Archive | February, 2015

change a comin’

22 Feb

i formed a crystal ball in the space between my palms and I stared deeply into the the whirling center of the universe within.

Try it.  Hang out a shingle; call the curious and the future impaired to gaze.

I see:  The forecast for today is for heart contractions and vicarious, visceral squeezings for the incorrect thoughts of man.  Later this week, a new front of optimism is expected as a result of the sun peeking through the clouds today.

You will venture from your blankets and caves and learn to trust again.  You will see whole groups of people and activities disappear entirely from your life.   You will remember every every thing, but often there will be no need for such memories.   You will create new ways of being, new knowing, new ways of talking, colors never seen in this realm before.  You will create a world that sits beside the old one.  Don’t fear for you can still see the other one and wave hello goodbye hello goodbye, but chances are, the only ones who will see will be the ones running to catch your train.  They will appreciate the encouragement, and share their brown-paper lunch along the way.  Food will be the first breaking through of our synesthesia;  even from that paper bag, the crisp will run into the red running into the sun and rain contained within.  You can live the life of the fruit you have grown through a bite.  I kid you not.

The intensity of competition becomes foreign, the tongue of a troubled land.  The ego daggers look like flying sporks.  The race to make it big will be a tale of a culture who went off the tracks, but upon whom we gaze tenderly.  We will not abandon the two-year old melting down at the checkout line; we will stand by with love, compassion, and distance.  We will gaze out the store’s window at the pattern of the birds circling over the parking lot.  We sense a change in the weather before the winds begin to turn along with those birds.  We hear the balloons being released into the sky a 1,000 miles away. We hear the helium heads’ thoughts of blue blue blue.

We begin to sense when gatherings are gathering without flyers or emails.  We choose the party we will run into on our walk out into no where.  We give and receive on a currency of flow, without question. Our lie detectors fall out while we gather acorns for the squirrels we meet – we built teepees for the fairies.  They weave us spiderweb shawls and leave them on our doorsteps.  Our job title changes so much that we stop printing up business cards and instead we shape shift to fit our mood.  You might wake up a rain cloud escaping out the sliding glass doors just in time before leaving a puddle inside.  The heart begins to radiate a new language without slow words and whole decades are exchanged with a handshake.

What winds do you sense?  Tell me what they smell like.  Send your thoughts in a canteen and I shall take a swig.

la cuisine

19 Feb
Kitchen - Picasso - 1948

Kitchen – Picasso – 1948

A stumble into the kitchen at 6:06 am for steeping the tea before the shower led to the discovery that my kitchen was now la cuisine.   My oven was le four, my stovetop, la cuisinière.  The cups, la tasse, and the spoons, cullère, had revolted from the native tongue and were now decorated in taped on labels for their new names. Half asleep, my mind melts.  Where am I?  What language do they speak here?  How will my life unfold from this very moment in this foreign land? A French test and a kinesthetic learner are the clues to what is occurring in my reality. But that is all too logical, especially upon first waking. Instead, I linger here, in the surreal feeling of this morning, enjoying the truth that anything is possible; dare I look out the window and see my charleston is kansas and is also paris?  Why not wonder for a bit? Join me for un tasse de thé et nous allons explorer cette terre . Don’t hesitate to help me out in my clumsy efforts, here.  When in le cuisine, old habits are made new again with the twist of the tongue.  I’ve a feeling my reality has no need to hold still for very long, anymore.

Oh, I forgot the most lovely one of all, the apple of the earth, pomme de terre, exquisite!

 Song translated:

I was dreaming of another world Where the earth would be round Where the moon would be blond And life would be fertile

I was in a deep sleep I did not see straight anymore I dreamed reality My reality I was dreaming of another earth That would remain a mystery An earth less down to earth Yes I wanted to screw it all I was walking with my eyes closed I could no longer see my feet I dreamed reality My reality pinned me to my bed I was dreaming of our world And the earth is round alright And the moon is so blond Tonight the shadows of the world are dancing For having been dreaming it motionless It found me quite futile But when budging made it turn My reality forgave me. (the shadows of the world are dancing)

Taken from

lady godiva

15 Feb

She got on my high horse again, the one who is preparing to carry the whole journey on her back, the one who is in a rush to be first to be right to catch her other selves in the act of criticizing her. It only takes an instant to untie the tether once again to release that old mare into the wild, and in so doing, freeing every one. Watch, see her students run into the night and day of their own making, her subjects turning into their own queendoms. The freedom to laugh and to breath come wrapped up as hostess gifts for this one as she again tosses the lesson plan out the window in order to listen – no to the words but yes to the meaning behind the impulse to speak, yes to read in eyes the desire to be heard to be seen to be heart. If you see her up there like Lady Godiva, throw an apple at her head and let her know the clothing optional thing is more about release than ever parading about anything false.

tax day cometh

11 Feb

Hafiz got a job down the street from here;

he’s dressed up like the statue of liberty, he is.

The sign he holds tells me to do my taxes,

but the dance he does is anything but taxing.

In fact, I think he may be charging from the sun

and could go on into infinity,

grooving, waving, grinning,

getting into people’s business

as they go about in cars.

The lights go from green to yellow to red

all day long, and so does he –

his singular gaze and gyrating hips

generate lasar beams in all directions

melting windshield glass and metal,

leaving us here at this intersection

floating on our disappearing seats

pushing pedals no longer there.

Lady liberty paid in full,

with a siren smile,

all our debts this sunny day,

calling to me, when I rolled down the window,

saying, death and taxes are as lovable as cancer,

when you dance with them all

on the road going home.

foul out

5 Feb

More so than bliss,
follow the scent of something off
wrong, disgusting, foul,

phey, phew, phuck, phlulahlah…
what is rotten in your denmark?
don’t turn away.
Some little wrongness
can be just the thing to snag a thread
of you.
Then as you go about your day,
you will be unwinding the stitching
of you –
who can’t watch the world without a running commentary,
who separate all you see into piles
of good for you


not good for you


You can splurge into the good

until you see that nothing’s there,

but that may take a while

because the bottom of yummy is a long way down.

Inhale the stink until what is not so good

makes you soften into love.

Ready now, you can

dive into the nothing

until you begin to crave embody the stillness

already embedded in everything.

Upon your covered entrance

arrive the preordered

winks and syncs,

even in the rain.

You won’t fear the dinosaur days

when you are in the corner

stacked up for the goodwill truck.

You will still be able to

smell the vegetables in your soup and

savour the broth upon your spoon.

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