.  We are only going 8 miles or so.  Boxing up, throwing out, I am seeing what it is that constitutes our lives; all of this activity gives perspective.  We are a collection of stuff.  We are a collection of shared experiences.  We, my daughters and I, while away a bit of time together – and then things change – some so gradually you hardly notice, and other things disappear overnight.  AH!

I found some old journals full of anguished thoughts.  I visited my dear younger self in her sorrow.  These sorrows in that time, as well as joys, did pass.  The self I visited  then is no longer the me of now, and the future me will look back at the me of now with loving tenderness.

past future selves

The journey is important, but not in the way the mind wants to make it so.

Getting the sticky parts out can be a bit uncomfortable and embarrassing to the self that can be embarrassed.  The real self recognizes there is no shame in the journey.

I forget.  I expose my shadows in the mirror of my experiences.   I fall down mind spirals that I no longer think are possible.  When I return, what is left?

Nothing left to lose.  It is insane to believe in loss.

The world of self-esteem,  Own it, girl, strut your stuff, I’m all that 🙂 has a hard time with some of these ideas.  The loss of identity in some ears sounds like the opposite of a healthy outlook.  Funny!

Stripping down to the real thing is the opposite of adding on or building up  –

what is here is all that

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