Archive | July, 2015

if i ever forget again, i’m putting this here to remember

27 Jul

Even leisure can be a to-do list:

___  get out in nature,

___  bathe,

___  relax!!!!

___  pet the cat,

___  listen to the owl,

___  go to yoga,

___  sit silently for x amount of minutes,

___  eat nutritious food,

but true letting go hammers no list.

Health comes in its own time with no terms.

Music is found under layers of clutter, cleared away.

No one was actually keeping score.

The list keeper is happy to turn the reigns over,

as long as she is

convinced

converted

at last

by the magic mother once again –

she is stunned into silence by a something larger

that she cannot understand.

She is silenced finally in

open space full of nothing

no appointment

no calls to make

no bills to pay

no food to eat

no person expecting…anything.

How many years does it take to clear space like this?

Many and none –

a miracle

this island

in the middle of doing

always existing, almost invisible

right here

a chair

a breeze

an open ear

without a ready response

no sizing up

no plan

no worry

houses lost

clothes outgrown

a trillion cicadas clacking, mating and dying

while this body learned to have no clock

learned that needs will make themselves known

without having to cry –

a baby again

in the arms of such a large mother

as I can be to myself.

No other task was ever more important;

no job was ever asked.

 

 

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awkward is unavoidable, awkward is beautiful

21 Jul

seeing each other – acknowledging that we see each other – can feel awkward.  We raise are heads up and out – turtles – wondering about the world outside.  Venturing out, we see other turtles, some nearby,  their heads out, too – seems transparent now who is stirring  while sitting in classrooms, coffeeshops, the corner of the library, reading books like be here now, or the doors of perception…

I feel shy when I see you and I can tell you do, too.   I see the perk up when I get weird, when I mention the matrix or the nature of reality or the beauty of our pain and shared vulnerability – when I ramble.

It frustrates the linear, note-takers, no, nothing will be on the test, to answer your scrunched up face, just relax, sit back, let your mind wander, tell us what tangents excite you.

In the field of heads down, I see the random smile, a knowing nod.  eyes alit – I see you – you see me – we see each other at the same time which feels important. Is it enough to know the other is out there?

If you want, you can ask me anything!  You can approach before/after class.  We stand by the desk, not knowing where to begin.  Am I asking you or are you asking me?  – – Oh, so awkward.   I don’t have any answers for you – but I can be a touchstone that lets you know, there is something to these deviations you are finding so fascinating.  There is a path. That is something to KNOW.  haha.

You can show me some steps.   You thought maybe you were on to something, but weren’t sure under the pressure of all the others around you who were happy falling in line.  You wonder why you want to fall out of line. We are turtles on this log together.

Oh yes, here is the secret messages i can pass along –  IT sounds something like this:  you are a much loved little turtle, helping  you to see that you are love itself.  You are perfect – yet fixated on your imperfections on your knobby outside or deep into the secret insides that you think I see.  May I suggest that these perceived imperfections are here to help break you -to help crack the shell so protecting the gooey yolk within.  May I offer that we follow the whispers follow the goosebumps, follow the places that make us shiver and wonder how much more we can feel.  I say, let the anger rise, give it voice from a mountaintop, though it may take your turtle legs a while to reach the summit, and by the time you reach the summit, you may forget what angry shouts you were waiting to release.  

You are opening already – you are breaking your shell – which is why I can see you and you can see me. I am here, another pair of eyes – just another egg.  If I suggest a book, an idea, a work of art,  it is just something that is giving me goosbumps now, or did in the past.   You have your own internal meter for such things – which is much more important than anything I can point to…

But I don’t say these things.  I am cryptic.  Anything that can be said is out there already.  Words muss it up. And why talk when it is so nice on this sunny log, today, with you.  We can look together, while we bask in the glory of our chance, not chance, encounter.

We are ageless in a aged world.  You make me forget my name, energy, sound, color, light.

So curious am I about what lies beneath that bony home of yours.   I think I will get to see after you linger near trees as far as possible from the humans for a while – after you let the sun bathe your face in heat – when you water your feet in the ocean and the sand wears away what’s left of your shell.

I love you and you see that and that you see that shows that you are that love itself, and I am so glad that we crossed paths.  I myself am just getting used to and coming to love awkward , seeing awkward as where the juicy part can be.I don’t trust the smooth interaction that seems a facade riding on a surface of glib.  Our jjagged dialogue is good as we stumble and laugh together in this strange and present sit-com, now playing.

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following my goosebumps

19 Jul

goosebumps point to bliss on my road/universe map…anyone else feel that?

I’ve just discovered Pina – full body shiver!

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taboo

17 Jul

Part of not knowing what is true

anymore is an opening up to all sorts of taboo.

What have I sectioned off as valid and invalid,

appropriate and inappropriate,

good and bad?

Well, I’ll tell you, that sectioning fence falls in huge chunks

daily around here.

Tattoos are ice breaking, and beautiful.

Art that makes me curious and loving –

Yet, when MY 19 year old appears with a tattoo, unannounced,

a piece of flesh that was formed within my own,

my knees go quivery soft.  What is the difference?

I have a hard time even remembering to put creams on me  –

jewelry a rare afterthought-

yet I do cover my face with foundation, often, and draw little lines around my eyes

making appearing naked face, at times, a taboo.   Ridiculous – yet, no. habit, face, world –

silly comparison, nothing compared to

bold, relentless  piercing –

What am I to make of my feelings

when my daughter says her comment about being a dancer

led the whole restaurant to assume she is a stripper?

She laughs, I still cannot!

Why not a whole face tattoo?

Do I wince at cussing?  not anymore.

So mild, that!

Have I ever known a sex worker?

What if she were my granny?

Where do the fences lie?

Why do I lose my sense of humor when it comes to my daughters, sometimes?

OH, you gorgeous fence stompers!

A late night game of cards against humanity –

I feel easing around the dark collection of words with

this group of souls who embrace uncomfortable, strange, random, dark –

opening dear mama to whatever is arriving here now.

Where do I have trouble loving –

Where am I boundless –

open, observing,

impassively –

out and out and out – a land without ownership, a mind without opinions?

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sky big

8 Jul

The sky’s awning is made

to roll up and tie back

and the wind is adjustable to have my back.

I call upon the breeze that folds round the soft edge of me.

My dance moves pour like liquid

to the deejay spinning my day.

I walk in the torment of rain as if I were made to be watered.

I lay my blanket atop a compost heap and nap.

The power and the glory of the grass,

the majesty of ants.

The dial’s in my hands,

and a free-will train ticket’s been punched upon my soul

for a ride through the firmament –

with just a whisper leaking through,

the world spreads out its carpet longing for your feet.

Now to reconcile all of this while I’m still in my pajamas,

a tea cup in my hand,

drinking deep all the mundane.

The gods are tackling the laundry

and

levitating in the tub.

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