Isness

You are art.
Your voice is beautiful
and meaningful.

Your expression is a delight
to the canvas on which
it is
expressed.

You are something.
Even if you feel like you're trapped
inside a shell
that you can't break.
Even if you don't understand
your own
isness.

You are.

Art.

Inside of me.

There's this feeling
stirring inside of me
it's made of things and thoughts and questions and fears and wonders

There's this feeling
sitting like a rock
inside of my insides
making me sort of sad
making me wonder why it's there

There's this feeling
reaching out
from inside of me
seemingly to everyone else
or someone else.
It feels like it's telling me that it has twins
out there
in other
people.

Funny how it feels like I'm the only one who has it
or feels it
or doesn't like it
or wants it gone
or wants to know that it's in someone else too.

There's this feeling
inside of me.

I'm Loving You.

I'm loving you.

While you're making breakfast

I'm loving you.

While you're teaching kids

I'm loving you.

While you're weeding the yard

I'm loving you.

While you're paying bills

I'm loving you.

While you're changing diapers

I'm loving you.

While you're having sex

I'm loving you.

While you're not remembering me

I'm loving you.

While you're working

I'm loving you.

While you're meeting new people

I'm loving you.

While you're living your life

I'm

loving

you.

Knowing. Waiting. Wanting. Learning.

I Know Better

Floundering.

Like a toddler thrashing about in ankle deep water.

Knowing that I am safe and that nothing bad has or will happen,

it is simply change --

change that has happened

changed the landscape

changed the faces

changed the day to day experiences

simply change

nothing more.

Yet, there is little comforting the dispassionate child within me.

She wails and flails and wants to move backward in time.

In fact

She

insists

upon it.

Like Veruca Salt, she stomps her feet and shakes her hair as if these things will influence the inevitable movement of life.

Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!

Flail!

Shake!

A dance of unbridled crazy

manifest in movements that think they are much bigger than they are...

Parenting myself,

I stroke my hair

peppering my face with baby kisses

caressing my unwilling skin

giving promises of relief...

Peace will be here soon little lamb.

She renounces my attempts and strikes at me, refusing to believe these lies.

I hold her tightly,

loving her,

knowing that she will make it through this, and that....

I

know

better.

Breath

You take my breath away.

It's not the things that you say,

though they are interesting and often

make me laugh.

It's not the way you look,

though you are certainly handsome and

pleasing to the eye.

It's not the way you work,

though you are talented and

impress me with your skill.

You take my breath away.

It's the way that you are.

You are authentic and meet me in a place that

only you can find.

It's the way that you feel.

You are passionate and you invite me into a dance that

I cannot resist.

It's the way that you touch.

Your very essence comes through your fingers

and wordlessly shows me who

you are.

You

take

my

breath

away.

All of You

I'd love to talk to you right now.

Wondering what you're doing in your world

which never stops whirling and moving

and requires

all

of

you.

I'd love to hear your voice right now.

Knowing that today it's saying what it says

in the midst of loving and doing.

Meeting obligations and needs

of the things and people that demand

all

of

you.

I'd love to feel your touch right now.

Aware that at this moment your hands guide your children

and hold your love

and you reach and do and feed and caress them with

all

of

you.

I'd love to merge myself with you right now.

Longing to crawl inside your body and soul

that works so hard, loves so deeply, never stops doing what needs to be done...

and I watch you from inside my mind

from afar,

because I love

all

of

you.

Looks for You

Moving throughout my day...

my life... my world...

My soul looks for you.

Peering between people at work

...the books on my desk

...the cars on the road

Behind the trees and buildings that I pass each day...

My soul looks for you.

There is a commitment to my life and what I do.

And as my life moves along, there is a quiet awareness

Of you........ Your eyes...... Your voice..... Your energy...

that simply oozes into the cracks between the every day events of my passing experiences.

And as I do about the life that I have and that I love...

I cannot stop that,

regardless of what is going on...

My

soul

looks

for

you.

Mother's Day

Mother's Day is a complicated day for me. About a week prior to it, I become aware of the marketing going on: the cards... the flowers... the gifts and acknowledgements. As I become older, I am able to be somewhat more conscious about what is going on inside of me. I can sense a subtle "fingers in the ears and singing lalalalalalalala" thing happening in me. I simply don't want to look at it, hear it, feel it. I sort of want to hide under my soft pillows and will Monday to get here.

Because my mom died just 13 days after my 10th birthday, I have never had the opportunity to celebrate Mother's Day as an adult. I have never been able to write my thoughts in a card that I bought, or create a bouquet of yellow roses and babies' breath for her, knowing those are her favorite flowers. I have never been able to invite her out to lunch and spoil her with tapas and sangria while we laugh about what a brat I was when I was a kid. I have never been able to actively and consciously celebrate my mom along with all of my human peers that still have their mothers here on earth.

Layer all of that with the fact that I, myself, don't have human children of my own, and my husband's mom passed when he was 21, the day feels like one of those greyed out boxes on an airline availability calendar.

All that being said, as I was thinking about Mother's Day this morning, I was overcome with the feeling that, aside from the common understanding of "mother", one can mother, and be mothered, regardless of one's reproductive, adoptive, or parentless state. There have been several women who have mothered me. My Aunt Kae, who is my mom's sister, has sent me a steady stream of love for as long as I can remember. My Dad Rusk's ex, Linda, remains steadfast in my mind as a mothering presence after my mom died, and Maxine... my step-mother, who, despite my angry, adolescent attempts at alienating her, has been a steady in my life.

Finally, I know that I am not alone in my melancholy on this day. One friend lost her mom just a four years ago. Another's mother is alive, but is lost to her for other reasons. And many, many other people I know are missing their moms today. So, for all of those who share this complicated day with me..... I send to you all that a mother is: love, dedicated adoration, healing, and the smell of homemade cookies as well as a knowing that no matter what, we are loved by those who gave us life, gave us home, and who gave us a kiss when we skinned our knees - wherever they are.

Won't Listen

Goodbye hurts for me.

Clearly, the anticipation of goodbye

hurts for me.

My mind is aware that everything always works out just fine,

but there is a more powerful part of me that simply out and out refuses to

buy it.

My mind can look back at all the years I've traveled

and know

that goodbye doesn't truly hurt; for there have been many, many goodbyes on those roads.

Nothing bad happens.

Life moves on, and lots and lots of beauty happens.

Laughs, Joys, New People, New Places, New Thoughts that bring it all into crystal clear focus.

But that other part of me

wants life to stop

moving

stand still

cease its forward motion

and just

let me stay

motionless

in the picture that my heart thinks it might just want to stay in

forever.

But the picture never stays... does it.

It is an ever shifting

moving

changing

leaving

going

coming

swirling

mass of colors and people and places and events and experiences and and and and...

And my mind knows that it is good that life forever unfolds

that way.

But there is a place in my heart

that

just

won't

listen.

Just Fine.

My heart hurts.

I am on the precipice of a big change. Change of place. Change of people. Change of Circumstance.

It feels so permanent, so .... different. As if the sweet, soft cotton that surrounds my heart will be ripped away to expose raw, unprotected flesh.

My heart, the one that is a young and impressionable girl...

the one that weeps, feeling alone...

the one that desperately tries to cling to people and places in certainty that if she holds tight enough

they will never, ever leave..

She is hurting.

She doesn't want to lose what she has.

She feels that she will most certainly be hurdled into a dark abyss

alone.

I know, in my mind, that none of this is true.

None of this is true.

None of this is true.

None of this is true.

It has never been true before, and I have felt this very way

many times.

Times when I have been left by someone I love. Times when the rug was pulled out from under my unsuspecting feet. Times when the page was turned without my consent. Times when a player in the script of my life was eliminated from the play in a breath of smoke--

and like a child who did a belly flop into still, glassy water -- the breath in my being

sucked out. Fast.

There have been times when I have felt that I was

Left sitting in the tire tracks of someone that I thought was the key to my very existence.

Holding my bloodied, wounded heart in my own hands

Completely unaware how to put it back together.

Darkness covering the sun, who's warmth I was denied, for what felt like

Forever.

Yet, in every case,

the sun came out again.

Yellow. Warm. Life-giving. All-encompassing. Joy singing.

Sun.

Silly girl...

The sun was never hidden for even one moment but for your own hands before your eyes.

Silly girl...

The love you have felt can never leave you, but for your own insistence of separation.

Silly girl...

The life you were promised always sits just before you, a road to the next beautiful, amazing thing just a footstep away from where you are.

Silly girl...

You are never, ever alone, not even for an instant.

And everything

everything

everything

everything

everything

Is going to be...

Just.

Fine.

I Wouldn't.

Sometimes feelings are so big.

Making us think that there is nothing else

and nowhere

and no one.....

else.

Just the one thing

from where the feeling comes.

So big that it fills out all of my edges

and nooks and crannies.

It's warmth oozing in every space...

that for now...

it's all I see.

All I want to see.

Feelings, tempting me to keep my eyes

focused only on

it.

Such a delicious

languid

yummy

thing.

Knowing that feelings and moments and certain kinds of joys

are not forever

but are just for special

secret

magical

moments

Brings me joy.

and

Brings me sorrow

all at the same time.

If you knew that your yummy, delicious, precious, languid, amazing moment

were just for a little while,

and that losing it would bring pain

would you forgo the joy it brings?

I wouldn't.

Under Your Hands

Under your hands

My mind frozen in helpless pause,

my body turned to golden clay

under your knowing touch.

Under your hands

My soul breaks opens to a million glittering sparkles

as I anticipate the magic

that might tread upon my skin.

Under your hands

My breath awaits your consult

and holds

and releases

according to the dance that you choreograph.

Out of nowhere. And everywhere.

Under your hands

Time simply

stands

still

and I feel nothing

but

bliss.

My Love.

There you are

again.

I love you like a leaf greets the morning's dew

with joy,

expectation, and

gratitude.

With breathtaking relief after the dryness of a day's sun and the darkness of night, you come with the breaking of the yellow sun.

Our love.

I could not have written it

or found it

or sought it

on my own.

Perhaps it comes from a far away, forever sort of place.

People look at it through opened windows,

and smile, thinking,

They have a good thing. Seems nice. Seems real.

Honestly, they have no idea, do they......

Our love does not include some of the same tethers

or requirements, shoulds or possessiveness that our world has written as rules .

We trust one another to be exactly who we need to be.

I watch you dive into your world from the sidelines, knowing you are loving what I cannot love. You let me run and laugh and be, knowing I am loving what you cannot love.

And at night, after our days

of often independent lives,

We lie together

and

love.

I am ever

so

grateful

for

you

.

Glitter

There's something about you.

You're a l i v e

Even though I can see so clearly that sometimes you yearn to feel that way yourself.

about yourself.

I see

What you project to the world...

Your accomplishments

Your bravado

Your talent

Your articulate expression

Your brilliance

And yet

You cannot hide

A yearning for unfathomable love

Pain of loss and disappointment

Wanting

love

Your unquenchable desire to be

c o m p l e t e l y

immersed

in

alive

.

in

love

.

And so, you live

Alive.

So beautifully.

You give and give and give and give and give

determined that others

will feel the love you know is possible.

exactly what you yearn

for

deep

within the most

secret place

in

you.

Where there are no

muscles

tattoos

performances

adoring fans

reaching hands

requests for your talents

parties

music

to

drown

out

the

awareness

that no matter how hard you try to get away from it

No one can really get in.

And yet,

within the angst and hurt and wanting

I wonder if you know just how amazingly beautiful you are.

Right there with

the

yearning

is the most spectacular

radiant

amazing

glittering

beauty.

And you know all that love that you want

so

badly?

It

lives

right

there

in

you.

Ache

How may ways do you hide the ache that you feel?

Could I even count the ways that I hide mine?

Could I describe the shame that I feel, despite knowing that you feel it to.

Sometimes.

The human condition.

The lies we create

The stories we write about what is.

Why do we do it when we know it is not true?

Is it part of this crazy game? Do we sign up for it so we can get beyond it?

So

unbelievably

exhausting.

Sometimes I am so thankful for the tools I have been given.

My smile.

My intellect.

The way I can make people feel safe and warm.

My articulate communication.

Ahh, thank God they can't see beyond it.

Unless they get really, really close.

They think I've got my shit together.

She's so thoughtful...

spiritual....

together....

insightful....

talented....

gifted...

friendly....

grounded....

centered.....

I wear this colorful dress, flash my smile, say something meaningful

and they can't see that I'm also

Frightened....

lonely....

questioning...

hurting...

hungry....

anxious...

ashamed...

embarrassed...

confused...

The human condition.

We all struggle with these feelings and

yet we are sure we're the only one.

Somehow we're different and not as good.

We believe the irrational story that there is something

inexorably wrong with who we are.

and

every

one

else

has

something

that

I

don't

have.

So, I know that this is bullshit.

And sometimes

the grey

seems

so

f'ing

real.

Might that I see with clarity that it is only a veil

that I have

more than enough

power

to

make

disappear.

Might I have the courage to know that you do too.

Breathe.

Try

What do you become attached to?

What do you experience and need to have, again and again and again?

And then

When it is

gone,

You feel that ache.

The one that starts in your insides

deep

inside

and spreads outward, covering and entering every part of you..

It feels like everything that has ever brought you joy

has left you...

you are alone...

and you are not the you that you used to know, and love

anymore.

Even though it's a complete and utter lie.

Your everything tells you it's true.

It's difficult to not believe.

It's

important

to

try.

Reminder to a Friend

Nothing
Can ever have
more
strength than
you
have.

Nothing can change
the beautiful essence
that makes
you,
you.

If the darkness falls
and threatens you...
lies to you...
entices you to
believe
that you are less
that the
bright
luminous
clear
amazing
truth

that you are....

remind yourself that
those are the voices
of
deceit

and that their whispers
are simply
a distortion
a misundertanding
a lack of vision.

Do not listen.

You are joy.
Your essence is well.

Nothing
can
ever
change
that.

School Daze

Inside

where

the air is musty

and

grey

Concrete walls shelter

me from

whatever lies

underneath

the

forever

sky.

For too long.

I am a robot.

Feeling like a follower

listening

writing

doing.

When all I want to do is

to be

free

Where walls cannot

imprison

me.

The sound of the end of the day

rings like a siren in my

ears

calling me to

my

day's true

desire.

My feet take flight

and I soar into

the

yellow

brightness

of the

afternoon

sun.

Freedom

at

last

.

Show Me

(My cousin, Juan Carlos asked me to write something to inspire him to put his sculpture portfolio on line.)

Show me
you.

Show me how the passion in your soul
your core
your self
dances with bronze and concrete and form and shape

Show me how your
very own
unique
brand of
brilliance

has created power and thought and joy and angst and wonder

through the mediums
given forth by the earth.

Show me the song that is sung
only by you;
music that runs from your soul through your mind through your hands

into form.

Show me
you.

Boxes.

I haven't written in awhile.

I'm not really sure why.

Probably the same reason why I haven't painted, haven't written letters by hand, haven't made sure I work out, and the reason my socks go missing after I know I put them both in the wash. Ok, maybe not that reason.

I miss writing.

Sometimes I put pressure on myself to write in the same form that I tend to. You know, that sort of poetry, sort of not, lists of words, artistic use of punctuation way.

And, If I don't, I won't publish it.

I don't want to dissapoint anyone.

I don't want to dissapoint myself.

Why should I feel this kind of pressure?

It makes me think about the boxes that we put ourselves in...

boxes that we put others in.

Boxes we put ourselves in because we think others want us in them.

I like to think that I don't do that. Put people in boxes.

Yet, I know I do.

Look, I'm putting myself in one. This box about writing, and knowing that people might read it, and thinking, "What if they don't like it or What if they wish it was like the others, or..."

I know that I do that with other areas of my life too.

Sometimes I have feelings or desires or philosophies that I don't make known.

Don't speak aloud.

Don't show.

Because I have projected onto those I care about a box I believe I am supposed to live in.

I am supposed to look "normal".

I am supposed to fit well into mainstream society but have just enough gumption to challenge people while not making them uncomfortable.

I am supposed to be pretty, but just overweight enough to make me accessible and easily understood by the average joe.

I am supposed to be talented, but not do so much with it that I come across as arrogant.

I am supposed to make it clear that I don't hold the right wing position on things, but I am to keep my real, passionate thoughts to myself so I don't hurt the tender sensitivities of people I care about.

Supposed to.

Supposed to.

Supposed to.

Supposed to.

No one ever told me that I was supposed to be these things. Why is it that I think that others feel this way?

Maybe they do. Maybe they don't.

Does it matter?

Is this affliction with worrying about whether people will continue to hold me in high esteem,

continue to love me, continue to respect me....

Just mine?

What am I sacrificing by editing the expression of myself?

What do I lose

When

I

consent

to

live

in

a

box

?

I much prefer

I much prefer sunshine

yellow and warm finding every crevice and crack in my being

melding into me

reminding me of who i am.

I much prefer bliss

Ecstatic overflowing joy

tickling my everything

no where for sorrow to take hold

I much prefer peace

the state of still waters

a knowing that no matter what has come or will

all is well

I much prefer love

the all encompassing dance made of blues and oranges

reds and purples

connecting me to you

me to all

I much prefer dancing

the whirl of skirts and smiles

colors and music entwined in

happy surrender

I much prefer the knowing that I am part of all that brings laughter and fulfillment and creation and hope and joy and peace and love.

Yet,

only in the occasional absence

of that which i prefer

can

i truly

know

it's truth.

Like Me

I am challenged by

myself

By choices and my reactions to them.

I am faced with acknowledging that despite

my ability to accept spiritual and intellectual truths...

like

meaning is not inherent, but determined

attachment is a choice that can lead to pain

my feelings are born out of my own personal choices

i can change the way i feel by questioning and changing the way

i think.

Despite my ability to spiritually and intellectually accept these truths,

I struggle to apply them to the situations that arise in my life.

I made a choice.

I acted on that choice because i wanted to experience that choice.

That choice was tethered to an attachment I have.

I don't regret the choice,

and

the choice has

consequences

just like all choices do.

And though all is well, I moved myself into a space where applying

the things that I "believe" is called for.

I find it interesting that as a child, or even as a young adult, one

assumes that at some point in adulthood, we'll "get it". We'll have

ARRIVED.

Get it,

meaning....

It will all be clear

there will be nothing left to learn

we'll make no more mistakes

we'll have "reached" our goals

We sort of live like those things are true, don't we? And, though we

as

individuals

may realize with clarity

that

nothing is clear

there is so much left to learn

we make mistakes

we haven't reached our goals

we act as though we're the "shizzle",

wrapping ourselves in invisible

protective super-hero capes that keep everyone else from knowing that

we are the

ONLY ONE

who...

struggles

wishes

yearns

aches

isolates

fails

.

So, here, I admit to you that I know that like me, you are human.

Like me, you wish you were better at it.

Like me, you know you could reach higher.

Like me, you get tired.

Like me, sometimes it seems like a little too much.

And like me,

you forget just how perfect it really is.

Thanks

for

the

reminder.

And So it IS

Life

is so literal.

So, i'm doing this work.
spiritual work -- i guess

and what i do is claim.

i claim that i am not
do not want to be
am working to avoid
being

attached to things
situations
specifics.

i can almost hear 
Life
asking me, "Really?"

"Well, yes. Of course",
I retort (with a dismissive snort).

"Ok then", Life responds.

And, then, I make plans.
I get excited about the architecture of them
and get all giddy with detail in my head

about what will be
and when
and how
and why
and exactly this and that.

Life raises an eyebrow at me.

And I plan and think about 
a time that not only may, but

will come.

And I get all gleeful about it.
And then.
I get sad

thinking about what if
something goes wrong
or keeps it from happening
or rocks my very 
elaborate 
plans 
from their ever so carefully orchestrated foundation....

GASP.

And the now, 
in which I live 
continues

it's ever moving
never moving
existence
as it always has
always will
always does.

Calendar pages flip
digital clocks skip through crimson lit numbers
tick tick tick
of the watch wound to keep track of moments leading up 

until
away from
toward
into
getting there
further from

something
someone
anticipated moments wrapped in 
illusory ribbons
holding what is assumed to be
perfection
forever
elation
the 
it
we 
are
all
looking
for.

As I walk toward my lovingly crafted plans
things
critical elements
begin to fall away
fall apart
out of the illusion that I created
and told myself
so convincingly

was real.



There is no real

except the very moment
the very experience
the very breath
that I am taking right 


NOW.



And I hear my love,
the Life that created me 
say, "Remember your claim? 
That you accept, You walk into,
You willingly dance with
only that which really is. That you 
allow the fluidity of this very
energy to create the painting
that you see, and that you will love it
with all that you are. 

Remember?"

Life Smiles

and I remember.



And so it is.

Gimme

I wonder if we all have "alters".

I just finished watching the entire season one of The United States of Tara on Showtime.

First of all, it was amazing, and Toni Collette is brilliant, yet

that isn't what keeps the story on my mind.

The character, Tara, allegedly had a traumatic experience when she was away at boarding school as a teenager, and coped with it by splitting her consciousness into several different personalities.

Though the majority of us don't manage our personal traumas, secrets, shames this dramatically, I wonder if we don't have personalities that help us to cope.

When I was watching the end of the show, I couldn't help but think about all of the judgement that we heap upon ourselves and others in this culture. 

We are expected to live within the lines drawn arbitrarily by religion, politics, and social mores passed down through generations.  We are expected to paint on this face of "ok-ness", and if we can't -- or don't-- we aren't acceptable.

The personalities that Tara developed into could be seen as somewhat cliche, yet, don't we all have them?  There is "T", the sexually aggressive, 16 year old pot smoker who doesn't give a rats ass what boundaries are expected of her; there is Alice, the 1950's kick back who is going to paint on her Better House and Garden's face and cover any adversity with blueberry muffins;and there is Buck, the Vietnam vet, drinking, smoking, tough talking, gun cleaning, punch throwing, fart lighting dude who will stand up to even the slightest disrespect. 

And then, there is the alter that really interests me.  The name given to it is "Gimme", and it is like a child that has been raised away from any culture, full of fear and anger and shame.

Gimme acts out in wild, completely unacceptable ways to protect Tara from herself.  To protect Tara from healing.

Gimme made me think of myself. Not that I am like Gimme. I like to think that my cultural assimilation is one of my more charming qualities.

Yet, there are secret, dark places in me. There are shames that I rarely speak. To my knowledge, they are not things that you would recoil in disgust or judgement over, but tell that to my Gimme.

One of the areas that I have dysfunctionally coped with internal discord is with the addiction to being overweight. I find it fascinating that though I am as well-versed in the methods of how to change this as any consultant on The Biggest Loser, I have not made this change. 

Now, I have lost, and gained the same 30 lbs many times. This tells us that I am, indeed, able to do this thing. And then, just when I feel like progress is within my reach --

Gimme.

Sabatage.

And whatever that deep, dark, angry part of me is trying to keep hidden, is protected.

I'll keep working.

Do we all have a Gimme?

As you go.

choices

want this.

not that.

all spilled together

colors and substance and light and 

and

and

and

like drops of water in the ocean

joy illuminates isolated moments

blocks of moments

lifetimes of moments

elation adds music to silence

moving

carrying

intoxicating sound

connection creates bridges over 

angry seas

depths unknown

years of learning, wanting, needing

a story with missing pages

a song with notes imagined

a lifetime with moments longed for

creates questions

breath taking certainty

and shadows

and light

and bliss

and angst

a scale holding two sides of the same thing

a child's teeter totter 

giving glee to shifting shapes

weights constantly changing

perception ever fluid

Life

Never a dot to dot

Never a paint by numbers exercise

But a joyful

jumble

fumble

rumble

A dance made up

as

you

go.

a thread through time

life never fails to enliven my days
with joys
in the form of people.

When I was 15, I went to a church youth conference.
I honestly don't remember a lot from the conference itself
except that it was flippin fun.
A group of high school aged kids from my church road tripped to Michigan
and spent a week
high on God
friends
laughter.

I met Michael that week. I believe he was 17. I was 15.
I wish I could tell you when, why, how we connected.
I don't remember. I remember laughing
A LOT.
Michael was a Jesus freak hippy.
Adorable. Long, dark hair, blue eyes, an unpretentious "i'm cool" way of dressing....
also
he played guitar. my complete weakness.
I would sing along with him floating in bliss.
He was also funny. hilarious.
singing and laughing.
singing and laughing.
singing
laughing
laughing
laughing


Our relationship played out as a friendship
chaste and God focused.
But oh, did I love him.

He trumped everyone, and everything.
In the following years, there were phone calls.... phone bills
travel to see him
the kind of youth drenched, innocent immersion in another
that great summer movies are made of.

As I moved into college, Michael faded into the background a bit.
more and more.
I never stopped caring, I never stopped loving him.
Just -- sort of like your childhood bedroom.
It's always there, you love it, you want it to be there
but you just don't think about it as much anymore.

I had relationships, graduated from college, started a career,
spent time at a church, had my heart broken, married.....

Mike and I have had a sort of "Christmas card" friendship for the past
several years. There have been a couple phone calls - but none that
dove past the "how've you been, whatcha up to, how is your family" line of conversation.

Sometime in the past months, we connected again through email and i
happened to ask if he had an instant messenging program. He did.
I added his name, and then forgot.

Last week, his name was lit up.
My heart skipped a beat.
See, as valuable and meaningful and impactful as Mike
has been to the formation of so many things about me, I had a fear of
talking to him in depth.

Part of the foundation of my friendship with Michael was our
shared devotion and unwavering love of Jesus.
Christianity - radical and unapologetic.
Jesus freaks laughing and loving singing and knowing.

In the past decade or so, my heart's awareness of it's maker
and the requirements that maker places on us as children
have changed dramatically.
If you know me, you know that I am pretty brave.
Outspoken, clear.
I will share the way my soul feels about such things with the best of them.
But with those who's very hearts break at the thought of me becoming a
"lost sheep"?
I tend to steer clear.

The thought of facing the "How is your walk with the Lord" talk
has often made me weak in the knees.
I never want to disappoint people that I love.
And I know the kind of disappointment that goes along with
finding out someone you once shared your most intimate life view
no longer shares it.

Michael and I began to chat.
Maybe it was the media -- the format,
but all formal illusion fell away, and as soon as I knew it, we were laughing
and talking and joking as if the past 25 years hadn't passed at all.
A connection that transcened every major and minor detail
that has colored the landscape of our lives since then.

In a moment of "what the hell",
a level of trust had been established... I broached the scary subject.
Couched in vague hues,
I told him.... that my relationship with Christianity had altered
dramatically. Before he could respond, I confessed that my
heart had feared
telling him.

pause.

"You'll be relieved to know that mine has too"

We talked about it.
Though our stories don't mirror one another's,
and we may not be exactly on the same page,
I felt like floodgates had opened.
I was accepted by this person
that I had loved so much.
respected beyond reason.

Would it have mattered if my fears had come to pass?
If he had offerred up judgement or disappointment or
attempts at convicing me otherwise?

I think so.


Would I have judged him in turn?
I hope not. I guess I can't say. I hope not.

All I know is that again,
a friendship, clothed in the back drop of time
has re-emerged for me
into a new and meaningful
now.

I am so grateful.

It makes me want to

laugh
and
sing
.

Pie in my face

just when i think,
mistakenly,
that
i'm blessed with some sort of spiritual standing
i manage to slam a metaphorical cream pie
in my own face.

as some of you know and some of you don't,
my biological father makes choices...
has made choices...
continues to make choices...

that I judge.

Why do I judge him? Why should I?

I was adopted by my mother's second husband. I have written about him before.
Advanced Education, highly successful, polished, well-respected, high expectations.
He worked hard to provide for my sister and me.
That is who I was raised by.

My father, who's DNA I share, did not attain these same accolades.

And so, I have spent my life
judging him
as
not
acceptable.

What would Jesus do?
What would Love do?
What would Life do?
What would I do?

What would I do......

The other day, I received an email from my dad's ex-girlfriend.
She told me that my dad,
who is living in Flagstaff in a hotel
still drinking
did not want to talk to me because I would tell him what to do.
"Chew his ass", as he says it.

I was wrankled.
Thinking....
all I do is care about him!
all I do is try!
all I do is reach in the face of silent apathy!
all I do
is try to make him who I want him to be.

Get Sober.
Get a job.
Read a book.
Try harder.
Get on the internet.
Call someone.
Do s o m e t h i n g.

Be someone other than who you are right now.
You are not ok with me.


I called him.

and
unleashed
my
14 year old
adolescent
pissed off
unrelenting
hurtful
holier-than-thou
opinions on him.

So, I guess he was right

after all.


This relationship with my father, though often in the background of
my "real" life, is one that continues to challenge me in many ways.
It has affected my experiences of

men
emotional security
addiction
family
acceptance
rejection
satisfaction
self-esteem

me.

I'm almost 42 years old, and I'm still figuring this out.


Later, I called my sister and she listened
while I cried
wondering why he just doesn't love me
enough to be everything he could be
for me.

And my fury, my lack of acceptance, my anger
started to make sense.

Pie in my face
I humbly acknowledge that I am yet a child
longing to be loved
by her
father.

I'm sorry I yelled at you dad.

Response to outrage at Obama's Inaugural choice.

Why did he choose Rev. Warren for the opening of the inauguration?
I have a few thoughts on it, the first of which has to do with one of the main reasons that I was attracted to Obama as my president in the first place.

In 2004, when a nationally unknown Obama spoke at the Democratic National Convention, he initiated a dialogue that he culminated in his recent presidential acceptance speech in Chicago.This is not a country divided by political party. It is not a nation colored by red or blue; not place separated by moral stance, socio-economic position,color, religion, or orientation. This is the United States of America, and each person, regardless of whether they hold views that oppose our own, are equal, valuable members of this nation.

I see Obama's choice as a reaching out, once again, to a person that he respects as a human being. An American. A symbolic gesture to speak clearly that Obama recognizes that though he holds positions passionately, he realizes that they are not the only positions held by Americans. He acknowledges that he does not agree with Reverend Warren on various issues, but that he does on others, and that they agree to respectfully honor one another's positions.

This radical idea, that we can all live together as a united and mutually respectful people of Americans with unique and differing perspectives is being highlighted symbolically in Obama's choice of Reverend Warren. What is not being talked about is his choice of the pastor that will close the inauguration. Obama chose Reverend Joseph Lowery, a veteran of the civil rights movement, a pastor who has worked tirelessly to unite people and lift up those who have experienced judgement and oppression.

Earlier today, I heard a perspective on these pastoral choices that I find poignant and relevant. Perhaps Obama chose Reverend Warren to open his inuaguration to reach out in acceptance to "where we currently are as a nation". Reverend Warren, though working to acknowledge our nations failure to deal with poverty, maintains a strict, right-wing moral stance on issues related to a woman's right to choose and on a person's right to choose whom to love. Some would consider these ideas divisive. That is where we are now.

Then, he chose Reverend Lowery to close the ceremony - a symbolic movement to show where Obama wants to take us in the next four years -- to acceptance. to peace. to gentleness. to non-judgement. To equality as an American people.

Is this his motive?
I don't know.
I do think it's meaningful
and inspiring.

So, do I think it's hypocritical that Obama chose, to swear him in as President of the United States of America, a person that differs widely from himself on matters significant to the people of this country?

No.

I think it's beautiful.
I think it's brilliant.
I think it's poignant.
I think it's unifying.

And I think it's long overdue.

Background

MacKendzie

sweet kitty girl

sweet high pitched incessant demanding
meows
the softest
snow white and ebony
fur
enveloping
simply
an
elf

an independant
confident companion
draping her limbs
over couch backs and window sills

while I

got a promotion
fell in love
had my heart broken
married wrong
had my heart broken again
moved across the country
left my friends in my favorite place
married right
blended animal families
became a teacher
made new friends
got my masters degree

lived a lifetime
in the background
for me.

seventeen
years.

My faithful friend
painting the canvas
the foundation
the home

of my life
with loyal
loving
sweetness.

I will miss her
so.

Goodbye my Kendzie girl.

elusive

a longing from the
strong silent place at my center
deeper than me
reaching out and toward
the

ahhhhhhh

once felt.


Wrangling to hold tight
to that which is only

movement.

futile warring with fluidity
trying to tether the soothe

a moment easily recalled
a moving picture in my mind

vivid moving alive

a moment that fed a ravenous place
for only a pinpoint
in
time.

Then gone.

As if with anger
a hunger unrelenting
demands
it's
return.

a hard sell that if only
one more time
another moment

and the completeness will stay...


An illusion of longing.
I am not sold

but
reminded to stop
reaching

and embrace the elusive impermanence

of
life.

Working it through: A dialogue with self

A little background.....

I dated someone from the age of 17 until I was approximately 24. It didn't really end until I was 26 or so. Though I loved this person very much, and respected him as much or more than anyone, I was not good to him. I might argue that I was young. Yes, I was. I was fun, spontaneous, affectionate, and loving (according to my then understanding). I was also a bit of an emotional tyrant. I expected him to be giving and loving and kind and respectful and accommodating, which he was.... to a fault. While I held the bar high for him, I was not always those things to him. I don't know that I could see it then, but in hindsight, I do. Clearly. As you will see - old habits die hard.
Another thing about me. If I have loved someone, I always love them. Letting them go completely is like trying to pry a T-bone from the jaws of a pit bull. I don't do it willingly, or easily.
I have never felt good about how things ended with this person. I have always held him in the highest esteem and have always wanted to "right" things with him. Explain. Renew friendship. Evolve into something else. I have spent many years not giving up on this endeavor. It has never gone particularly well. Though in the background of my full and meaningful life, it has haunted me.

Recently, I talked to someone who knows this person. Essentially, this is what he said to me:

For his sake, and yours let it go. Leave him be. In his life, his marriage, his world view, there is no room for you. He is not ready -- no, not willing, to consider any sort of revisiting with you. He is not social. He is not interested in expanding his life outside of the few people in it. He lives his life in an expected, comfortable way, and he is completely content in it. He is not pained over you. He is healed and moved on. When I think of qualities I recognized in you so long ago, I can see that you have become more of that. Wide and expansive, full of life. When I think of qualities that I saw in him, I see that he has become more of that. It has moved you both in completely opposite directions. Neither good, nor bad. There is just no room for anything other than letting it go.

My thoughts:
Ouch. If you know me, you know that was not an easy pill to swallow. Hearing it made it very clear that the girl in me, who needs to know she is loved regardless of her behavior, is still trying to run the show. What I think my friend was saying to me is that even if this person were willing to allow some sort of friendship to exist (which he isn't), he believes that I would not find what I hope to find. That based on what he knows of me, it would be an exercise in futility and interpersonal frustration. I think my friend was trying to tell me that I have grown into a place...and this person has grown into a very different place... and that they are very far apart places. I also think that my friend was trying to tell me that there is nothing for me in trying to return to a place that does not exist.

My message to me:

My friend. Perhaps, rather than looking for vindication in this person's eyes, you need to seek it from yourself. You seek to love. Both others and yourself. It is not loving to make it someone else's responsibility to free you from choices you made in your past. You need to let yourself off of the hook. Realize that you have grown, and you have changed, and so has everyone that you have affected. You desire this person's forgiveness and approval. What now, that you cannot have it? From whom can you seek it? From yourself. It is not that this person is willfully withholding from you. It's that it doesn't exist for him. It exists for you, and therefore is your responsibility. If you want him to know that you are loving, then act from love. You have misunderstood your own motivation. You have believed that managing (or trying to) and positioning in order to express yourself is working toward love. Truthfully, have you not been emotionally strong-arming this person so that you feel better about yourself? If, what he longs for is to be free of the past, and of you, is it not loving to trust life and to willingly provide that? Know that you are ok, no matter what you did, and what you caused. Know that he is ok too. It is not your job to fix it anymore.
I ask you, my friend, to give this person the greatest gift you have. Let go. Release. Trust. and Love.

A gift unwrapped.

A connection with
someone
from long, long ago.

A person who was not a prominant note in the soundtrack of my life
but one who hovered in the perifery

circles of lives barely intersecting

heard about me through
a name woven lightly amidst
stories of other people
and other times.

One who did not, along side me,trudge through the mud and growth
of my life
But could, from that vantage point
see the splatter that occasionally happened as I ran rough shod
through my own story.

Someone,
to be honest, I was not always sure liked me very much.

A man eater
I believe was a term applied to me.

Ouch.

A moment, I'm sure, long forgotten.

And despite the shadow of one of
many people
on the outskirts of the
production of my being

I noticed
this
person.

Wise. Determined. Outspoken. Willing. Inquisitive. Driven. Intuitive.

Some of those qualities scared me.
Caused me to wonder
caused me to
perhaps
cower just a little.

A million years ago.

Not knowing that
while big hair
blue eye shadow
Valley Girl sang on the fm radio
a seed
of friendship
had perhaps been
planted.

and lay dormant in the safety of years and years.

A gift having lain unwrapped and unnoticed while life progressed.

Only to offer the possibility of
a
friendship.

Now.

Shall I?

Shall i come to you?
Shall i?

Will i walk toward you and realize that that
there is no difference between
what makes you you
and what
makes me me?

That we are both part of the same
spectacular painting.

Might I move toward the beauty and uniqueness
of who you are?

Realizing

that there is nothing
that who you are
can
take from who i am.

There is only more than can
be had
by both of us.

An indulgent feast of life.

Combing colors of you
with colors of me.
creating breath taking awareness of truth,
full of texture and newness and depth before not known.

Won't I experience the awe of abundance?
The richness not of gold or diamonds,
but of life.
Of sharing the breath that gives life to life.

The
I
AM
.

The wonder of relationship.

Might i look toward you and realize that there is no
barrier between us?
That it is only an illusion...
a lie
that keeps me
housed within the guise of walls
that I experience as surrounding me.

Can i?
Take the risk to give?
to take?
to blend and experience?
to dance with that and who which is not familiar to my human
limited
mind.
To challenge the lie that there is something to lose?

Perhaps I could.
Perhaps I will.

With arms open and heart accepting,
come to you.
And releasing the lie that there is division
fall deeply in love
with the rest of me.
the rest of you.

I think I might.

So
much more
than the walls
of this
house.


Yes


I shall come to you.
and I shall know.


Abundance.

Grieving

I'm grieving.
My heart is hurting.
My mind is seeking ways to find what it longs for
right now.

I look outside on a day just a skip
a pulse
away from

October.

Only to see the seething Nevada sun yet beating down on
pavement and rocks long ago
surrendered
to heat unrelenting

I reach into the air
my mind,
heart beats of anticipation
counting on memories of years upon years
expecting the cool, crisp bite of pure September
only to feel a familiar blanket of
flat
predictable heat
beckoning me with it's repulsive, overstayed flirtation

No.

I'm done.
Recoiling back into the forced, artificial cool.
June called. It wants its weather back.
Hoping to blind me with reprieve.
Soothe me with plastic, silkscreened cool laid upon
the truth of
the desert.

No.

The fabric of my youth calls for me
to return.
To grab a sweater and head out the door to
the light autumn air.
promises to whisk me beneath golden canapies
and to titilate me with the song of crunching
leaves
and the laughter of delighted children
burrowing holes in piles of crunchy gold orange yellow red.

My core pleads for days that foreshadow
the stillness of winter
and give
gift upon gift upon gift
of oranges and fading crimson
the scents of spice and pumpkin and ripe glistening apples and pears.

Perhaps like the feeling of one
imprisoned far from the land and customs and surroundings
that they love...
that make them who they are.....

My autumn heart
is jailed
in the blistering
Nevada
sun.

Junior High

twinkling eyes sparkling with daily anticipation
the uncertainty of
what and who and why and how
will happen today

amidst new friends and enemies and adults who claim
to know what they
should
need
can
must
know

a cauldron of fear and excitement and burgeoning courage

how do i know....

who to trust?
who to like?
when to reach?
what to believe?
how to question?
what to do?

Beings not quite grown to fit the size of their skin
the energy of growth and expansion
bursting through in exhuberant expression
decibles beyond comprehension

fill the halls
with glee and pain and questions and pushing and flirting and hiding and moving

feeling their way
into the first chapters of independance

their faces telling so much
the beginnings of voice and confidence
perception
longing
defining
learning who to be

life force clear and unbridled as a
colt finding his legs on a new spring morning field
and in some

the readable sadness of a childhood stolen
windows into a soul too telling

lives beginning
wings unfurling
direction being determined

and me
there
trying to show the way.....

the doorway

memories encased in significance
in the rooms
of my mind

the doorways to them becoming

further

away from where
i now sit
but still clearly seen.
memories bathed in the thick soupy stillness
of moments that are so hard
to believe
even in hindsight.

I can easily retrieve the memory of that day.

it started out with the same banal regularness
of any other day

The train to work
the crisp bite in the air that comes with a midwestern autumn morning
bagel in hand
coffee from Dunkin Donuts
trapsing amongst commuters.
Elevator up
briefcase
just ready to be dropped on my desk

when there is a new sort of


hush .


in the office
a gaggle of mouths agape
staring at a small 5 inch tv
rabbit ears reaching up
on someone's desk

What?
I asked.

No voices

yet the answer came with looks of horror
pointed back to the screen.

A Plane Hit The World Trade Center

What? How? Why? When? What? What? What? What? How? Why? What?
What? When? What? What? What? How? How? How? Why? What? What?
How? When? Who? Who? Who? Why? What? What? Who? Who? Who? Who?
What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What?

What?

How
is
it
possible
?

I worked in downtown Chicago.
At 8:30 am
it was announced that
we were to evacuate.

The commute, reversed.
yet silenced
there was no banter or laughter or din of conversations about meaningless nothingness.
no hurried pace of morning monotony
but
a quickened gait of confusion
and fear
and the sick ache of knowing that unspeakable horror is happening

right

now.

to
people
just
like
me. and you. and that guy. and her. and.....

Home
after what I experienced as hours
but was actually just minutes
i arrived
again
in my brand new condo.

Workers ripping out baseboard and doors for renovation
dust and
debris
mirroring my mind.

in a bean bag
i sat amidst boards and nails
dust and chaos

and
watched



the



towers



fall.

like a real life
real people
real death
real horror
game of jenga gone bad.

that moment.

.live.

while i stood there in my living room
people hurled
down
stories

smoke
burning gas
melting steel
into a silent pile
of lives
ended.

my emotions
had
no voice .
tears streamed as i sat
aghast
involuntary muted thoughts
in the pain
of all creation
that comes
from the manifestation
of
hate and
judgement and
decision of worth
of
another.

Since that day
life has gone on
just like it always threatens to do
and always does.


sun
moon
days
work
families
aging
illness
shopping
holiday parking lot wars
biased media
code orange
dates
sex
dinners out with friends

and the doorway
behind which the memories rest
gets further away from where i am
right now.

yet i see that doorway


clearly.

encased in the thick
still mist
of memories

like

that

one
.

Perfect for now

sunday morning silence

eric is still sleeping.... reveling in nothing to do
eyes hidden from bright nevada morning light
cozy
i came downstairs
fed my persistant 17 year old cat
water
and fed the dogs

now me

the sound of percolating coffee
bubbles of lazy perfection
against the hum of the air conditioner
keeping us protected
from the
still too hot nevada summer sun

the smell of morning
reminding me of the sounds of clinking spoons against
cold water glasses at Ann Sathers on Belmont
the feel of crisp Chicago fall mornings

the now of my life
quiet and calm
perfect
for
now.

On a clear day

On a clear day...
She stood before a sea of us
and sang

On a clear day.......................
You can see forever....

I listened
and heard

You know the difference,
don't you?
When something comes to your ears
and it penetrates
the film
of keeping out curtains
that keep so much
away from
our longing souls.

Sometimes that's good,
and sometimes
it puts off
peace
and growth
and more good.

On a clear day
she sang

i felt the truth of it.

When I am clear....
I can see forever
when
I look without
and when
I look within.

On a clear day
there is nothing between me and God
Nothing between me and life
living
feeling
creating
being

So many things can get in the way
of
a
clear
day

Fear. Anger. Wanting. Needing.
Indulging. Procrastinating.
Engulfing myself in something other than
what calls for me
in every single clear moment.

It might be the foggy, thick dependance on someone, something.
Food.
Sex.
Purging.
Pot.
Being heard.
Hiding.
Depression.
So desparately wanting to be loved.

Yet
on a clear day
we can see forever
and
know
that all of those things are
simply fog
in the midst of perfection.

Shades of immediate pretense of satisfaction
that hide the
so close truth
that

love
belongs
to
you.
forever.
and there is nothing that can ever change that.

On a clear day
you
can
see.

Boasting of Summer

So, i'm on summer break. that is really weird to say as an adult, but mannnnnnn is it fun.
For the past couple of years I have been long-term subbing for the Clark County school district. I have had "summers off", but wasn't paid.... So, I had to work. I got my teaching contract in January of this year, and therefore, though I don't make A LOT of money, I am getting paid. Right now. while I sit on my couch drinking iced coffee and watching the today show. Right now. While I'm listening to the dryer hum and watching my pups doze in the morning sun. I cannot tell you how fun it is.
I'm a week and a half into my ten weeks off. I know it's going to fly by..... And, to be fair, I'm not COMPLETELY free this summer as I'm taking classes toward my Masters in Education degree that I'll have completed by the middle of December. Regardless, this is decadent and wonderful. When I started this program, I was thinking that teaching would be a stop on my career journey.... That may be true in the end, but this summer thing won't be easy to give up!!

In the ether

it
breaks
my
heart

knowing that you're out there
hurting wanting
feeling alone and impotent in the confines
of a life
that lives you

knowing that you're navigating monsters that live inside your head
on your own
makes me want to reach through miles and miles of darkness
to
you

because i am contained in the silent ether of your mind
i cannot help in a way
that feels real

i can't give you the comfort of
a smile
a hug
a touch
a knowing look
i can't offer all that i have

to you

and
i want to
i want to

A special friendship.
Magic.
I love that you bring out the
funny
intellect
biting
loving
sides of me all rolled up into a stimulating ball of hilarious
loving
interaction.

Words can't capture.

can

they.

Could this magical, silent, friendship last forever
just as it is now.
Would that be so bad?
No..... not if i look at it through the windows of

each
moment

the unanticipated
spontaneous
times
we both appear in the same place
shock my mind
with glee
and joy
and electric connection.

you make me laugh & wonder & long for.

There is so much I don't know.

a
b
o
u
t

y
o
u
.

Your life, a canvas with only smudges of color that
i can see.
Yet I know it is rich in it's fullness.
Your depth and texture
your unique injured purity

speak to me.


I am here. In silent ether.
The secret confines of your mind
hidden behind

cheerios and baseball practice
arguments over bill collectors and paint colors
the drive to a job that fills the days to fill your wallet

hidden behind the furniture
neighbors
moves
questions
hurts

daily daily

i remain.

your.
friend.

English Teacher

she's 81 now.
hard to believe.... completely.
she's one of the reasons that i believe in myself.
funny, how a moment, a million years ago could
be burned into my memory.

she was my english teacher
in high school.
my junior year i believe.
i remember absolutely nothing about that class
except
for a paper i received back
with a comment

i think i have it in box of memories somewhere
it would take awhile to find
though
but i know it made me know
that she saw beneath the typical 17 year old costume
and into
who i was
who i am

i kept it
and i kept her

how did i get her number in the first place
i don't remember

it was a time before cell phones
email
texting

yet, as the years flew by
college
boyfriends
apartments
career
marriages
millions of moments

she has remained a light
in the recesses of my life
a reminder
that i was seen
and what she saw
was valuable

i love her for that
have always loved her for that

I called her today.
The phone rang and i held my breath
for i know
that her health has been failing for years.
waiting for a recording
or just the rings of a phone
that never even got
an answering machine.

An answer

Her nurse first and then
that
voice

A voice of wisdom
consternation
high expectation
and part of me
relaxed in the knowing that
she's still here.

In our lives there are isolated
moments
and people
that may feel or seem
insignificant

yet in that moment
they may
have given
a breath of life
of love
of belief in you

and they are forever part
of the tapestry
of what is good
in you.

She is part of the tapestry
of what
is
good
in
me.

Thank you
Ms. Helen Schallerer.

multi

nothing makes me more
aware
that we are
all

working with
the same capabilities

of love
and hate
gossip
and forgiveness
wisdom
and inappropriateness
fire and ice
awareness
betrayal
depth
vulgarity
peace
inciting anger
creativity
selfishness
and texture

than
looking
at
my
very
own
life.

Won't I miss her?

For those who don't know, my mom died of cancer when I had just crossed the threshold of 10 years old. What follows is an imagined dialogue between myself and God prior to my birth.


Me: God?

God: Yes love?

Me: So, I'm going back again soon....

God: Yes my expression, you've wanted to go again.

Me: I know. I do want to. I'm just always a little scared when I get ready to leave.

God: I know. I understand. I think you will love this go around.

Me: I think so too... I'm not sure about this losing her while I'm so young.

God: You've had her many times before, and this time, she wants to help you learn to really believe in yourself on a deeper level.

Me: Yes, I want to learn that. That I am capable and lovable and able. That I have everything I need within me.

God: Indeed my love. You will learn that and so much more.

Me: I'll miss her though, when she goes, won't I?

God: You will. Yet this missing will teach you as well. And we both know she'll be very close to you even when you can't see her.

Me: I know.

God: And, you'll be back here before you know it. Stronger, even more loving, and full of joy.

Me: Yes. It's gonna be great. Hard, but great.

God: Great indeed.

Paradise

How does one find
the balance between
trusting people and protecting oneself?

does it matter
if
people i trust
don't honor me with their words
or their actions?

does it change me in any way?

Not long ago, I was teaching a group of children
the truth that
no one
nothing
anything
at
all
can change the beauty that they are

I had them envision the
most beautiful bouquet
roses
lilies
yellows and reds purples pinks and oranges
bursting with
delight
and fragrance
a paradise of senses

I had them set this bouquet in front of themselves
and
begin to

berate it.

tell it that it is
ugly
stupid
hated
horrifying
dissapointing
nothing
ignore it
betray it
talk behind it's back

and i had them look at the flowers again.

Had they changed?

No

the children said
they had not.

The flowers were still just as beautiful
and pink
and fragrant
and miraculously wonderous
as they
were
before.

Nothing can alter beauty.
We forget.
don't we.

Nothing can change the beauty that is you or
me or
him or
her or
them.

A lesson I taught children
yet
I
haven't
quite
learned
myself.

Entwined

entwined
I'm one of those people.
the ones that talk, reach, send, give, create for
others.

I love other people.
I love their uniqueness, the texture and result of their choices, their voices --
what they have to say.
Sometimes, when what they have to say differs dramatically from what I have to say... well,
that can be a challenge to appreciate -- but in truth -- i do.

People fascinate me.
I love that each factor of our lives,
each choice, each turn around a different bend, each surprise, each new moment of each new day creates a new pattern, an altered hue, a change.

I love reaching, and experiencing people.
I can discuss it in a way that makes me sound altruistic and painfully generous.
I can do that. Yet, in truth,
I wonder if that is indeed the truth. Not altogether,
I am sure.

For reaching and touching and connecting and giving and considering and loving and knowing and talking to and hoping for
others
does a couple of things -- for me.

One, it enriches me. It provides for me
new texture, new shadows, new sounds and music, new things to consider, new ways to approach.
my life.
I love that. More than anything I believe.
People.

weird, sexy, wild, courageous, fearful, learning, wondering, judging, waiting, trembling, heart-filled, musical, conservative, cutting-edge, loving
people.

It does another thing for me as well.
The darker side of all of this people other than me focused living.
It keeps me from the silence.
that
is
soley
and
completely
inside
my
being
with
no
other
sound
but
my
own.

I know that I can live my life without really being all that concerned with that fact.
But there is a part of me that knows that spending time in this place is part of the next.... deeper....wise....experience for me.
for all of us.

Being completely alone, for me, is not an exercise is fear -- as it is for some.
It is an undertaking of courage.
It is in the silence of me, that my spirit pauses and my mind trembles.
Certainly my mind.
My mind loves to be busy... reaching, giving, considering, solving.
But to send my mind to the still, quiet waters of my own being? With nothing to distract? Well..... you're asking
quite
a
lot.

So, I look at the yin and the yang, the up and the down, the soft and the hard, the you and the me of my life. and when I do

I long
to know
both.

To embrace the texture and the sound and the noise and the problems and the solutions and the music and the dance and the interaction of

others.

And, entwined with the patterns that live outside of the edges of my own mind
to know intimately.... my own,
still silence.
Where i suspect
joys
and
secrets
reside.

Rough (morose)

i am a flippin emotional sponge.

a person i barely know,

but who's blog i read recently

lost a friend.

i'm not positive, but this person i know can't be over 30.

she is a brilliant, funny, irreverant writer and

i find myself at her writing daily.

She writes about her kids,

life,

stupid people,

the gamut.

Recently she has been writing about a friend who died.

Her friend was a mother.

Sounds like she was funny, sharp and kind.

she was also an addict.

The person I barely know

wrote of how it was hard to see her friend

spiral

out of control.

How she longed for some way to connect, to effect, to inspire

her friend to change.

She didn't.

A week or so ago she died.

Alcohol and perscriptions.

lethal.

I didn't know this woman. Why should I care?

I don't know.

maybe it's my unbearably annoying empathy

which really

cramps my fun loving style sometimes.

Thing is.

people are in pain. hurting. dying. crying. desparate. alone.

Whether they are the ones causing it, or the ones watching it.

It's going on

and it breaks my heart.

and yet, I'm perplexed.

while all of this pain and crap is going on right now...

Joy is also happening.

right now, I don't feel it, but I know somewhere... it is.

Every fucking thing possible

is happening right now.

How dizzying is that?

Just venting.

Feeling for this woman I barely know.

for the people who loved the woman I didn't know.

For all of us.

Cuz life....

its shit and pain....

despite the joys....

Will spare

not

a

one

of

us.

Life Lesson #476 Repeated. Again.

i am struggling with the reluctance to really face things that
are uncomfortable to face.
namely the responsibility that i have when i am feeling out of sorts.
discord.
angst.
upset.
still... though i know much.....
i show up in a day knowing very little about
how to be clear emotionally.

Feeling like making someone else responsible
for my state
of emotion
panic
sadness.
Wanting to flail.

There is a still small voice
reminding me of what i know.
what i claim.
what i say.
There is only me at this control panel.
It is glorious choice
that has me feeling
whatever way I am feeling.

If I am feeling sad
or mistreated
or maligned
or grumpy
for frumpled
or irate.

It is only me that ordered that plate.

And what is on the plate?

Sometimes so hard to swallow.

Dance.

thoughts.

running through. seeking a place. bounding
past where i might be able to
see
feel
understand
control them.

newness.
a dance riding on a wave of never
before experienced
like
a belly laugh coming from
a place unexpected.

knowing that
riding on a burst of delighted moving air
can
never
sustain
throughout
the mundane series of days.

but
knowing

things like this
are rare punctuations in rote
real
concrete
obligation
expected.

I am grateful. for fun. for you. for friendship. for initial insatiable emotional
mental
physical
hunger.

A connection of 2
locked within a mutual gaze
while the world rotates
in it's every day
way.

Feeling your hunger for knowing
meet my hunger for knowing.

Dancing.
Dancing.

Brings that quiet reminder that tumbling this way
is a vacation.
Because
it
cannot be sustained
in
it's
present
form.

As a fire that blazes through slumbering unexpectant wood.
You stumbled into my days.
Laughter
knowing
the
slightest angst of awareness.

gifts.
all of them.

for the memories of what is possible can always be sustained

in the midst
of
rote
everyday
obligation
remind us
of
the
joys
that
can
be
when we dance with unexpected joy.

one point

realizing every moment that brings a challenge
or a tear
or hurt
is an opportunity for me to look within and see
what
how i am
expressing my own life.

because
the point is
not to judge anyone
or anything else
but to realize that one's entire
awareness resides
withing the boundaries of one's own awareness

therefore
the only thing
that can change my experience
of life
of others
of situations

is me.

one might think me niave
or simple
or stupid
of short sighted

but as my life progresses
i can more clearly see
that there is only one point

to love.

a broad and simple word
don't you think?

give
forgive
laugh
release
allow
rejoice
wonder
expect good
forgive again
again
again
again

recently i have been faced
with the addictions and choices
of someone that i love very much
passionately
through lifetimes perhaps

i hate what he is doing
and choosing
and expressing
and letting go

what am i to do with the
judgements and anger and sadness and hopelessness that i feel?

look within and acknowledge
where i am being dependant on something
selfish
short sighted
needy
hurtful
self absorbed
disrespectful
hoarding
small

it is not useful for me to ask these questions about
him
or you
or them
or that culture
or that group
or that country
or that religion

it is only useful
to ask it of
myself.

every hurt
is an opportunity for me
to become
what
i
know
i
agreed
to
become
in
the
first
place.

a difficult task.

it's always easier to
look at

you
the neighbor with a messy yard
al quaida
george bush
my boss
the friend who hasn't called
the arrogant ass
the driver cutting me off
the family member who won't see it my way
anyone
other
than
me

yet, looking at them. judging them.
adds poison to an
already very poisoned
life.

i want to bring healing to life.
and i can only do that
by healing

me.

heaven

what if there is no
real
separation between

heaven
and
here

me and you
snow and sun
light and dark
good and bad
them and us

what if it is as if
we are looking
very closely
at an impressionist
painting

and rather than a whole
we
see
individual dots
of color
smudges
contained within
something more

i suppose it's not wrong
to see
life
in
just
that way

just a way
one way
to see it

experience it

maybe knowing that
it is simply
one way
of
a
million
ways

would give us
freedom to

see
allow
enjoy
rejoice in
invite
accept

other ways
of
seeing
life

maybe that would be

heaven
.

my sister's house

i'm at my sister's house.

minnesota today
is beautiful.

snow falling in tiny fast falling wisps
that make you squint when you're
treading your way to the car.

i'm reminded of the joys
and challenges of
the kind of cold that makes
your nose hairs curl
and demands that
tootsies be well warmed
against
a fire
covered in thick wool socks
after the desperate relief of the
warmth
inside.

my sister's house.
is lovely.

always a pot of tea on the stove
josh groban melting hearts on
the cd player.
the tree silent with
warm glistening joy.
and Maggie
holding a pair of thieved
socks in her mouth
wagging her brown stump
with joy overflowing.

the giggle of ten year old
siblings
vying for attention
or the mastery of the
most recent gameboy acquisition.

my sister's house.
a perfect blend of
pottery barn and garage sale
treasures
seamlessly inviting
class and cozy.

The fire ablaze
battling the constant
chilled air
trying to slip from the insistent
minnesota december.

slippers
tea
fire
tree
dog
family

love.

my sister's house.