2009 Talent Show Spit

Connection, remembered.

a place outside of time and dead lines
a space outside in the cool silence of the night
out there
on the sidewalk surrounded by black woods and cracked cement
the icy stars were watching, twinkling with anticipation
the damp air was holding its breath, fresh and clear between us
My heart met your heart.

like two mirrors facing each other
a candle alight in between us
reflecting into infinity

We beamed infinity at each other
and I noticed these golden somethings, soft and joyful
reach out from our beings and find one another
embracing in between our reflections
the handshake of honest hearts

you said you hoped that i would follow my dream
that it is necessary and essential
to our people
to our children

Your words fell through my ears,
and tumbled down into this space in my heart
Your words became a rusty key
that met a dusty lock
I had kept upon this dream of mine.

A lock, turned over by words
A portal, unlocked by honest reflection
I step through to
move beyond the spaces and places that exist only in thought,
move under the skin of assumption, rubbed raw and exposed
by words
slicing shredding sweeping back to reveal
a golden something that is wordless and wild,
that is truth, exposed
the potential of a dream unlocked by words

The words of my dream say this:

remember the dreams
the ones that seem dangerous and unkempt
the ones vicious and fierce
the ones that seem too big
the ones brimming with wildness and soul
the whole essence beyond words and reason
yells treason throughout the ranks of the mind
remind the mind of its place of service to the soul

Meet the eyes of others
what awaits you when you discover yourself holding a key to
the portal of the another's soul, Humility
is profound and bound to trust and release
whatever you thought you knew about anything
Rise with the swelling tide of ties undone
this is no time to hide, in fact we can't wait for you to come out
and step into the fire with us
we are strong, yet stronger still with
your sacred authenticity by our side

Listen closely for those keys.
Recollect the keys to your hearts, dear ones.
the average was never you
oh black sheep of your time, your day
has come to lead without followers
and to follow the beating of a drum
distant yet distinctly palpable within your chest
fingers to the throat you can feel
the thing that makes all of this worth it.




My dream, unlocked, and now she is here
standing with us
out there
in a place outside of time and dead lines
in a space outside in the cool silence of the night
out there
on the sidewalk surrounded by black woods and cracked cement
where the icy stars were watching, and
the damp air was holding its breath.
Where
My heart met my heart.
And I became connection, remembered.

thoughts of July 7th and starting the clinic

i can't sleep

i can't be slowed

i haven't been quiet
in quite a long time

changes are afoot
spinning me quicker faster deeper
into myself

the attachment between
my head and the rest of my body
is killing me

doubt flares
the past shows up on my door
with flowers and wine
forgetting to acknowledge
that I got back on the wagon
clung to it for dear life

i'm moving
i'm becoming my own impossible dream
i'm gripped in fear and doubt and humility and honor and gratitude

it's time to pray
and pray hard

it's time to let go
of everything
I have faith in
and jump
or fall

it looks the same
from the ground floor
anyway

i am illuminating faith
i am solid underneath the soil
of compost
i just tend to forget sometimes
you know how kids are

the beginning of the darkness

it is a new day dawning
outside my window

it is the first night
of the longest day of the year

from here on out
we plunge into darkness

it is the beginning
of the descent into darkness

it is a good morning
and I say so to the clouds
collecting luminously above my head
emanating gentle blue intensity
and purpose

the rose is opening
more and more each day
the gift of a gift
reveals itself deeper
each moment
as each day passes
the light sings grace
and night whispers faith

our hearts are being held beloved
listen

after watching 14 consecutive episodes of "24" in one sitting...

contrived entertainment
that breeds hypervigilance
suddenly everything is important
even Facebook and open windows

is it silly to desire escape?
selfish to indulge?
manipulate my creative force
into whatever you would have
suck on it
my attention serves no purpose to you
it is all my own
and i give it over willingly
to you
the screen
the machine
convince me of your perception
of my naivety
rock me back to sleep
within unconscience
it serves you none
it is simply what you are
teach us to use responsibly
and with intention

riddle

is this some kind of joke?

i identify with the tortured poet
the homeless wanderer
the dejected street punk
misunderstood
rebeling against all things community

i
am
so
confused

there is room inside of me for all of these things
i can be anything
so who am i then?

anyone i want to be?

do i have to choose?

only for the sake of others
they confuse easily
these humans
who seek consistency
when there is none to be had

someone said

create nothing

if you do, it will stick to you
follow you around
bite you in the ass
as others lay waste to your dream
to your creative being
we are all so fragile and destructive
ignorant and asleep

what is this place I am in?
what is my role here?

who can connect in a place as violent as this?

I need help, spirit
i know you know this
i don't know what i am doing
aside from my fierce independence
rearing her ugly head
looking around for acceptance
and support

therein lies fear
if i am truly who i am
then i am by default
unlovable

which fire shall i throw this one into?

what will it take
for me to fall in love
with myself?

i whisper sweet words of passion and joy
to myself
the words fall on
ears that doubt
and breasts that repulse
you do not know of which you speak
you have been mistaken
misguided
silly little ignorant schmuck
youre a clown
a fool
your mask is a pretty one
yet unimpressive

what
am
i
?

movement

Poets of war
gather now
amidst the blood and smoke
pine for me
fawn over me
convince me to stay
for your party
serve sushi and chocolate
off my naked body
seduce me into believing
i am special
and especially for you

what would that mean
to you?
how do i serve you?
with my innocence
with my labial connections
perhaps i should start walking
and see you follow me
down the dark alleyway
everything is illuminated
in time
and time is its own
darkest secret

what hearts speak of
fairy tales
and connections beyond the trees
the same hearts that speak of love
and solidarity
and all things beautiful
what rubbish they spew
what deceit
what lies
who told them the truth
what is truth
but a commitment to a perception
there is no such thing
as truth

what hatred lies beneath the pinkness of my skin
what vile acidic treachery
who will i be when i truly step foot into
the toxicity of my perception
what is there to gain
by turning and embracing the shadow?

i am beginning to think
that it won't magically disappear
like they say in the fairy tales
yet here she is
shadow
present on my doorstep
wanting to come in and play

the place is already a mess
so why not?
I'm not interested in impressing her
more than id rather entertain her until she is tired
and requires rest
perhaps i can choke her in her sleep
violent even for me
i know i cant
i am too curious
in her inner process
wretched bitch that she is
she is here until she is ready
to show herself the door

the rapids are rising
and moving faster, so they say
we are to lose everything
whatever that means

what palpable doubt i experience
what clear perception
like the glass shards like rain upon me
in the crisp memory of a cold
blue day in Tulsa
looking up
feeling my lungs being ripped to shreds
and my intestines boiled alive
as i walked hand in hand
with my grandmother
around the swan lake

nothing seemed sacred ever again
it all changes
it all falls apart
what is dependable
is only independence
and chaos.

my lungs recoil at the memory
i thought we had been through this
why are we here yet again?
can't you get over yourself?
you don't want to be this person
i have never wanted to be this person
and yet here i am
this person
can it be ok now?

how about now?

a poet as a physician
a charlatan
spirit you are writing this through me
what are you saying
to the world?
why did i come first for you
and no one else?
oh is it true?
or just me interrupting your flow?

we can dance all night
you know you will win
i will tire
i will always tire
before you

i am exhausted and refuse sleep.
i am mourning the state of the world.
its blackness drips out of my heart.
i am a toxic product of this planet.

What was i thinking,
coming back here?
Did i really commit to so much agony?
What good is this doing
for you, Spirit?
what good is this doing for the planet?

please

i am begging you

get me the fuck out of the (your) way

i cant do this alone

i don't even know what I'm doing

its so clear that you are driving

and I am simply in the passenger seat

with no seat belt on

trying not to vomit

Thoughts and Musings of June 15th

I just wanted to write.

I thought I'd continue using my recently neglacted online journal for a change. I type faster than I write, and it's more legible, too. Besides, my intention is to put just about everything I write onto a computer at some point anyway. My hand doesn't cramp or misalign. I can think and write simultaneously. I can read what I wrote. So many good reasons to type up thoughts onto an online journal.

But no. Not today. Today my computer wants me to delete temporary files and cookies instead. I've only go an hour to write. By default, I grab an old notebook and begin scribbling.

What I wanted to write about was moving.

I'm taking part in this ceremony called Wilderness Quest.

At one point, our teacher Sarah explicitly stated for us not to make any significant changes in our lives, such as breaking up with a partner or changing residences.

So, in response to that, I am moving. Moving out of my space into a new one. It's just up the street, really, only abot a mile away. There are more trees and space in between houses. More privacy, I guess, and more sunshine in the form of windows. A small private garden with an established trumpet vine and a bench and some patio chairs. Exposed beams.

The space I am in now is great as well. Mostly. I've never been 100% happy here, and I've wondered if I'll ever be 100% happy anywhere, really. The place I'm in now is so big. Almost too big for me. I can't seem to fill it. There's extra stuff in here, and not all of it belongs to me. Maybe I'd be happier if I had gotten the space cleared out, but oh well. It is full of unfinished projects that I would like to have the time and the space to do. There is also a lot of foot traffic outside my place. People lurking about, clearly up to one thing or another. Men gathering on street corners. I get hollered at when I work in the garden or walk down the street. The cops are constantly patrolling the block. It doesn't feel safe, and I've decided that I don't have to live in unsafety if I don't want to.

The place I am moving to is smaller than the space I am in now, which is encouraging to me. I wish to flush a bnch of stuff out of my life, and here's the perfect opportunity to practice letting go in a big way. To discover where and in what my loyalty lies. And my friend lives in the pther part of the house. She has an intention of creating communal artspace, and weekly arts and crafts days. A-ha. Time and space to create with people. Perfect.

This is what I wrote about it this morning:

giving up stability for a dream
uneasiness rests on either side
it seems not to matter
whether or not action is taken
there are always challenges
and discontent

there are always trials
and tribulations
no matter where you live
no matter what you do
no matter who you know

Damn, Life is annoying at times

And what should be the focus
within the annoyance?
What should I resort to
instead of apathetic dissonance?

Art? Love? Peace? Prayer?

This was not a wasted day

This was not a wasted day.

Three days prior, there was crisis. Drama. From seemingly out of nowhere. Yet upon reflection, the vague lines leading to probable contributing causes revealed themselves. The half-day of sugar indulgence. The practice of stripping away ego roles in class. The heightened blessing of perfection in a walk in the woods with a sweet being. The stepping out onto a limb, bearing a raw confession of love interest. The exposure of being authentic. The stepping into a physician's role, ever more realizing what it means and what it takes. The sudden disbandment, the loss of structure.

Flailing.

Gratitude and blessings to all who stepped in to check in on me. Ironically, they were all men. I think it was only men I called that night as well. Perhaps this is why:

I have been wanting to enter a relationship with a man (or men: as a theoretical polygamist, I am open to not counting) for some time now. Curious as to what needed to happen in order to manifest this, I did a reading on it this morning. The main message I got was to go easy with the analytical aspects, to continue healing the heart, and to focus on the family. I interpreted "family" to mean my inner family. Checking in with my inner man, I found him beyond exhaustion (poor guy). When asked what he wanted, he merely wanted to sleep. So, instead of packing up and schlepping off to volunteer at a homeless clinic today, I slept off and on for ost of the day. I didn't change out of my PJ's until 6pm and that was only to go to the grocery store (my inner woman was like, "Dude I know you're tired, but you also don't have anything to eat").

So I had to get over the notion that laying around in PJ's, doing Tarot readings, sitting in silence, and blogging are not wastes of time. I'd argue that is no such thing as wasted time. It's all a manifestation of one's priorities. Whatever you're doing, wherever you're putting your energy, those are your priorities. And I think today I showed myself that my priority to myself is still intact.

And now, a poem about relationship:

I am craving

I am craving that one

I am craving that one who is strong

I am craving that one who is strong enough

I am craving that one who is strong enough to hold me

I am craving that one who is strong enough to hold me to my word

Take me down,
back into my body
Take me home,
straight into my heart
Take me back,
when I have been brutal
Take me over,
when I have dissolved
Take me in,
when I am full
Take me up,
in your embrace
Take me and
give me back again.
And may I offer you
the same.

For the Love of...

Thank God for punk-ska, public pillow fights, Remedy Tea, and the grace of Spirit in the presence of a friend.

Melting down in the face of Change.
You Mother Fucker.
You and your hundred and eight
different shades of reality.
You and your consistent
double-standard.
You and your bossy
overbearance
forcing choice upon me.
forcing me into authenticity.
forcing me to sit with duplicity
and contrasting colors
I am nauseous and weak from the practice.
Dammit.
Where's the mercy?
I already fell in love with life
What good is it to put all the good things
on the same day?
Perhaps I should delve into
the rock-hard passion of
Your bindings and beatings
Learn to take it like
a bitch in heat to life
bent, sweaty, on all fours
There is passion beneath the pain
There is passion beneath the pain
Passion is pain, and painful
rubbing raw
now there's a wound to lick
to serve as a reminder
of the gift of manifestation
and patience
Delirious and exhilirated
Change forces me off my center
face-down into the mud
so that my heart may sprout roots
and begin communion with the Earth
amidst the change, oh yes, change
perhaps you can carry my trust
after all.

Sitting with Sadness

Sadness breaches the glassy stillness
like a humpback who has been traveling
for miles without a breath

again, you return
or is it only more
from where the last tsunami
came?

from a different epicenter, perhaps
or maybe the same
does it matter?
it all seems to wear the same coat
of desperation, of pain that is indescribable
because of its depth and
lack of physicality

"I don't know how you do it" he says
in reference to the needles and the burning
and the ropes and the beatings
that I mention, I request, I crave.
I said I didn't know either
but on second thought, of course I do.

Where emotional pain can be made physical
there is relief in the knowledge
that all things physical can and will pass.
There is a palpable
beginning
middle
end

Not the continuous breaching
of drowning whales.

There is grace in trusting the process of
emrging emotional pain into the physical.
Grace in trusting another with your body, your process, your pain.
Grace in trusting enough to be held, and
Grace in recollecting yourself when the container gives in under the pressure.
We are all only human, after all,
and some of us push harder than others.
Some of us go deeper than others.
Some of us expand greater than others.
Some of us are too loud, even for our own comfort.

It is grace that can hold us.
It is the ocean and the sky that can take it
that can hold us all.

Sadness enjoys the writing. It is learning to paint with words.
It is learning to leak gently out in small manageable breaths.

So on the surface, I may seem sadder longer.
But perhaps this time, you won't be frightened off by the explosion,
cowering in your own fears of inadequacy,
thinking "Shit, I can't hold THAT!"
Instead you can be quietly concerned in your own spare time,
stroking your ego into thinking that you may have something to offer.

Just to let you know,
I will take what is useful.
I take care of my own.

I trust myself.
I trust my process.
I trust that the label of "Crazy" exists for your benefit, not mine,
to make you comfortable and separate from what you long to ignore...

...but more on that, later.

Labeling makes Sadness even sadder.
It shows Sadness unacceptance.
It shows Sadness that you acknowledge her
as something incomprehensible, unacceptable, wild.
Boo on labeling, especially the label of Crazy.

Ouchness.

Sadness, what else would you like to share with the world?
Yikes, fear? Brokenheartedness? I am so gentle and fierce
I am so many dualities, all crossing in the center.
I am seeking integration between grief and love.
I am confused, getting tripped up in the process,
when I stumble, and hit the ground, I cry out of frustration.
Seeking flow and grace and a peaceful heart.
I pray, I stand up, I keep moving.

My life is full
of processing.
The large, complicated doughnut that I am.

Please don't fret, Mom.
Please. Have faith in me and my process.
Sadness is not a death sentence, like it seemed to be a decade ago.
You have raised such a strong, committed, loving daughter.
I may do things with my life that you would never imagine or wish for me,
but it is mine to live, and I follow only the voice of Spirit
and our ancestors.

Sadness mingles with Love and Grace on occasion,
when she is well enough to receive visitors.
They share a laugh and a good cup of tea,
in light and peaceful laziness.

It is 11:11. Think happy thoughts.

Breaststroke Meditations

So I think I got a handle on the chest pain. At least for now.

I had another session with the fabulous acupuncturist today, and we came up with this: that the grief that was being released (gratefully) was simply overpowering my typical fiery joy. Perhaps the movement of grief was also pulling chi away from Earth, the deficiency resulting in the increased anxiety I had been feeling for the past three weeks. The deficiency carried through to the heart again, coupled with the grief release from the lung, causing the chest pain.

To be honest, I just took a wild stab at processing it all within a 5E model. I've got to let my acupuncturist off the hook. He actually told me to quit analyzing it and just tell him what was going on (which is exactly what he should've done).

I was having a hard time being present for the session today. There was a part of me fighting the treatment, leaving my body, wanting to leave the room, to not get better or move on.

I attribute a bit of that to the two Guinesses I drank last night at the bowling alley. That was the first time I have drank in well over two years, and it made me nervous that I was craving alcohol that way. I packed them both down, and barely felt it. It's been a day already and I'm still doing good. Sweet! I suppose that was helped along by the triple dose of NAC and B-vits I took upon coming home, along with the 5 glasses of water I downed that night. But the numbing effects of the alcohol carried over into today's session. At one point, I was getting needled essentially in my armpit, and it wasn't going and wasn't going and wasn't going, and then I realized that I was so far away from my body that the guy could've punctured my lung and I wouldn't have noticed. I had to catch myself and invite myself back into my body. As soon as I came back home, the needle tugged and the point released. But it all really came home when I got the needle in the middle of my inner wrist. Like sudden divine inspiration, all of the sudden EVERYTHING got clear and present and real again. It felt miraculous.

I went home and just sat in silence for about twenty minutes then crawled back into bed for a hour-long nap. It's a struggle to get up because once again I've let my place get all piled up and grubby. Grrrr. There just doesn't seem to be enough time or energy to get everything done.

Anyway, I made it over to the gym for some laps and sweating before class. God, I love swimming. Doing the breatstroke is like flying. It's like I'm an eagle soaring through a stiff breeze. No surprise that Eagle is the animal that has come forth to help carry me through this grief-relief process. Everytime, and I mean EVERY time I go to acupuncture, my practictioner and I always see a bald eagle soaring around outside. We've both been seeing them on occasion outside of treatment as well. It's great because we're both so giddy to see them.

So Water element, coming after Metal, is giving the grief somewhere to go, in my eyes. But that's not why I swim. I swim because I love it. It's quiet, meditative. My body is surrounded in secure, cradling pressure. I can push myself as hard or slack as I want, I can daydream, I can breathe deeply, I can process, I can pray. I did all of that today. As I pushed off the wall and soared through the water, grabbing it with my hands and shoving it past me, pushing myself through, feeling every part of my self, gliding to the surface for a breath, I felt a relief that I had been waiting for for three weeks. I couldn't believe how long it had been, how bad I had let it get. The self-disgust, the self-loathing, the insecurity, the abuse I suffered at my own hands. At what point did I forget that I am made of light? Where did I get stuck between the words "I am" and "a miracle"?

I'm so grateful for this healing, and the pain and process that led me to it, scary as it was. My perceptions of this lesson was that when the going gets tough, pray harder. And I got a new list of things to pray for.

A piece of poetry:

"Hopeful I raise my bow and release my heart into the night sky. I'm aiming for the stars, and maybe I'll hit one. More likely, I will find the dark matter, and be graced another opportunity to embrace the shadow of the universe. Either way, I am a better person because of my efforts."

PS: I adjusted my first neck all on my own tonight!!!! It was so amazing, because it came from a very instinctual place.

Talent/No Talent Show Spoken Word Pieces

I dedicate these two pieces to my teachers, which you all can meet in person the next time you look in a mirror.

Again

A psychiatrist once asked me if I realized that I was singing out loud. She said that some people might think I'm strange for doing that.

I wonder if she was one of those people.

I wonder when singing out loud became pathological.

I find myself again
piled in a cowering heap
quivering from overexposure of a perception of reality.

Stigma has me tripping over my feet

Now Silence is what
my throat seems to be stuffed with.
No wonder it hurts to breathe
My body seems to be telling me
that it's time to wake up
and start yelling
or perhaps even try to sing again

but
Waking up is hard to do.

Harder than wandering through the halls
Pretending or possibly actually believing the walls
don't exist, yet feeling their tension
bind with my countertension

blending the imaginings of tomorrow with the perceptions of yesterday
into a fantastical hypnosis of what I think I know.
I wander off into the daydream of my mind.

Pushing and pushing and pushing past the mirror
which has had nothing lovely to say as of late
pushing past a mirror that I would rather break
because 13 years bad luck has been
the least of my concern since then
since my heart last regained its composure
she still has a few cracks and crevices leftover
from the last time she fell and broke into a million pieces
This is delicate territory. Beware.

I find my self again
shivering on the steps outside in the night rain
a cigarette resting between
my fingers
and the palpable breathing of
a presence much bigger than my own

As I begin to wake up. Again.

My body aches and shakes and erupts
as I uneasily find my way back into my skin.
It is ok to be here
It is ok to be here
Are you sure? Yes, I'm sure, at least I think I'm sure
I swear to you, to me, the only me there be
that it is ok to be here.
I want to promise me that I can make it safe in here
Even fun.
I want to promise safety to the Sand castle that I keep building in the tide line.
That one that houses my heart,
the one that gives in and collapses with each successive wave

breaking down breaking down
breaking through
convincing myself the effort was somehow worth it
breaking down breaking out breaking in
Broken so much so often
so I swear to God I will never do it again ... until ...
I recover...and
My revived invincibility complex orders yet another

As I wake up again,
the rain kisses me gently.
It soaks my grandmother's jacket
She no longer needs it.
She is the rain now.
She and the rain and the palpable breath of presence
comfort me and invite me into their home.

Hopeful I raise my bow
and release my heart into the night sky.
I'm aiming for a sand castle built of stardust
Yes, I'm aiming for the stars,
and maybe I'll hit one.
According to the odds, however, my heart will collide with dark matter
and be graced
yet another opportunity to embrace
the shadow of the universe.

Either way, I am a better person because of my efforts.

An African Ancestor met me in my dreams that night
as I leaned against the oldest tree in the world
he approaches from out of the sun
Blink he is closer
Blink he is closer still
Blink Blink he is standing right in front of me
He is watching me, looking at something I cannot see.
He pushes me back into the tree
back into my life
back into reality

He gives me a key with which to unlock my heart

He gives me a key entitled Redemption.

Redemption. Deliverance. Rescue. I have been saved from myself and allowed to carry on, free to build sand castles in places other than the surf. Free to build tree houses instead. Free to walk barefoot on the ceiling of the universe as I swing throughout the stars, creating pictures of dreams I only now remember having since before I was born, uplifted, into a stark realization of ... reality?

This is real, and unbelievable
because if I were to believe that this kind of "real"
were truly my life
my heart surely would break wide open
into a million pieces
from inexplicable and tremendous joy.

Could I dare go there again?
I must.
If I wish to live again
I must.
So go there I must
armed with courage
and faith
and trust
that sometimes even a broken heart
is a welcomed event.

On a Journey
to the end
of the war
within my heart

On a journey
of recollection

Recall that I am
somebody's seventh generation
I am somebody's hope and dream
I am a miracle in motion,

And I was confined once
I have the scars to prove it.
and underneath scars, though, there are drumbeats and music
memories swaying to song
like merry drunks aboard
a boat at sea
lovingly committed
only to the whims of Great Mystery
and the tides

beauty shocks depths
echoing deeper
beyond the realm of knowing
it reverberates
its coming back
a sickening crescendo
as I realize that
I am about to lose my shit
the shit that keeps me
stuck, smelly and repulsive
of self love

I am about to lose my shit
and replace it with
reflection
and mirrors
and expansive love
and graceful sunshine
and deep gratitude
and inexplicable and tremendous joy.

the password is change

Transition just might be my middle name, and I would wear it proudly.
If words could be music, then I would sing my life and my love loudly
Regardless of the diagnosis.

Rejoicing in the consistency of change.
and being startled to realize that my broken heart still beats
to the sound of its own drummer
and the song that ensues
ignites earthquakes
and thunder

so go ahead
break open, dear heart, so that I may love even more

again.


~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~


Deeper

May you find this life
incredibly rewarding
deeply moving
wondrously inspirational
majestically beautiful
warmly comforting
joyfully peaceful
stoicly charming

deep

deep

may you find the depths
of your life

without shame
without fear
without guilt

but with indulgent passion
and unfettered bravery
with exuberant exhiliration
and harmonizing gratitude

as you reach even deeper

retract and reflect

Be called
even
deeper.

Song at Sunset -- Walt Whitman

Found this poem while hanging out at the Hawthorne Hostel in Portland, OR, during my first weekend at NESH at NCNM.


Song at Sunset -- Walt Whitman

Splendor of ended day floating and filling me,
Hour prophetic, hour resuming the past,
Inflating my throat, you divine average,
You earth and life till the last ray gleams I sing.

Open mouth of my soul uttering gladness,
Eyes of my soul seeing perfection,
Natural life of me faithfully praising things,
Corroborating forever the triumph of things.

Illustrious every one!
Illustrious what we name space, sphere of unnumber'd spirits,
Illustrious the mystery of motion in all beings, even the tiniest insect,
Illustrious the attribute of speech, the senses, the body,
Illustrious the passing light--illustrious the pale reflection on the new moon in the western sky,
Illustrious whatever I see or hear or touch, to the last.

Good in all,
In the satisfaction and aplomb of animals,
In the annual return of the seasons,
In the hilarity of youth,
In the strength and flush of manhood,
In the grandeur and exquisiteness of old age,
In the superb vistas of death.

Wonderful to depart!
Wonderful to be here!
The heart, to jet the all-alike and innocent blood!
To breathe the air, how delicious!
To speak--to walk--to seize something by the hand!
To prepare for sleep, for bed, to look on my rose-color'd flesh!
To be conscious of my body, so satisfied, so large!
To be this incredible God I am!
To have gone forth among other Gods, these men and women I love.

Wonderful how I celebrate you and myself!
How my thoughts play subtly at the spectacles all around!
How the clouds pass silently overhead!
How the earth darts on and on! and how the sun, moon, stars, dart on and on!
How the water sports and sings! (surely it is alive!)
How the trees rise and stand up, with strong trunks, with branches and leaves!
(Surely there is something more in each of the trees, some living soul.)

O amazement of things--even the least particle!
O spirituality of things!
O strain musical flowing through ages and continents, now reaching me and America!
I take your strong chords, intersperse them, and cheerfully pass them forward.

I too carol the sun, usher'd or at noon, or as now, setting,
I too throb to the brain and beauty of the earth and of all the growths of the earth,
I too have felt the resistless call of myself.

As I steam'd down the Mississippi,
As I wander'd over the prairies,
As I have lived, as I have look'd through my windows my eyes,
As I went forth in the morning, as I beheld the light breaking in the east,
As I bathed on the beach of the Eastern Sea, and again on the beach of the Western Sea,

As I roamed the streets of inland Chicago, whatever streets i have roamed,
Or cities or silent woods, or even amid the sights of war,
wherever I have been I have charged myself with contentment and triumph.

I sing to the last equalities modern or old,
I sing the endless finale's of things,
I say Nature continues, glory continues,
I praise with electric voice
For I do not see one imperfection in the universe,
And I do not see one cause or result lamentable at last in the universe.

O setting sun! Though the time has come,
I still warble under you, if none else does, unmitigated adoration.

Stuff I Write That Could Be Called ... Poetry

Here's some of my new favorites that I've written recently:

10.21.07

Leave of myself
only beauty
only time will leak
it out of me
only the presence
of others
will that beauty be seen
and heard
and felt

Right now my presence is with
ache
and disgust
and malice
and ill thought

the knives of destruction
all pointing at me
their blades like starving
glistening teeth of
hungry wolverine demons
I grit my teeth
bound to my own resolve
I know this too shall pass
along with the slapping self knowledge
that I did this to myself

Perhaps I will remember next time the hedonist is tempted
Perhaps I will be stronger next time
or more centered
or more prepared
or more forgiving

Perhaps I will no longer echo the legacy of
not being enough
and instead
submit to love.

The flash of the knife quickly snaps me back to present
As the demons swirl and dance around me
drawing nearer
They are already inside
rallied awake by wine
and cheesecake
One of them licks my neck
tasting, admiring, yearning
and I give in
a whore to the archetype of the boundary-less victim

Bind me, drag your blade down my thigh
force my legs open wide
open
I am open
and cannot reach out for the security of your embrace
only the ropes will hold me

Silently
secretly
even to myself
I beg the blade deeper
for the tip to disappear underneath dermis
underneath layers of self loathing, but oh!
how deep the knife must go
to find that layer.

And I think of words like "Never" and "When"
and "Will I ever"
as the hateful blackness wraps its arms around me
holding me warmly to its breast
smelling of all of the comforts of
Home.

Rivers of woe pour down my chest
my body getting off on self loathing
Where is the flipswitch, the reset button,
I wonder.

I shovel pills into my mouth
Liver Enzymes
B Vitamins
in hopes of a better day
tomorrow

Nothing has changed much in ten years
still a pill for every problem
A lot has changed, though
Process of progress is simply shrouded now in darkness

I know it is there
waiting for my return
from my kinky bondage trip with self loathing
drugged by food and indulgence,
led on by sadness and dodging self care
pushing and pushing and pushing past the mirror
which has had nothing lovely to say as of late.

I long to love myself.

I am building this concept from scratch
I got some chicken wire
and a few branches off of an apple tree
a few squash seeds
and some straw bales
left over from haunted trails
a tea light
and a teddy bear
some no VOC paint
and a safety flare
a blanket I crocheted myself

and a mirror
that I'd rather break
Thirteen years bad luck is the least of my concern.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

11.7.07

Congestion

My question
to you is this:

Have you any purpose
other than to reintroduce myself
to the physical boundaires of
my self?

My feet long for wet cold river stones
sharp pressing into my soles
stoicly absorbing
Congestion

making space for movement

Go slow now. Keep yourself.
Together with stillness and
silence, movement occurs.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

November 2007



What if

I wasn't needed

yet still adored?



What if

I wasn't adored

yet still missed?



What if

I wasn't missed

yet still remembered fondly?



Where do the butterflies go

when the flowers are gone

when the winter rains

soak the roots

and rot sinks in?

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

11.18.07

For all those sobbing empathics
and those stone-faced indwellers;

I've got a news flash.

It's okay to cry.
A lot.
Whenever you need to.
In whatever way feels safest.

You will not die from crying.

You will not melt.

You will not offend
Me.

It's okay to cry for seemingly no reason
for there is always reason a reasonable mind can't fathom

It's okay to misunderstand youself on a regular basis.

It's okay to grieve the loss of family
even as they surround you
gazing at you
glazing their view
making up facts and associations
to hang on you like the corpse of a Christmas tree
don't forget: you still have a heartbeat
and must make room to
breathe.

Sometimes it is you grieving for them
so that they may remain blissfully ignorant
of their pain.

You get to choose what you grieve, you know.

Some things are worth crying for.

For example: Did you ever know how bad I wanted a dad?
Tall and strong
in mind and heart and soul and arms?
who gives solid hugs with his heart
and listens with consideration
and asks questions about me
and laughs from his belly
and ruffles my hair when he calls me kiddo
who is confidently authentically honest

what a tall bill for someone to fill

I can expect things from other people
all I want
but should I put my heart into it?

She still has a few cracks and crevices
left over from the last time she fell
and broke into a million pieces

There is still peace missing
There are still pieces missing
perhaps they fell under the bed
or rolled away under the dresser
It's all I can do to hold her together
sometimes

she'd love to have her expectations met
she'd love to be loved and to love again
she'd love to be cradled and held and heard and adored and
swung around in circles
by her arms
by her dad
who is laughing
from his belly with her
out loud

It's okay to cry
to grieve the imaginings of a memory.

So if you start to get teary
in front of your family
who has mistaken you for
the Christmas tree
or a piece of furniture

Tell them you're taking care of business
Tell them you're takng care of them
and that there's only so much longer
that this will take place
Tell them they should start taking notes
on grieving
on what it is that you're doing
for them
So they'll have a clue of what to do
when you take off
the ornaments and the tinsel and the lights
and give them back
their grief.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

12.17.07

Penmanship
is another form of

PROPER APPROPRIATE COMPLETED BOXES

that I have been known to cut myself upon

bleeding into myself, I reclaim my blood,
marvel at the open wounds, lick them and step
forward

only by the grace of Spirit
in the form of a friend in a coyote mask
raven feathers dangling, smoking sage burning
melting sharp edges into
gentle streams of soothing laughter
tumbling along with the flow of the rattle

PALPABLE PEACEFUL CONNECTION

This is real, and unbelievable
because if I were to believe that this kind of "real"
were truly my life
my heart would surely break wide open from
inexplicable and tremendous joy

Could I dare to go there again?
I must.
If I wish to live, I must.

It is within the flow of community and connection
that I wish to live
So go there I must.
Armed with courage and faith and trust
that sometimes a broken heart can be a welcomed event.

A broken heart
A heart broken
wide open
by love
can be taught to receive love again
in that moment.

Mirrors for eyes
courage like a tree trunk
with roots in the heart
with branches in the arms
with leaves in the mouth

FLOW IS SOLID

Impenetrably gentle.

Thank you teacher.
Thank you friend.

This is How I Roll 10.23.07

with my fists gripping tightly
to the mossy green of Mama
as I roll over her
she gasps and deepens
as I give her luscious mane a friendly tug
and I gasp and deepen
as she collects me for a hug

like a Japanese Maple in the height of
Autumnal October
I stand in bright bursting beauty
as I deepen into
inside
as I breathe even
deeper
give a sigh
and let go

and what is it exactly
that leaves me then
Not that I need to know
the details of why and when
I think I need to care
my mind stops short and blinks
and that's when my heart
takes over and gives my brain a wink
then she takes in deep sips of sunshine
a breath of fresh air
and realigns the punchline
then she laughingly submits
this idiot to the divine

and I am held so precious
and when I stop this to think
patiently I am waited on
as I take another drink
of intoxicating logic
and addictive demands
occasionally I recall the option
of giving it up to better hands

in reverence and respect
I am decidedly allowed
to make this living thing
much harder than avowed
and when I shake my tiny fist
they simply shake their heads
and grin
Baby girl, you and your knack
for desparate situations
keeps us entertained, but
does it keep you satisfied?
I drop my head into my hands,
give a nod and a sigh

its easier to flip off resentment
and celebrate joyfulness
but I was reminded the other day
that they both have equal importance

so they roughhouse and tumble around
knocking shit down
inside of me
as I trip over my feet
'cuz I can barely see
'cuz I'm hardly here
when I'm distracted that way
'cuz I'm hardly here
when the archetypes are at play

and I roll on like thunder
in a sound-proof cave
it leaks out the opening
in the front of my face

and it's exquisitly beautiful
despite the funny looks
with a wink and nod
from my heart, I shook

up the planet each moment
one person at a time
I have humbly been
blessed as a bridge
of earth and divine

at least that what they told me
and why should I doubt?
I've run out of reasons for
seeking the backdoor out

I love you, I said
I love you, and I hope
you hear me
this time
with your deepest of hearts

I hope you can feel
deep
deep
deep as you can
You are Light
You are Love
It is with you
I stand

My sacred beloved
intimate kin
What a blessing to
have you in this
world I live in