mercy may rain down

20 Oct

I pulled the entire damn thing  off

and started again –

and for a few days I breathed easy

resting on the pillow of my roofer’s assurances –

his reshingling was foolproof he said–

and I wrapped myself in his confidence and

my homework.

this roof is only one thing in a long series of large playings out

for the necessary things

such as air and heat

and water and waste–

a difficult year

in a decade of years

that has me asking the sky

what is the message?

what is the metaphor?

what do I not see that I need to see, please?

Is there a message for me here?

or should I open an umbrella to the raininess of life?

mercy mercy me oh why.

we surrender will

and continue until the last

drop

enters and destroys

what was temporary anyway.

we rise up again and again

against the elements

relearning how to shelter

against the relentless turning of ages

oblivious I am how short my moments are to the trees

to the hills

to the ocean who used to own this land

it is no wonder

me no bigger than a drop

in all of this

that I can not understand

why the roof

will not stop the rain

or any blessed thing

before I’m gone.

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lean in

17 Sep

to pain
accept the ache
the discomfort
heat that suffocates like a wool air blanket
the past few days and now
the longing moon must be seen
and turbulence felt
belly bellows must shout over softer things
impatience will come and walk the block
with fear of missing out
exhaustion is allowed a nap
awkwardness and surrender silence the mouth…
Welcome to my home
where to sit you have to move the laundry over,
and make your own cup of tea,
I’m busy with the lean in – just now
moving into bruising joy
not done with me yet.

I watch blossom
a flower as big as a steroid house

still growing

beyond my ability to see.

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seedling me

30 Apr

rooting is the yin of salty longing, an itch, an ache, as present as poison ivy, as alive as chigger pulses in one’s privates, earthy discovery grows down. desire grows legs in layers of bracing bright shoots in dark dirt. the courage to grow is found in dark alone. Blooming is only ever gained by diving and holding on to the soil before shooting toward the light.

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the best non-acting role for this life

18 Apr

is simple because you only have to memorize one line,

one word, really,

yes

and repeat it often.

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bone soup

15 Apr

making a bone broth of me

cooking tendons of need

clear down

delicious fat and richness

from my full bodiment

boiled down

caramelized shame

fire roasted shame

fig leaf soaked shame

layers

of collective legs

there, tasted in the slurp

hot from a dipping spoon

you are here

not in the soup line

but in the building nonetheless

familiar with the recipe

available for consultation

with the apprentice

master

all in one

thank you pot

and water

and flame

and thank you space

and atmosphere

in which it all can happen

and in which we all

can hear the dinner bell

now with liquid ears of

life.

 

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we haven’t reached the end of words, yet

17 Mar

The passage ending in a lowering ceiling closing in,

my view of dim, withering, repeating of days,

somehow was only respite

much needed in the overwhelm of noise,

in hindsight

tasty silence,

when surprise!

came new words

or words strung together in different ways

than seems possible

a sky

with the power to melt rock

–

which I can not replicate here in my simple ways

–

but the words of others who found me

took on the form of keys to a door

of not-alone-in-this

Here it is, the power-

the words for

what is felt yet unnamed

which can create

connecting streams

that until now, for me, a single, confused droplet,

to the ocean unseen.

Thank you poets

but also too painters, body dancers, cooks (in your own form of words)

who jumped into my sternum tightness, my adam’s apple blockage,

my longing stuck,

and released me

and started blood to flow again.

I’ve curled up here,

allowing a wordless doom

to creep too close,

but birth it comes again, a gift.

Here I am, alone/backed by an army

of deep breathers

with courage to call out truth-

is ugly in its composting phases-

unashamed for my muddy footprints

for carcasses left

in the wake of this empty

fragrance

with my name

moving

on

 

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4 easy ways to solve all your problems NOW

10 Feb

Take any one truth and

follow it completely

to the bittersweet end

instead of the hithering and thithering

of our now.

For example,

“go with the flow”

or “there is no problem”

or “be here now”

or “whatever is is”.

I made that last one up, maybe,

but who cares?

Take one idea to the extreme of understanding

in every moment of what time you have left.

That’s it.

I lied to you;

it is not 4 steps, but 1 long step from now

to the end.

We have been living like grease slicks on shallow puddles

in pot holes in grocery store parking lots

up to now…maybe all times are this way:

shiny

polluted

temporary

mesmerizing.

Clicking to the next channel

with ease, once remotes became a thing,

led to cable tv

which led to computers

which led to tabs open for days

enticing but never understood,

videos never watched–

4 easy ways to solve all your problems NOW

with our 7 second attention spans.

How about diving into that greasy puddle,

through the asphalt,

to the layers of dirt and moles and worms

to the water table and rock beds.

keeping on going, in the one spot,

straight down, to the mantle,

to the core, perhaps-

who knows what is there?

Is there a turning center nugget of gold or a turtle or a mantis or a laughing god on a pogo stick?

We don’t know.

There are emphatic measurers who provide diagrams of what lies beneath,

but phooey, we are infants, larva, asserting theories about our blind spots…

we’ve been shooting up holes on the filmy top layer

of a hard boiled egg long enough.

The advice today is

follow one single concept as far as it can go,

until you are the world renowned expert on this one singular drilling down

but by then you will have long disappeared

into molten goo

going with the flow,

in the arteries of truth

beneath the crust of known.

You with the singular focus

of a paralyzed and unaccommodated,

forever open eye ball.

 

 

 

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fundamental rage

27 Jan

the rage is true and justifiable

(felt at our core like Neo,

perhaps since birth).

though skillfully polarized

and misdirected,

scream and fling into the wind

and waterfalls

and then

get back to dancing.

 

 

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Plug in

26 Jan

There are limitless ways,

thank god,

to choose.

We took on the options

(all of them)

when we agreed to breathe.

What if we are not alone in this endeavor,

or powerless at all, but

able to access unlimited power

in our earthly play?

Wall sockets seem the closest humans can

mimic, right now,  of power in the material,

yet unseen through ball and socket eyes

could be a source available in the space

which includes us,

which enlivens us,

(high or low or a million ways of in between),

only ever limited within our single units,

when we forget what’s here,

not outside of us.

How else could we be here,

put together with a trillion

systems coordinated beyond our control,

our brains and fingernails composed of quarks,

or some quivering basis for matter,

chemistry, physics, and biology, and more

and much much more,

cocktailed into us, mysterious us?

Do we have any choice even if

our very being is beyond our understanding?

Today, I say, breathe deep into possible power

because why not?

This morning, it seems, the choice:

to plug in or not.

What if we distract ourselves not

with the power blackouts

of shallow living?

Every choice, in every moment,

powering us up or draining us down, then perhaps–

We can experiment with

the toggle nature of this freedom–

and find that

this equation is true:

∞   x   ∞

If I can plug into

that which powers all

by my simplest of choices

in each moment,

well, then,

choiceless choosing has

pronging me

plugging in to wallless outlets,

finding that we are the ones

letting there be light

down here.

 

 

 

 

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holy

23 Jan

There is nothing but

holy.

I wore it today as a mantra

in traffic jams

and temperature swings

and in the checkout line

where I was handy

and open

next to  magazine and candy gossip.

Enough flowed through

to bless the swollen wrist

of the Target cashier

from RA she says and sighs,

so painful,

sweet one, yes.

When we are there with her,

our mind’s hand covers her pain

with tactile love

while we drop to the spot

left and right lungs

touch the fire pit of our

singular abyss.

Holy rains on

holy messes

and blesses us all,

despite.

 

 

 

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