Archive | March, 2015

spooky parent

22 Mar

world overlook

A few weeks ago:

My heart hurt – viscerally – i felt tight and achy deep in the chest

and it wasn’t my own pain.

I felt around my world, trying to find the source.  I knew, but I couldn’t help wondering how I could feel the pain of another so personally within.

It seems the journey of a parent is the experience of heart ache, in joy and sorrow.  The physical connection is ridiculous.

I think the cells of my two daughters and my cells mingling in the womb still have action at a distance all these years later – what a spooky happening!

Their cells mingle among my own and go off in alarm patterns in their times of stress or hurt or worry or in life crushing/life growing experiences and in big, joyful times, too.   Each intensity of theirs sends signals to the hormone fire stations in my body, who then rush out with the fight or flight chemicals in me.

How come I am tumbling through 16-year-old emotions instead of holding a steady opening?

How come I feel elation, walking through the aisles of the florescent lit grocery?

Sometimes the phone will chirp, and I find out the answer.  Or I may have to wait until the teary face or bounding joy comes bursting through the door, later.

I found myself typing words out, without a care for structure or meaning, just to take the edge off of my achiness, to sooth the hurt of my inability to change outcome or to walk through with them or even for them.  Each girl has all the tools she needs to deal with rejection, depression, re-creation, but it physically hurts in the process – me.  Detachment flies right out the window, of late.

I was overwhelmed again for just living this life, even as the sky hinted of a spring to come.  Two cardinals outside sang and flashed bright red in the bare winter tree for  me as I ran out in pj’s to take the girl downtown so she could teach little ones hebrew, releasing a song in my heart once again.

These girls and I will learn together about carving out the experiences we wish to have.  We will learn and relearn about finding our passions, our energy, our focus, our innate ability to create our thoughts and watch our thoughts turn into our flow.  We learn to find joy in the smallest of things, again.

My heart may take to aching again.  My hands are tied in this.  I allowed the souls of others to grow in my body and nothing I can do will stop the little cells from circulating in my system as these beings walk on through their own time tunnels.

I want to grab their hands and force timeline jumps – to sunny and cloudless skies – but they both get to choose for themselves.  I will walk my path forever entangled with the gift of these overlapping trajectories.

the sneezes of god

18 Mar

Walls do hold up roofs, floors do hold our feet, and bodies do give us places to dwell, but circumstances never stop coming around, do they, in these bodies we inhabit?  The very scenario that creates my undoing is a custom made recipe in the kitchen of my soul.  I am getting to exercise the muscles I need to work my zooming function.  Zoom zoom in – and this girl can grab a pen and write the landlord a check for the rent for the house with the walls holding up the roof.  Zoom zoom out and I say to you, What walls?  What roof?  What land?  What lord?

In the zoom zoom out, I say,  Wall.  You do play with me by flashing your shimmering, particle reality.  You tease me with the spaces between your seeming solidity.  You call to me, saying go ahead and knock me down.  Do you think the roof will cave in?  

The birds developed such good muscles for zooming out along the way that they learned to fly out out out from here.  They are not worried about winter or even night when they sing their musical canon, no!

As I hear word canon in my head, I have planted my tush on an actual cannon that was placed here to fight of the Spanish Invaders many years ago.  Now it faces the marsh and suburban houses on the other side of the pluff mud.

The same way that the birds have learned to fly before we have developed that skill, there were people here on this land that understood oneness much more than the invaders, yet they were wiped away while we still work our way back up to where they left off, creeping creeping back to ONE.  The Kiawah would say to you, what land, what lord?

i don’t have to leave my earthly floor to visit the space between the atoms of my walls.  I can go in-between god’s blinking eyelids of creation and destruction in every every moment.  But now god has gotten some pollen in his nose; one sneeze and the slate will begin again.

I will meet you in the next world, as shimmery and simmering as this one, with its wavering walls and all.

You reader amaze me with your compassion and patience for my ramblings as my walls are crumbling down.

truffle recipe

8 Mar


Truffle, by Lauralpo

Feeling hurt is

finding a truffle in the dark winter woods

of you.

You have

rooted out

a wound buried,

which has seasoned and

layered with the woodsiness of human separateness, now:

tasting like the salt of tears,

surfacing the mustiness of blocked light,

satisfying the earthiness of BEing.

No longer numb,

our tongues appreciate

the blossoming of such pockets

we have found deep beneath the rich soil

of our clay-created flesh.

The bruised heart within

sends out a beacon to the intrepid searcher.

So tenderly we can brush away

the clinging dirt, and place

such a find

in the fabric-lined cradle

of our baskets.

Promised Recipe:

Wash thy wound; slice

and saute and add this depth to

all dishes now and yet to be.

Thank the pig whose talented nose

found such a treasure

to bring to the tables

of the courageous.

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