February 2012
13 posts
That's a relief.
Dim lights
a candle
the whole space is changed
calmer
more open
somehow
right here
liking it
and
the guitar treats me to a small jam,
rusty,
but a gentle
clay pigeons
played twice
sweet
relaxed chords.
Singing lightly.
Let me say nothing esoteric
nothing beyond the heat of the keyboard
under the heels of my hands
the tip of my tongue resting between my teeth
lips closed
...
In fact, I do not even have to say.
I see that he is, also, in fact, part of this me, to which I can turn and say, ‘I know what the truth is.’ In fact, I do not even have to say.
P to the M to the muthufuckin S.
Even to be away from you,
in all stillness,
is to be with you. Completely.
I am nothing but you
the fire of your madness
burning and seething in my veins.
Yes, you. I hate to say it, but it must be you, too.
The terror of a rat
or some story attached to it;
and you, brewing beer while the rats run wild in here. Brewing beer on my back porch, you prick.
You’re all pricks.
Only, I...
Valentine's Eve
THANK YOU
for being my non-traditional and perfect boyfriend
the spark that ignites my art and my poems
the eye looking at me out from under ginger fringe
the receiver of my romantic channel
as I am the receiver of that which comes from you
romantic
fulfilling
dancing
and gone again
and always here.
I am so very grateful and love that you are in my life.
I might have to add something...
I feel he will be glad to share it.
I know the goodness of life
but
when it comes down to it
even conversations and words about it
don’t stick around,
leaving no trace
~
I ripped that last part off from Scott
but
I feel
he will be glad
to share it.
Groundwire
I live for the doodle,
my boyfriend
a sunny day like today.
I bless the heaviness in the body,
and I thank it and the lap of
life that has me lie in it.
The body is my own groundwire ~
Heaviness for the sake of awakening,
like a nursery,
so cared for.
Refrigerator filled with food.
Type Z
I mighta been Type A. My dad is, for sure, and he raised me. The remnants are the parts of my personality - that I will not deny - that want things just how I want them and that’s just how it is. But as far as getting things done, being on task, organized, focused in that way …
… I realized today, I am no longer (if I ever was) Type A. I am now Type Z.
It fits perfectly with...
And I love how my pajamas smell like his lotion or hair jell or cologne or whatever the heck it is. Smells like watermelon Jolly Ranchers. And, just like that, a poem is born.
if there's chewed up apple in there
I might always love him,
wistfully writing about watching him eat an apple
those teeth, the lips, thin and so familiar
and wondering,
do you even like apples? And may I please share one with you?
May I try to kiss you while you’re chewing, probably talking too,
a little bit of white apple juice and me just wanting
to crush my mouth on yours? —
I don’t care if...
Lifted from my secret blog
My sweet angel
I miss you
and still I feel so sweet
not empty without you, except
that place where you and only you fill me
and he says
you cannot share your waking state with anyone in this unique way in which it is experienced inside this body; and yet, beyond this, you meet.
you do not say these words to me, but every single word you say to me is awake
alive
me
and you
it is us
...
In order to stop trying, I have to be willing to ride out the fear without acting out of an attempt to soothe it. Patience. Wait. Keep quiet. You are safe. Safer than safe.
January 2012
28 posts
I may cry out for help
and moments later forget that I’d even asked,
as the word and the moment can’t stick around.
Never fear: I will cry out again.
Psalm 23
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me...
your utterly compassionate light
You set me on fire.
And when I say you, it is because I cannot stop writing. The words and the water, like rivers, like rapids, like the green green moss on the sides of the rocks and light, like gold coins like the rivers above Deadwood, South Dakota. Your eyes. Burn through me and burn through me again. Whatever is left of me I throw into your light your utterly compassionate light flames so...
The first Rumi poem I ever heard
The Question by Rumi (translated by Coleman Barks) One dervish to another. What was your vision of God’s presence? I haven’t seen anything. But for the sake of conversation, I’ll tell you a story. God’s presence is there in front of me, a fire on the left, a lovely stream on the right. One group walks toward the fire, into the fire, another toward the sweet flowing water....
this resting
It isn’t even I that has to rest.
It is that this body is resting.
Being my own authority I can find nothing to do But warm up my tea
Will I get out of bed? Will I eat? Will I straighten my apartment? Take a hike? Have an Artist Date?
My shoulder is really sore today. Will I go get my xray?
I’m hungry. I’ve been awake for hours, and also hungry.
But so tired. Hard to get going when so exhausted.
Nothing, no thought, moves me along.
the day cannot be found
the date
the name of it
january 26
and i feel jealous every time i see a woman in one of neal casal’s photos
and i relish this!
life, right then, is presenting itself as a wave in the belly of this body and a thought of i-wish-i-was-that-girl or whatever it is (wow, to look now, might actually cancel this, making this whole deal moot but still! how...
I can’t wait to kiss him again. He is my favorite kisser. And, after all these years, it has nothing to do with kissing.
If I ever insist on how it is, in some lofty way, beyond a taste in my mouth or the cold-feeling tip of my nose,
walk away, as I would do from you if I ever heard the same.
Everything is worth looking into
and also nothing need be
appearing
shining
disappearing
Mike
a basket of laundry in front of me only appearing as that when I dig for the words: a basket of laundry.
I’m seeing everything
and seeing nothing
-
we talk about it
typed out on Facebook one life
here later before nothing
.
We talk about it openly or we don’t
and it...
blessed sex flower bee
it’s like the need not to get so high …
highness is seen, and then, by what …
and then simply right very here, awake, alert, super super simply
yes
.
i feel i get a little swept away in the byproduct, but who wouldn’t?
who . does ?
no one and nothing.
it’s crazy
.
and not
at all.
swallow, first, what is in your mouth.
~ i don’t know...
From an email to Bart.
sweet spaces unknown jumping out of the plane again and again hee hee hee
It seems the light is shining brightly on so many little layers. Looking good. Self-protection. The illusion of decision-making. Most of the time, I’m very clear. This time, I wasn’t. I still feel an impulse to see Scott, but it comes through like a wave. Like a preference, still, but not one that is enough to drive me to drive to Dallas, etc.
This is a time for rest.
The inquiry is...
Sometimes it’s really stressful. I hung this picture on the wall, and it looks so soothing from my bed. I’m glad it’s there. It’s the Pacific, and it looks full on from here. That vantage soothes me. I don’t necessarily want to be there. I want to be soothed. To be relaxed. Unexpected. Not responsible.
As I seem to be this afternoon.
I finally got in bed....
I really have no idea.
It seems like these lessons are absolute. But I can also sense the … not landability of them. I’m not really sure. They seem to be pointing to something that is … dare I use the word … true? I don’t think I can use that word.
But it is with confidence and conviction that I hear that I don’t need to worry. At least, I don’t have to think about it.
I...
all the time what's going on
“We discover God all the time is what’s going on. He’s so Gentle He is Invisible so we have to learn to become gentler all the time until we pick up His Presence thru the feelings you were speaking of…”
from a conversation with a friend. a comment on fb.
A nap room
I have been very pushy and overall uneasy today.
Woke up feeling crappy and unhappy, or something. Fearful. Lost Took something to get going. Got to Dr. Ron’s and it really, really hurt. I got in my car and cried and the air was so nice and warm and sunny and the windows of the car were open and I edged upon sleep as I rested there, I had to rest there. Always good to cry, I feel. But,...
Way Out (or Hey I Found My Post!)
Thank you, then, I said. I am looking for nothing but now.
He dangles before me like a reality. I don’t look too closely to see. An image appearing to what?
He hangs out there in front of me, as if one foot away, or maybe a few yards. Maybe even a hundred. Or fifty. Somewhere on the same field? I don’t know. But out there.
Way out.
And also not. Also right here right here right here....
The post I wrote is gone now.
What more is there to say, then?
Realizations, too, come and go. As do the questions, as Scott reminded us in his book today, if, in fact today is January 9, but I don’t really know.
And He, not Scott, like a football player, like a carrot, fifty yards away but sometimes right. I don’t know what this is.
Even to say fingers hitting a keyboard is to...
p.s.
and the appendix ordeal.
that was deep.
xx
2011 recap ~ a little quickie
Ten minutes to midnight in California. Two years ago at midnight in California on NYE, I wrote a letter to the Cardinals, the MFCs, and tonight, Neal Casal is playing just right down the street with CRB, and here I am, in bed, jammies on, hearing Unmani and wanting to throw a little list up here on the screen. Why not?
2011
the eleven
the year that the doodle came into my life
* Scott K *
got...
December 2011
15 posts
maybe it is a little masterbatory
Maybe it is a little masterbatory, but I’ve never said I’m not a fan of a little self-love. As a writer, or an artist of any kind, how can it not be? Playing with ourselves, seeing our words and pictures on paper and screens, sharing them all-around? I guess that stretches from masturbation to … potential orgy? … when we’re sharing like this. Spreading my writing all...
a little more/here's some more
I am miserable
on fire
I cannot take this mood
or any other mood
there are a million of them a day.
A million point five today.
Maybe.
I humiliate myself
totally uncontrolled by anything.
Why would I think that would be me,
while I don’t feel this typing is me?
Misery.
Heartache.
Please please please don’t give me any god blessed lip service. Please.
My head hurts and I...
mermaid
my devotion to you
takes me to the
depths of my
imagined solitary
ocean,
brings me up for
air & dry sunlight …
… and eventually
shows me that,
in fact, I can
breathe under
water.
* * *
om shanti shanti
my friends ask me, “don’t you want to be in a relationship?” and they mean a different one than the one i have now.
the man i’m involved with is not around all the time, and i’ve been feeling very much longing for him during this time that i’ve been sick, and he’s not been here, is off dealing with his own things.
i’ve said that i’m...
first night of channukah blessing
there is a man who has my attention, and, if i’m being honest, my heart. i don’t question this honesty when i’m feeling wide open. when i’m feeling i oughtn’t, this honesty is relief. is freedom.
highness is also observed.
this afternoon i revived after a morning of so much sadness, lonely heart-broken kind of feelings. and this evening, still, i feel …...
but let the guilt go
Why should we grieve that we have been sleeping? It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been unconscious. We’re groggy, but let the guilt go. Feel the motions of the tenderness around you, The buoyancy. ~Rumi
And maybe that's free.
It reminds me a little bit of when I had shingles. Should I be in my bed? Should I be walking around? Poof. I see no should. A little puff helps express it and relax it.
I’m free.
The body demands rest. The types of ache in the belly are unfamiliar, but they are relatively mild. I get scared. Every time there’s nausea. But the little punches of pain haven’t returned since the...