I asked for it,
and it was given;
I feel ice
and see fire with it’s dropping.
I knew a year ago,
that I needed an explosion
but I couldn’t stop
pretending,
and so a bomb was dropped.
(I am loved that much!)
After the realization
of certainty is lit
in my head
the world is moving
slow-motion and
my ears will not stop ringing
just like in the movies.
Every move beyond check mate
is pretense.
My prayer:
May I have the courage
to not bury the dead.
we dream that we are choosers–
that our minds can weigh
our lists of pros and cons
and offer us the way for
sensible action.
Lists and justifications and choice
at best
are curtain decoration
for the windows on the plane ride
through turbulence.
We can torment each other with plans for the future,
but we would be better off telling the truth-
that we are surfing
avalanches with briefcases
and nice shoes.
The trees have chosen,
after weighing their options,
to drop off the green,
and then to disrobe,
desperate for a little attention.
Those of us alive are choosing breath
after the pros came out ahead.
What’s next tees up
while we color,
like earnest children
with fancy, art store pencils,
in our sleep.
In essence and bones,
it becomes clear
that if peace can not be found
right here, right now,
a change of circumstance,
place,
or time
will not bring peace either.
This spot
this breath
these walls
this floor
this breeze
this body
this now.
It may seem as if not much is happening – beat –
But water gives me endless permission slips for observation.
Field notes on just water
could keep me busy and engaged from now until the end-
I’m enthralled with:
-the way it holds it shape inside clear glass
and sways back and forth, a uniform surface at the top,
when moved
-its invisibility in the air,
-its collection on surfaces,
marking lines of temperature demarcation
-its presence in my body,
making me an ocean in motion-
just to put a few notations into words.
How I choose to spend and expand my attention
is the only game, once seen.
The abstractions of the world: war, famine, words free then taken
from our use, words to sway, words to limit,
guilt, distraction, MY job, the persona(s) — all is dissolving
in the rain of my attention, placed elsewhere,
on something so intrinsic to life as to be unseen,
now performing a private dance for me
from every where.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
Life as Improv 