A friend sends me the first draft to his book and I am thrilled. My biggest decision? Do I gobble it up now, or wait and have it printed out in hard copy so I can lounge in my reading chair, drinking tea and indulging myself?
Of course I can take the computer to the chair too, but long standing habit prefers the comfort of tradition and my traditions are still rooted in paper.
I know I can't wait. I have already devoured the first five pages just because I downloaded it. So, I retreat to my corner and settle in.
It is awesome, a delightful look into the way another mind spews out words and I am so honored to be a part of him.
Then those little black thoughts come creeping out and I begin to compare our writing and feel the differences so keenly. Mine seemingly so much less, that perhaps, I think, I should stop now, not even subject the world to it when there are alternatives like this one.
And even as I type these words I know I will not. Will not because, first of all, my friend would not want that to be a result of his newest child, but also because I know we are all different and it is our differences that we must honor. The rest will take care of
themselves.
The more I honor my uniqueness, the clearer the window I am becomes. It is what I am here for, after all. To be me, to allow the light to shine through me and come out on the other side a different reflection. A way of writing and being that might speak to someone else.
Who knows, it might even speak to me.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
Laugh
If someone can make me laugh the moment I read their words? They are good!
I have a very dry sense of humor and while I laugh easily and often, there are certain things that I simply find funnier than others. When something happens that makes me laugh and every time I remember it, I laugh again -- that's funny!
It's too bad people don't send laughter, instead of flowers. It doesn't have to be watered and it is something very personal.
Of course that's the problem. Not everyone finds the same things funny, so it is not as easy to send laughs as daisies. You have to know a little bit about the person to know what makes them laugh, but isn't that the point?
One thoughtful comment that brightens up moments of life with dry chuckles, or great guffaws, or even silly giggles can be extended to last a long time.
Thoughtful and healthy and generally very inexpensive.
I have a very dry sense of humor and while I laugh easily and often, there are certain things that I simply find funnier than others. When something happens that makes me laugh and every time I remember it, I laugh again -- that's funny!
It's too bad people don't send laughter, instead of flowers. It doesn't have to be watered and it is something very personal.
Of course that's the problem. Not everyone finds the same things funny, so it is not as easy to send laughs as daisies. You have to know a little bit about the person to know what makes them laugh, but isn't that the point?
One thoughtful comment that brightens up moments of life with dry chuckles, or great guffaws, or even silly giggles can be extended to last a long time.
Thoughtful and healthy and generally very inexpensive.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Savoring Every Single Moment
I watch Lennon bopping from toy to toy in his three year old eagerness. Like a small sponge he soaks up language and mathematics, science and all the world around him and that is beautiful. He is programmed to learn. I am pleased and proud, but I have things to teach him that are more than this.
Someone once bragged to me that she could do ten things at once. I have worked very diligently to learn how not to do ten things at once. I try to do one thing at once. That is the gift I want to give Lennon.
Thich Nhat Hanh calls it mindfulness. Others might call it focusing, but it is more than reciting a mantra over and over. It is an awareness, a way of loving the moment enough to be immersed in it.
It is more than meditation and yet it is the meditation of life, of living well. It means that when I am with you. I am with you. I am not planning dinner, or thinking of the next paragraph in my story, or trying to second guess what you will say next. I am not trying to impress you. I am listening to you. I am responding to your words and feelings and actions. I am me being with you.
Attention deficit disorder is exacerbated by this idea that we chop ourselves up into little pieces and scatter those pieces around the room. If I am listening to the story and someone starts to scratch and I turn my attention to the scratcher, I miss the story. In rare cases it is good to be aware of other things so that I know if the house is on fire, or the dog is barking because there is a burglar in the yard, but most of the time it is better to just be aware of what I am doing. I have seen children listening to a story and someone interrupts to ask them what they want for dinner, or turns on a television set, or begins talking very loudly to someone else in the room. How do they learn to listen?
I drive the car and that is what I am doing. I am watching and looking and paying attention. I try not to already be where I am going, walking down the aisles of the store looking for groceries until I get there, or having tea with Aunt Jane before I arrive. How much more enjoyable it is to have tea when we are really together, holding our cups, feeling the warmth of the tea, tasting it in reality. And while I am driving, Lennon has the opportunity to be present in his moment. He will ask questions and I will answer, but I draw his attention to the fact that I am driving. We are riding together in a car and have the opportunity to smell the air coming in through the windows, to see the stop lights and the traffic that is coming and going. We can feel the road under us bumping differently here and there as we pass over different types of roadways.
I play with him in the afternoons and I pay attention to what he says, to how he relates to his Lego's or plays ball. I do not talk about tomorrow when I throw the ball. I say, "Here comes the ball. Keep your eye on it." And if he hits it, "I shout hurray! You hit the ball." I try not to distract him by saying, "Oh, here comes the school bus, let's go look." in the middle of a pitch. If I want him to notice the bus, I might wait until he hits the ball, or misses it and say, "I hear something. What do you hear?"
We stop and listen in the moment, experience that moment until it is over.
I want to teach him that life is worth savoring every single moment.
Someone once bragged to me that she could do ten things at once. I have worked very diligently to learn how not to do ten things at once. I try to do one thing at once. That is the gift I want to give Lennon.
Thich Nhat Hanh calls it mindfulness. Others might call it focusing, but it is more than reciting a mantra over and over. It is an awareness, a way of loving the moment enough to be immersed in it.
It is more than meditation and yet it is the meditation of life, of living well. It means that when I am with you. I am with you. I am not planning dinner, or thinking of the next paragraph in my story, or trying to second guess what you will say next. I am not trying to impress you. I am listening to you. I am responding to your words and feelings and actions. I am me being with you.
Attention deficit disorder is exacerbated by this idea that we chop ourselves up into little pieces and scatter those pieces around the room. If I am listening to the story and someone starts to scratch and I turn my attention to the scratcher, I miss the story. In rare cases it is good to be aware of other things so that I know if the house is on fire, or the dog is barking because there is a burglar in the yard, but most of the time it is better to just be aware of what I am doing. I have seen children listening to a story and someone interrupts to ask them what they want for dinner, or turns on a television set, or begins talking very loudly to someone else in the room. How do they learn to listen?
I drive the car and that is what I am doing. I am watching and looking and paying attention. I try not to already be where I am going, walking down the aisles of the store looking for groceries until I get there, or having tea with Aunt Jane before I arrive. How much more enjoyable it is to have tea when we are really together, holding our cups, feeling the warmth of the tea, tasting it in reality. And while I am driving, Lennon has the opportunity to be present in his moment. He will ask questions and I will answer, but I draw his attention to the fact that I am driving. We are riding together in a car and have the opportunity to smell the air coming in through the windows, to see the stop lights and the traffic that is coming and going. We can feel the road under us bumping differently here and there as we pass over different types of roadways.
I play with him in the afternoons and I pay attention to what he says, to how he relates to his Lego's or plays ball. I do not talk about tomorrow when I throw the ball. I say, "Here comes the ball. Keep your eye on it." And if he hits it, "I shout hurray! You hit the ball." I try not to distract him by saying, "Oh, here comes the school bus, let's go look." in the middle of a pitch. If I want him to notice the bus, I might wait until he hits the ball, or misses it and say, "I hear something. What do you hear?"
We stop and listen in the moment, experience that moment until it is over.
I want to teach him that life is worth savoring every single moment.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Is It Worth It?
It is one of those days where I feel like I am peddling up hill.
The scenery is good. The weather is nice. The effort rewarding in the long run.
I am just feeling tired. Wishing I had more money, or could do a little more with what I have.
Looking back I sometimes wonder if I have "done it" right.
Not that I can think of any major decisions I would change.
I have chosen this life, actually worked pretty hard to get here.
The price of it all is worth the cost to me ninety nine percent of the time.
Sometimes I just wonder if the ones who count on me feel the same way.
If I choose to go without, it is my decision,
but what about those who go without because of my choices?
Is my personal freedom and love of writing worth what they don't have?
I hope so, because, at this stage of the game, I can't see me changing much.
The scenery is good. The weather is nice. The effort rewarding in the long run.
I am just feeling tired. Wishing I had more money, or could do a little more with what I have.
Looking back I sometimes wonder if I have "done it" right.
Not that I can think of any major decisions I would change.
I have chosen this life, actually worked pretty hard to get here.
The price of it all is worth the cost to me ninety nine percent of the time.
Sometimes I just wonder if the ones who count on me feel the same way.
If I choose to go without, it is my decision,
but what about those who go without because of my choices?
Is my personal freedom and love of writing worth what they don't have?
I hope so, because, at this stage of the game, I can't see me changing much.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Lose The Qualifiers
I have been color blind all my life when it comes to people. In the beginning because I didn't know that I was supposed to be different from my caretakers and later because my roommates and friends accepted me as I accepted them. Our requirements were stiff. There was no room for those who injured, or took advantage of others. But the day that I look forward to is when I and everyone else in this world, do not look at the television, or people on the street and say, "Our African American President is amazing." or "What an incredible doctor she is for a woman." or "For a working stiff, he is one brilliant guy." or "What a lovely lesbian couple."
These are the qualifiers that still defile the legacy of love and beauty that surrounds all of us. These are the adjectives that only take away from the words.
These are the qualifiers that still defile the legacy of love and beauty that surrounds all of us. These are the adjectives that only take away from the words.
Monday, February 23, 2009
"Not all who wander are lost" J.R.R. Tolkien
I can not remember when I was not tempted by the warm, apple-pie feeling that home was just around the corner. That those lovely words and music I just can't quite make out are almost within earshot. That the homeless man and the beggarly woman are only my children grown up before I got to them.
Dreading the limelight, I find myself on street corners carrying candles in the dark, writing poetry in the moonlight, carrying signs for those who cannot carry their own.
Afraid of snakes and dogs and bears and a million other things that you would not even blink at, I find myself on adventures I cannot turn down, in situations others only dream of.
Loving people so much that sometimes it hurts, I am truly a loner who needs long hours without the company of others, or I cannot actualize the real me.
You think that I am a wanderer, that I am lost in a world where everyone else has found someone and settled down into connubial bliss beside a fire with two dogs and a cat, but I am not. I have a map and at every corner I get it out and consult it. Trying to decide whether to go right or left, up or down, and generally discovering that I must go inward.
My way is different than yours, but it seems to be the only one for me.
Dreading the limelight, I find myself on street corners carrying candles in the dark, writing poetry in the moonlight, carrying signs for those who cannot carry their own.
Afraid of snakes and dogs and bears and a million other things that you would not even blink at, I find myself on adventures I cannot turn down, in situations others only dream of.
Loving people so much that sometimes it hurts, I am truly a loner who needs long hours without the company of others, or I cannot actualize the real me.
You think that I am a wanderer, that I am lost in a world where everyone else has found someone and settled down into connubial bliss beside a fire with two dogs and a cat, but I am not. I have a map and at every corner I get it out and consult it. Trying to decide whether to go right or left, up or down, and generally discovering that I must go inward.
My way is different than yours, but it seems to be the only one for me.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Art
Judging the value of a film or any form of artistic achievement is like judging a cake by its icing unless we go back to its very inception.
The face value of its finished form can be enhanced a million times over by what lay the foundation.
The thought that created it, the writer who wrote that idea down, the writer who forced the idea into a presentable format, the people who were hired to produce its parts and the people who depended on them and the people who created the products that all these people use, as well as the directors and actual producers -- all of these people benefited from something long before it became a finished product.
And then afterwards, the benefits continue to go forward from and for those who show it, and watch it, and learn from it, and carry its idea into other realities.
Art is not a frivolous past time. The seemingly most useless production can have far reaching benefits most of us never even consider.
I take art seriously. It is the voice of a society who cares about something and what that something is, or how much it touches us, defines who we are.
The face value of its finished form can be enhanced a million times over by what lay the foundation.
The thought that created it, the writer who wrote that idea down, the writer who forced the idea into a presentable format, the people who were hired to produce its parts and the people who depended on them and the people who created the products that all these people use, as well as the directors and actual producers -- all of these people benefited from something long before it became a finished product.
And then afterwards, the benefits continue to go forward from and for those who show it, and watch it, and learn from it, and carry its idea into other realities.
Art is not a frivolous past time. The seemingly most useless production can have far reaching benefits most of us never even consider.
I take art seriously. It is the voice of a society who cares about something and what that something is, or how much it touches us, defines who we are.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The Question
Someone writes that they want to know why I am always so happy, am I in love?
Well, we are all in love. Sometimes we just don't know it. The trick is to find it, believe in it, love it first.
Why am I so happy? Perhaps what you really wonder is if I don't feel the pain, see the sorrow, know the sadness?
I do. I have seen so much of it that it threatens to eat me alive, to tear my insides out and carry me away on a river of tears.
I can no longer live this way and so I have choices. One of them is to look for the love, to find alternative ways of dealing with the dark things and so I do. It has taken me a long time to find it, but it is here for the taking. In the midst of unbearable sorrows are people so bold and beautiful that they light the way before me. Underneath the pain is the memory of health and life, beauty and youth, still here, just not as easily accessible as it once was. And the sadness? I think that is just a choice. I choose to look past the sadness at the joy and once I got the hang of it, its not so hard after all.
And the real secret is that when I believe in the joy and the light and the sweetness and the goodness, it reveals its self to me so much more frequently.
As a very wise young man once said, "I gotta do it."
You just gotta do, what you gotta do and I gotta look for the love.
Well, we are all in love. Sometimes we just don't know it. The trick is to find it, believe in it, love it first.
Why am I so happy? Perhaps what you really wonder is if I don't feel the pain, see the sorrow, know the sadness?
I do. I have seen so much of it that it threatens to eat me alive, to tear my insides out and carry me away on a river of tears.
I can no longer live this way and so I have choices. One of them is to look for the love, to find alternative ways of dealing with the dark things and so I do. It has taken me a long time to find it, but it is here for the taking. In the midst of unbearable sorrows are people so bold and beautiful that they light the way before me. Underneath the pain is the memory of health and life, beauty and youth, still here, just not as easily accessible as it once was. And the sadness? I think that is just a choice. I choose to look past the sadness at the joy and once I got the hang of it, its not so hard after all.
And the real secret is that when I believe in the joy and the light and the sweetness and the goodness, it reveals its self to me so much more frequently.
As a very wise young man once said, "I gotta do it."
You just gotta do, what you gotta do and I gotta look for the love.
Friday, February 20, 2009
The Nightmare Things
Days like today are tests of my strength, but I am so fortunate to have good people all around me.
I have learned much today, not the least of which is that I can say things that can be misconstrued by the best and most brilliant of people, but that with understanding and kindness on their part, it is okay. There really is room for all of our opinions in this world. Mine included.
Life goes on, but how it will turn out is still up in the air. Perhaps what I thought was the hardest part is yet to come. Young people who may survive terrible accidents, may have to deal with serious disabilities in the future. Bright, promising young bodies and minds may be looking at weeks and months of rehabilitation and in some cases irreparable brain damage.
The lessons to come are not ones I am looking forward to, but who am I to judge how things go. I have been wrong before. What I thought would be unbearable turned out okay, or even better in some cases.
The nightmare things like the initial pain and horror are over quickly. The hard part is when life becomes steady and slow. Then it comes down to hard work and patience, two things that are difficult for most of us, but especially for the very young.
I have learned much today, not the least of which is that I can say things that can be misconstrued by the best and most brilliant of people, but that with understanding and kindness on their part, it is okay. There really is room for all of our opinions in this world. Mine included.
Life goes on, but how it will turn out is still up in the air. Perhaps what I thought was the hardest part is yet to come. Young people who may survive terrible accidents, may have to deal with serious disabilities in the future. Bright, promising young bodies and minds may be looking at weeks and months of rehabilitation and in some cases irreparable brain damage.
The lessons to come are not ones I am looking forward to, but who am I to judge how things go. I have been wrong before. What I thought would be unbearable turned out okay, or even better in some cases.
The nightmare things like the initial pain and horror are over quickly. The hard part is when life becomes steady and slow. Then it comes down to hard work and patience, two things that are difficult for most of us, but especially for the very young.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Seattle Heart
Love manifests in the heart of one who hears the cries of the hungry, the fear of those who cannot pay their rent. It drives around with a Seattle heart dispensing checks and kind words, rides for the weary and clothes for those who need them.
Not afraid to crack the whip and lay down the law, the gentleness and justice behind both are relayed in sweet honesty and defended with brutal truth.
It is an old Way, a tried and true way, the way of the father whose world is not defined by bloodlines and social mores.
A love strong enough to admit its mistakes joyfully when a prodigal returns to the light.
A love that is strong and true, willing to go the distance and willing to hold fast to those things he believes.
Not afraid to crack the whip and lay down the law, the gentleness and justice behind both are relayed in sweet honesty and defended with brutal truth.
It is an old Way, a tried and true way, the way of the father whose world is not defined by bloodlines and social mores.
A love strong enough to admit its mistakes joyfully when a prodigal returns to the light.
A love that is strong and true, willing to go the distance and willing to hold fast to those things he believes.
Weak Tea
I am you.
I cannot separate myself from you.
You came into my life, caught me up and carried me away, taught me the futility of drinking weak tea, watered down until it had no real taste, tepid and muddied, leaving me wanting.
My tongue prefers to be scalded, to suffer the sting of blisters whose presence remind me of the intensity, the full bodied flavor of you. I want to inhale your fragrance at our peak. I want each tiny scar to stay here where I feel its presence and remember what made me who I am.
I am you and I am you and I am so much more. I am the child of who we were, who we are. Born out of Love's deep light and cast back into the world a changed creature.
No longer able to tolerate weak tea, I grab it by the cupful now, gulping greedily, glowing with the dewy intensity of experience in all its rich and joyous flavor.
I cannot separate myself from you.
You came into my life, caught me up and carried me away, taught me the futility of drinking weak tea, watered down until it had no real taste, tepid and muddied, leaving me wanting.
My tongue prefers to be scalded, to suffer the sting of blisters whose presence remind me of the intensity, the full bodied flavor of you. I want to inhale your fragrance at our peak. I want each tiny scar to stay here where I feel its presence and remember what made me who I am.
I am you and I am you and I am so much more. I am the child of who we were, who we are. Born out of Love's deep light and cast back into the world a changed creature.
No longer able to tolerate weak tea, I grab it by the cupful now, gulping greedily, glowing with the dewy intensity of experience in all its rich and joyous flavor.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Milestones
Milestones appear in everyone's life, but sometimes I just don't recognize the ones in my own life until much later.
This year has been a big one for me. I have done things I have never done before with more zest and joy and love than I even knew was possible until now.
There are so many reasons for this that I hesitate to name any one thing, but the biggest one is that I am learning to surrender to the way and yield to the truth as it manifests in the moment. That takes more courage than I had in the past, but I am also learning to trust my own process more than I did before.
Had I been told the joy and the love that was waiting for me ten years ago, or even three years ago, I would not have believed it.
There is no denying it anymore.
This year has been a big one for me. I have done things I have never done before with more zest and joy and love than I even knew was possible until now.
There are so many reasons for this that I hesitate to name any one thing, but the biggest one is that I am learning to surrender to the way and yield to the truth as it manifests in the moment. That takes more courage than I had in the past, but I am also learning to trust my own process more than I did before.
Had I been told the joy and the love that was waiting for me ten years ago, or even three years ago, I would not have believed it.
There is no denying it anymore.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Imagine Me
Self conscious? Yep, that's me.
I think I was born this way. Always conscious of myself. Always aware of who I am not. It's relatively difficult to be conscious of not me, but I can pull it off.
Who am I? That is much harder to answer.
Close your eyes. Imagine me. Now open them. Here I am!
Exactly what you imagined, right? That's me.
Pull my strings and I can dance like one of Pinocchio's counterparts on Stromboli's stage. Which one? Depends on whose strings you pull. I'm a born and bred pleaser. Why anyone would strive for that I don't know, but here I am, one hundred percent thorough bred pleaser.
Of course I don't have to be that. I can please myself just as easily, or I can please no one at all.
But no, that's not very likely. There's always bound to be somebody who is pleased, isn't there?
Hmmph, maybe that is comforting
And maybe it's not.
I think I was born this way. Always conscious of myself. Always aware of who I am not. It's relatively difficult to be conscious of not me, but I can pull it off.
Who am I? That is much harder to answer.
Close your eyes. Imagine me. Now open them. Here I am!
Exactly what you imagined, right? That's me.
Pull my strings and I can dance like one of Pinocchio's counterparts on Stromboli's stage. Which one? Depends on whose strings you pull. I'm a born and bred pleaser. Why anyone would strive for that I don't know, but here I am, one hundred percent thorough bred pleaser.
Of course I don't have to be that. I can please myself just as easily, or I can please no one at all.
But no, that's not very likely. There's always bound to be somebody who is pleased, isn't there?
Hmmph, maybe that is comforting
And maybe it's not.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Reflections
YOU give ME Soooooo Much>>>
If I were to say to YOU that you are the inspiring Muse that fills my Days and Nights with Mystery And Wonder.>>>> What would YOU think>>> Could YOU actually OWN the LIGHT that YOU ARE~~~ Hmmmmmmmmmmmm> makes me WONDER~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!
How many times have I said this to someone and meant every word, but let someone say it to me and I am at a loss.
My first thought is well, of course I can own my light; but you know I'm pretty sure I really don't. Then I read what is actually said and I become a mushy mass of contradicting feelings. I just cannot imagine that I could be any of these things. Not really. I would like to be. I want to be. Have tried to be, but the actual doing feels foreign to me.
I feel unreal, like maybe I am just perpetrating a ruse on the whole world, including myself. Then I think maybe that is false humility and I am ashamed, but a moment later I flip back the other way.
I suppose that is why I have to live in the moment. I know I can't hold on to anything long enough to do anything else. If in some moment I do these things for you, for us, who are all really one beautiful manifestation of One, then I am so grateful, so graced by the fact that someone sees it and feels it and returns it to me a thousand times over.
I only know that most of the time I am so awed and amazed by this beautiful being we all are that it really shouldn't surprise me. But own it? Boy, I just don't know. That's a tough one for me.
If I were to say to YOU that you are the inspiring Muse that fills my Days and Nights with Mystery And Wonder.>>>> What would YOU think>>> Could YOU actually OWN the LIGHT that YOU ARE~~~ Hmmmmmmmmmmmm> makes me WONDER~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!
How many times have I said this to someone and meant every word, but let someone say it to me and I am at a loss.
My first thought is well, of course I can own my light; but you know I'm pretty sure I really don't. Then I read what is actually said and I become a mushy mass of contradicting feelings. I just cannot imagine that I could be any of these things. Not really. I would like to be. I want to be. Have tried to be, but the actual doing feels foreign to me.
I feel unreal, like maybe I am just perpetrating a ruse on the whole world, including myself. Then I think maybe that is false humility and I am ashamed, but a moment later I flip back the other way.
I suppose that is why I have to live in the moment. I know I can't hold on to anything long enough to do anything else. If in some moment I do these things for you, for us, who are all really one beautiful manifestation of One, then I am so grateful, so graced by the fact that someone sees it and feels it and returns it to me a thousand times over.
I only know that most of the time I am so awed and amazed by this beautiful being we all are that it really shouldn't surprise me. But own it? Boy, I just don't know. That's a tough one for me.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Purple Grins
Fence jumping seems to come naturally to me.
Maybe it is because other people build the darn things and as far as I can see they are always in inconceivably bad places.
Built between a rock and a hard place most of the time, they separate me from those things I feel deeply about, but am not supposed to even know about!
How can a woman live all these years and not know these things? How can a heart exist all these years and not care about these things?
This is my life! It is not some parable with symbolic people representing good and evil. It is about real people with real feelings and real needs and real hungers.
I cannot stand by and watch someone going hungry if I have anything at all to share. I am confident that when the universe leaves me wanting, a helping hand will be somewhere nearby too, but if it isn't I won't worry.
Life is a transitory process and this moment won't last forever.
And so, if I see some grapes hidden behind the bushes on your side, rest assured that you may look up one day and see me standing there with a purple grin, but know also that I invite you over to my side too. After all, what are a few grapes between friends?
Maybe it is because other people build the darn things and as far as I can see they are always in inconceivably bad places.
Built between a rock and a hard place most of the time, they separate me from those things I feel deeply about, but am not supposed to even know about!
How can a woman live all these years and not know these things? How can a heart exist all these years and not care about these things?
This is my life! It is not some parable with symbolic people representing good and evil. It is about real people with real feelings and real needs and real hungers.
I cannot stand by and watch someone going hungry if I have anything at all to share. I am confident that when the universe leaves me wanting, a helping hand will be somewhere nearby too, but if it isn't I won't worry.
Life is a transitory process and this moment won't last forever.
And so, if I see some grapes hidden behind the bushes on your side, rest assured that you may look up one day and see me standing there with a purple grin, but know also that I invite you over to my side too. After all, what are a few grapes between friends?
Friday, February 13, 2009
Is It Worth It?
You say you are in love? I have been in love.
I am still in love, but it is no place for the faint of heart.
Love is the hero’s quest, the ultimate act of bravery.
The only decision I have to make is, is it worth it?
And so far, in every single case,
The answer is yes.
I am still in love, but it is no place for the faint of heart.
Love is the hero’s quest, the ultimate act of bravery.
The only decision I have to make is, is it worth it?
And so far, in every single case,
The answer is yes.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
I Just Want It To Be Simple
Conscious living allows me many opportunities for shedding my outer layers. Leaving me as vulnerable as a naked baby on a sunny beach. Exposing me to light and breath and spirit so intense than I could never hope to endure on my own. Forcing me to reach out and accept my oneness, to shed any false notions that I am alone or in charge of everything around me.
Carried in and out on tides of feelings I do not understand, I try on so many different faces. Each one a leap of faith that this is what I am supposed to do. Each one leaving its profound mark upon me, some to last forever. Some for only a moment. Some to light up my spirit so brightly that I can see far beyond where I saw yesterday. Others leaving an ache that seems will never heal, a void that catches all the tears and stores them as water colors that hang on the walls along this way.
Once I thought there was beginning, climax and end, all neatly laid out and aligned like a good novel, but I can’t see that anymore. It is all beginning, all ending, all wrapped up in a passion that overlaps in so many different places and ways that it is beyond my comprehension.
I just want it to be simple. That is all I have ever wanted and I have the feeling that it is. I just can’t see the simplicity. It lies just beyond my vision, beyond my understanding. I move beyond faith because I know.
I know. I KNOW. I have experienced and I Know, but I can’t know all the time and I can’t draw pictures of it, or find words for it, so here I am. Vulnerable and exposed, left loving and aching in this walk along the way.
Carried in and out on tides of feelings I do not understand, I try on so many different faces. Each one a leap of faith that this is what I am supposed to do. Each one leaving its profound mark upon me, some to last forever. Some for only a moment. Some to light up my spirit so brightly that I can see far beyond where I saw yesterday. Others leaving an ache that seems will never heal, a void that catches all the tears and stores them as water colors that hang on the walls along this way.
Once I thought there was beginning, climax and end, all neatly laid out and aligned like a good novel, but I can’t see that anymore. It is all beginning, all ending, all wrapped up in a passion that overlaps in so many different places and ways that it is beyond my comprehension.
I just want it to be simple. That is all I have ever wanted and I have the feeling that it is. I just can’t see the simplicity. It lies just beyond my vision, beyond my understanding. I move beyond faith because I know.
I know. I KNOW. I have experienced and I Know, but I can’t know all the time and I can’t draw pictures of it, or find words for it, so here I am. Vulnerable and exposed, left loving and aching in this walk along the way.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Oodles Of Love
Oh god do I hate the business end of doing business! I am perfectly capable of dealing with it, but it is like (I do not have any comparison that seems worthy of the loathing I feel for it.)
On the other hand, I have absolutely no objection to the money at all. I have very definite ideas of how to spend every dime I get and then some!
Tonight I finally gathered up my tax stuff and got it all boxed up to mail back to Illinois. I am such a disaster at this type of thing, that I dare not change tax people. They have kept my lazy rear end out of trouble for ten years now, by compensating for what I just cannot bring myself to do.
I finished my Valentine’s for my children and tomorrow I will go to the post office and mail it all. It’s probably a little late to mail the Valentines, but hey, these are my children, they know their mother. The love is always here, the cards are often late. Nothing but sweet wishes and oodles of love anyway, no money in these cards.
Life is simple and sweet. I even spent the afternoon throwing a football around at the park! What more could I ask for!
On the other hand, I have absolutely no objection to the money at all. I have very definite ideas of how to spend every dime I get and then some!
Tonight I finally gathered up my tax stuff and got it all boxed up to mail back to Illinois. I am such a disaster at this type of thing, that I dare not change tax people. They have kept my lazy rear end out of trouble for ten years now, by compensating for what I just cannot bring myself to do.
I finished my Valentine’s for my children and tomorrow I will go to the post office and mail it all. It’s probably a little late to mail the Valentines, but hey, these are my children, they know their mother. The love is always here, the cards are often late. Nothing but sweet wishes and oodles of love anyway, no money in these cards.
Life is simple and sweet. I even spent the afternoon throwing a football around at the park! What more could I ask for!
What I Think
Here we all are, a bunch of cosmic children all sitting around building with our blocks, having fun, trying to manifest our dreams the best we can with what we have and feeling pretty good about it.
Then along comes the bully, the kid who feels disenfranchised by both the universe and everyone in it and no matter how much we try to include him, he walks around, kicking our blocks down and making fun of us.
I just want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him! He makes me say things I don't mean like, "I hate people like that!" when I really mean I hate what they do. Of course the truth is, he doesn't make me do anything. I do it all on my own, because I am hurt too.
It hurts my feelings when people tear down what I do. I cry and try to pretend I don't care and then I go on, but when he hurts my friends, those other block builders out there, what can I do? Crying for them certainly won't make it any better and no matter what I say, their feelings are already hurt, so it just makes me angrier, in a way, it just hurts me more, because I can't do your hurting for you. You wouldn't let me and I really don't want to. My world is painful enough as it is.
Whoever hurt the bully, hurts us all. That's how it is, how its always been, but it doesn't change how it feels to me.
Then along comes the bully, the kid who feels disenfranchised by both the universe and everyone in it and no matter how much we try to include him, he walks around, kicking our blocks down and making fun of us.
I just want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him! He makes me say things I don't mean like, "I hate people like that!" when I really mean I hate what they do. Of course the truth is, he doesn't make me do anything. I do it all on my own, because I am hurt too.
It hurts my feelings when people tear down what I do. I cry and try to pretend I don't care and then I go on, but when he hurts my friends, those other block builders out there, what can I do? Crying for them certainly won't make it any better and no matter what I say, their feelings are already hurt, so it just makes me angrier, in a way, it just hurts me more, because I can't do your hurting for you. You wouldn't let me and I really don't want to. My world is painful enough as it is.
Whoever hurt the bully, hurts us all. That's how it is, how its always been, but it doesn't change how it feels to me.
Monday, February 9, 2009
I Really Don't Believe It
Muses come and muses go, but I really don’t believe that when I am writing under the influence of one of these godly creatures.
My muse dominates every tiny nuance of my life. Upon awakening, my first thoughts turn inward, reach down and ruffle its lovely hair, bring it up to the surface and allow it to fill me with all sorts of thoughts.
Its sweet face, beautiful eyes, speech patterns, even its manner of walking or sleeping bring life to a two dimensional character. Soon I am so attached to that character that I cannot wait to get back to the story.
I start out writing consciously and if I am on a roll, slip into the semi conscious and enjoy the ride. There is always time later to edit and clean up details and inconsistencies. The trick is to keep at it, not let it slide when my interest cools, because it will.
I cannot live on the edge of ecstatic forever. Eventually, I must come back to the work a day world for periods of time and if I quit writing then, the story gets lost, so I strive to keep my muse present in whatever ways I can. Sometimes it is easy. Sometimes I need to be fed like a newborn baby, every few hours. Whatever it takes….
And, like a friend says, “It is in the sacred ashes of the muse that is found the fertile ground upon which all creation and creativity arise.”
My muse dominates every tiny nuance of my life. Upon awakening, my first thoughts turn inward, reach down and ruffle its lovely hair, bring it up to the surface and allow it to fill me with all sorts of thoughts.
Its sweet face, beautiful eyes, speech patterns, even its manner of walking or sleeping bring life to a two dimensional character. Soon I am so attached to that character that I cannot wait to get back to the story.
I start out writing consciously and if I am on a roll, slip into the semi conscious and enjoy the ride. There is always time later to edit and clean up details and inconsistencies. The trick is to keep at it, not let it slide when my interest cools, because it will.
I cannot live on the edge of ecstatic forever. Eventually, I must come back to the work a day world for periods of time and if I quit writing then, the story gets lost, so I strive to keep my muse present in whatever ways I can. Sometimes it is easy. Sometimes I need to be fed like a newborn baby, every few hours. Whatever it takes….
And, like a friend says, “It is in the sacred ashes of the muse that is found the fertile ground upon which all creation and creativity arise.”
The Writer's Quest
The muse immolates himself. Like a moth flying too close to the flame, he singes his wings and falls upward into the light, defying all the laws and plummeting into a beautiful fiery death.
Believing that all is forever lost, the writer falls from grace and descends into the darkness. A writer without a muse does not thrive.
Muses are, by their very nature, reincarnated in the most unlikely times and places.
It is the writer’s quest to find the muse, lift him up and hold him out to the light so that the sacred trust between thought and creativity is consummated and once more reborn.
Believing that all is forever lost, the writer falls from grace and descends into the darkness. A writer without a muse does not thrive.
Muses are, by their very nature, reincarnated in the most unlikely times and places.
It is the writer’s quest to find the muse, lift him up and hold him out to the light so that the sacred trust between thought and creativity is consummated and once more reborn.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
The Joy Of Emptiness
You want to have adventures? You want to be a free spirit -- like me?
I am no free spirit. I have no choice. I have never felt I had a choice.
Eventually I always give away what I love most,
I live empty because the chains that bind me are tight.
Understand the pain and the joy of emptiness, leaving room for the light,
But also room for the ache.
Because I love you, I set you free,
Free to be you in all your extraordinary beauty
And your freedom graces my life.
Your peace is my peace. Your joy my joy. Your heart my heart.
Bless me by living well.
I am no free spirit. I have no choice. I have never felt I had a choice.
Eventually I always give away what I love most,
I live empty because the chains that bind me are tight.
Understand the pain and the joy of emptiness, leaving room for the light,
But also room for the ache.
Because I love you, I set you free,
Free to be you in all your extraordinary beauty
And your freedom graces my life.
Your peace is my peace. Your joy my joy. Your heart my heart.
Bless me by living well.
Friday, February 6, 2009
My Muse
Angelic visage with laughing eyes, gaze my way but for a moment and I am overflowing with poetry, sprinkled with thoughts like dust motes sparkling in a library of lovely tomes.
My beautiful Muse, so young and new, if you but knew how the words align themselves with the story just because you smile. How the lines link themselves together in the mist of your being.
You would be amazed
My beautiful Muse, so young and new, if you but knew how the words align themselves with the story just because you smile. How the lines link themselves together in the mist of your being.
You would be amazed
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Relaxing
Today I received an email with one of those quizzes that asks things like how do you relax. It occurs to me that most of what I do is relaxing anymore.
One of my favorite things to do is write. My imagination is overflowing and writing helps empty it out at the same time it fills me up. I also like to read and I have been known to have three books going at once. One in the bedroom for when I am ready to go to sleep. One in the bathroom, well for obvious reasons, and one in the living room that travels with me in my purse, or pocket and keeps me entertained whenever the need arises.
I love playing with Lennon. Yesterday we saw a big bird standing in the backyard right next to the drop off down the mountain. At first I thought it was a falcon, or hawk, but it turned out to be a juvenile harrier, a pretty good sized bird. Good thing I had a book to look it up in! He likes to watch the birds too and it is his job to pour the seed into the bird plate. I hold him up and he dumps it in. He can identify almost as many as I can. We had a bunch of grackles savaging the feeder yesterday, and I made the mistake of saying, "Look at all those dirty birds peeing and pooping all over everything." Today that is exactly what he told his mother. "Yesterday, all the dirty birds were peeing and pooping all over everything!" Reminds me to pay close attention to everything I say and do.
Chauncey and I sat out on the swing this afternoon and just basked in this beautiful winter weather. The clouds drifting through the mountain gorges looked like giant dragons creeping along. I can see where the old myths and folk tales came from.
I have no money. I cannot afford to really go anywhere, or do anything right now, but I cannot remember when I was happier, or more content.
One of my favorite things to do is write. My imagination is overflowing and writing helps empty it out at the same time it fills me up. I also like to read and I have been known to have three books going at once. One in the bedroom for when I am ready to go to sleep. One in the bathroom, well for obvious reasons, and one in the living room that travels with me in my purse, or pocket and keeps me entertained whenever the need arises.
I love playing with Lennon. Yesterday we saw a big bird standing in the backyard right next to the drop off down the mountain. At first I thought it was a falcon, or hawk, but it turned out to be a juvenile harrier, a pretty good sized bird. Good thing I had a book to look it up in! He likes to watch the birds too and it is his job to pour the seed into the bird plate. I hold him up and he dumps it in. He can identify almost as many as I can. We had a bunch of grackles savaging the feeder yesterday, and I made the mistake of saying, "Look at all those dirty birds peeing and pooping all over everything." Today that is exactly what he told his mother. "Yesterday, all the dirty birds were peeing and pooping all over everything!" Reminds me to pay close attention to everything I say and do.
Chauncey and I sat out on the swing this afternoon and just basked in this beautiful winter weather. The clouds drifting through the mountain gorges looked like giant dragons creeping along. I can see where the old myths and folk tales came from.
I have no money. I cannot afford to really go anywhere, or do anything right now, but I cannot remember when I was happier, or more content.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Red Faced And Re-writing
I made a very conscious decision to lighten up this year. There are very good reasons for this that I won't go into right now, but it is time I live my life as if this is the only moment. Am I ever struggling to do it!
It is hard for me to be spontaneous. I have spent so much of my life trying to do and be the correct person for my position of the moment and whether that was a corporate wife, or mother of a gifted child, or special child, or teacher, or musician, or newsletter editor, or member of alternative groups like centering prayer, or meditation, or dream groups, or bicycling, even some acting -- all across the board I tortured myself with guilt and fear that I might do it wrong.
Wrong! That horrible, terrible, lousy thing that I feared more than anything in the world. I might not be perfect. Well, I am perfectly not perfect! I grew up with people who used one hand to nail the other to the cross and then hung there in smug satisfaction that they were suffering for all the right reasons. I didn't do much better in many instances, but I did try. I still try and each moment I get a little bit better at it. It is just I have had so far to go. Still have quite a ways to go.
Now I try to act a little more impulsively, a little more intuitively, a little less like the world will end if I screw up, because no matter how much my ego believes it might -- it won't. So, as you might guess, I make a lot more mistakes, or maybe they really aren't mistakes, maybe they are just lower down on the learning curve than I like to think of myself being.
I still find myself replaying what I have done, like bad reruns that keep me awake when I should be dreaming of the beautiful fantasies that have graced my life lately. I still find myself red-faced and re-writing, in my head, email I have sent because I might have written it better, or better yet not sent it at all.
But I am getting better. Very slowly. My lessons are long ones, because my head always gets in the way, but still I am better. So, I apologize to everyone I have annoyed with my obsequious behaviors and assure you that they will probably continue on for quite some time. It is just such a part of who I am that it seeps out and takes on a life of its own when I am trying to be spontaneous.
What a paradox this year is going to be.
It is hard for me to be spontaneous. I have spent so much of my life trying to do and be the correct person for my position of the moment and whether that was a corporate wife, or mother of a gifted child, or special child, or teacher, or musician, or newsletter editor, or member of alternative groups like centering prayer, or meditation, or dream groups, or bicycling, even some acting -- all across the board I tortured myself with guilt and fear that I might do it wrong.
Wrong! That horrible, terrible, lousy thing that I feared more than anything in the world. I might not be perfect. Well, I am perfectly not perfect! I grew up with people who used one hand to nail the other to the cross and then hung there in smug satisfaction that they were suffering for all the right reasons. I didn't do much better in many instances, but I did try. I still try and each moment I get a little bit better at it. It is just I have had so far to go. Still have quite a ways to go.
Now I try to act a little more impulsively, a little more intuitively, a little less like the world will end if I screw up, because no matter how much my ego believes it might -- it won't. So, as you might guess, I make a lot more mistakes, or maybe they really aren't mistakes, maybe they are just lower down on the learning curve than I like to think of myself being.
I still find myself replaying what I have done, like bad reruns that keep me awake when I should be dreaming of the beautiful fantasies that have graced my life lately. I still find myself red-faced and re-writing, in my head, email I have sent because I might have written it better, or better yet not sent it at all.
But I am getting better. Very slowly. My lessons are long ones, because my head always gets in the way, but still I am better. So, I apologize to everyone I have annoyed with my obsequious behaviors and assure you that they will probably continue on for quite some time. It is just such a part of who I am that it seeps out and takes on a life of its own when I am trying to be spontaneous.
What a paradox this year is going to be.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
There Was An Old Woman
There are so many things I would like to share and so few people I can share them with. After all, I am no longer a giddy fourteen year old, walking home with her friend and giggling over the newest screen idol. I am supposed to be a mature adult, the matriarch of my family, with both feet solidly planted and a mind that is settled and set.
But I have a writer's mind and a poet's nature and what butters my bread, keeps my life jiggling like a bowl full of jello in a wind storm. I am no more sure of myself in some ways than I was at twelve and yet, I am so much more passionate, and entrenched so much more deeply in this living than I ever was before..
You may stand firm on the deck of a sailing ship, but I am up here fluttering in the sails, soaking in the sunlight, quivering in the mist. The leaning and the listing frightens me, but I cannot go to port. I am not ready to pull into some sort of dry dock, tuck up my belongings and be put away in the dark, dank confines of a safe house. Neither do I want to find myself broken upon the rocks, exposed to the ridicule and scorn of an intolerant world.
Come, play with me, just pretend we are six. It's as innocent now as it was. I'll be the old woman in the shoe and you can be whoever you like.
But I have a writer's mind and a poet's nature and what butters my bread, keeps my life jiggling like a bowl full of jello in a wind storm. I am no more sure of myself in some ways than I was at twelve and yet, I am so much more passionate, and entrenched so much more deeply in this living than I ever was before..
You may stand firm on the deck of a sailing ship, but I am up here fluttering in the sails, soaking in the sunlight, quivering in the mist. The leaning and the listing frightens me, but I cannot go to port. I am not ready to pull into some sort of dry dock, tuck up my belongings and be put away in the dark, dank confines of a safe house. Neither do I want to find myself broken upon the rocks, exposed to the ridicule and scorn of an intolerant world.
Come, play with me, just pretend we are six. It's as innocent now as it was. I'll be the old woman in the shoe and you can be whoever you like.
Monday, February 2, 2009
The Magic Is In The Details
Magic lies in the details. Pay attention to the little things and the big ones begin to change in amazing ways.
Just look at the big screen, lighting turns a healthy man into one of sickly gray, fear appears where none was before. Then, with the flick of a few switches, that man is transformed into one of porcelain beauty, Michelangelo's David. Or perhaps, with the flick of another, he gives the impression of almost being a child, robust and pink and glowing with health.
Nothing really changed except the light.
It is the way I see things, that influence my thoughts. Look for the laughter, the music, the joy and it is here, always here for the taking. It works the other way too and often that seems like an easier road to take in the beginning. Light can be frightening, it exposes the truth in ways I may not be ready to accept. Shadows offer places to hide, places to escape, but the truth will ultimately appear anyway, so why prolong the agony?
Taking a deep breath and letting it out gently, I take the first tentative steps into the light.
Just look at the big screen, lighting turns a healthy man into one of sickly gray, fear appears where none was before. Then, with the flick of a few switches, that man is transformed into one of porcelain beauty, Michelangelo's David. Or perhaps, with the flick of another, he gives the impression of almost being a child, robust and pink and glowing with health.
Nothing really changed except the light.
It is the way I see things, that influence my thoughts. Look for the laughter, the music, the joy and it is here, always here for the taking. It works the other way too and often that seems like an easier road to take in the beginning. Light can be frightening, it exposes the truth in ways I may not be ready to accept. Shadows offer places to hide, places to escape, but the truth will ultimately appear anyway, so why prolong the agony?
Taking a deep breath and letting it out gently, I take the first tentative steps into the light.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
The World Is Not A Confessional
I am as much a mystery to myself as many other people are to me.
I find myself fascinated by things that might surprise you if you knew, but then you might surprise me too. We will probably never know these things, because I cannot imagine sharing them.
The world is not a confessional. In fact it is quite the opposite. It is a dangerous place for anyone who walks a slightly different path. There are those who cannot bear to have anyone around who is different. I'm not sure why. I suppose it might go back to primal things, like odd creatures being a liability to the herd or something.
I'm not that primal. I am complicated and have so many layers that I would never condemn another for theirs. In fact, I am probably guilty of wanting them to have some, so I don't feel so alone.
The only thing I know for certain is that within this mystery is a whole lot of loving too and that is what draws me closer to the flame. The light and the heat are finally beyond ignoring.
I find myself fascinated by things that might surprise you if you knew, but then you might surprise me too. We will probably never know these things, because I cannot imagine sharing them.
The world is not a confessional. In fact it is quite the opposite. It is a dangerous place for anyone who walks a slightly different path. There are those who cannot bear to have anyone around who is different. I'm not sure why. I suppose it might go back to primal things, like odd creatures being a liability to the herd or something.
I'm not that primal. I am complicated and have so many layers that I would never condemn another for theirs. In fact, I am probably guilty of wanting them to have some, so I don't feel so alone.
The only thing I know for certain is that within this mystery is a whole lot of loving too and that is what draws me closer to the flame. The light and the heat are finally beyond ignoring.
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