Saturday, December 30, 2006

He Was Love Once (a song)

He was an infant once,
full of love and innocence.
was he cared for well?
only time would tell.

He was a small boy once,
full of motion and laughter,
or was the light already
far gone by then?

Did his mother ever hold him close,
and tell him he mattered most,
that we are all God's children
and we should love each other well?

Was his father there,
how broken was the heir
by the time he turned a man,
by the time he took her hand?

What made him cry,
did he ever ask why,
what doubts kept him awake,
were there ghosts he couldn't shake?

All I know is the world's gone wild,
when we can kill this child,
because he was love once,
he was once innocence.

Is it strange that I cry tears for
this man who should be feared,
who hated all so well?
time will never tell.

But really, it's a matter of love,
something he never had enough of,
and now I hope he can see from where he is
he was love once.

He was love once.

Friday, December 29, 2006

I Will Be With You (a song)

When you get here
I will smile and say
where have you been
and it's ok

And when you get here
I'll feel my heart
like wings flying south
to the warmest part

The longest journey
you had to take
was one alone
so you could wake

to all there is
to all you are
to shake the dust
from all your stars.

the long way to love
the long road to love
often finds us looking for signs
the shorter path might be faster
but we lose the scenic road we could find

I am with you
on your journey
and you're with me on mine
we carry with us
stained forever,
the marks of passion
which are no crime

I watch you wander,
from far away
and wish the light
to shine your way
I can not help you
except to Be
a stone-set part of your memory

So if you're walking
on that road
and you can't bear
the heavy load
reach inside, where I remain
and feel the strength--love that stains

I will be with you
I will be with you
and you will be with me
I will be with you
I will be with you
as we sail with precious cargo
out to sea.

When you get here
I will smile and say
where have you been
and it's ok

And when you get here
I'll feel my heart
like wings flying south
to the warmest part

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Washing Dishes

I gather them. The ones waaaay over there, deposited at the far side of the kitchen landscape by a slightly lazy diner, the ones which have wanderered away to another country entirely . . .and the ones right here next to, or in, the sink.

I reach for the faucet handle and pull upwards, angling it just so, to the place I know will yield the perfect temperature. Not so hot my hands will burn, but hotter perhaps, than for hand-washing. I know for the sake of the planet, I should not run the water the entire time, but I love the way it feels on my skin, the way it makes the suds sudsier, and the way the steam wafts up to my face. Meh, I don't have a dishwasher, so maybe it's a, ahem, wash as far as water-wasting. I never water my lawn, so I jauntily assert: Let the Water Run!

I so completely do not understand people who wear gloves to wash dishes. Why do it if not to feel the suds and water caress your skin? Ok, ok, I suppose you need to get the dishes washed. I'll give you that. But why deprive yourself of a treat for the senses, if your senses will open enough to receive the gift?

Washing dishes, for those of us who don't have a dishwasher, is a daily or many-times-a-day task. For a short time, I wanted a dishwasher, then finally decided that having one not only wouldn't add to my life, it would subtract from it. I'd lose a satisfying pleasure, and God knows most of us need more pleasures, especially sensory ones. On with the ceremony . . .

Sponges: I like fresh sponges, the kind with the scrubby part on one side, and the sponge part on the other. That way, if you have been a little neglectful of your dish duties, and some food has become a little stuck, you can flip your sponge over and scrape away the stubborn goo efficiently and satisfyingly. Once your sponge gets old, please do replace it. An icky sponge does not a sublime dishwashing experience make.

Dishsoap: Get thee to a health food store or a even Target shop and buy some lovely-scented soap. Or if you're lucky enough to live near a place which sells really fantastically aromatherapy-scented-with-real-essential-oils-dishsoap, well, buy it, I say! Life is too short to use dishsoap whose (whose?) smell you don't love, and don't even sleep with a man whose smell you don't love, either! Life is too short! But I digress . . .

So once you've collected the proper tools . . .your sponge and your deliciously scented soap, you may begin. Forget about the workday, forget about the bills which need to be paid, forget about the children arguing about whatever-it-was with each other, and most of all, forget about your brain. Oh, just try it for 10 minutes. Humor me, will you? And trust me. When I ask someone to trust me, they usually aren't sorry. So trust me.

Breathe. Yep, stand there in front of your sink, and breathe in and out a few times, and close your eyes. (the neighbors won't know what you're doing, it's ok) Open your eyes and watch the dishsoap drip, drip, drip onto the sponge . . .what color is the liquid? How fast or slow is it dripping onto the sponge? Can you smell it yet?

Procedure: Lather up the liquid until it's a diaphenous blubbly cloud on your sponge, and slowly take a dish in hand . . .pass the dish under the water, and lovingly and with care, (yes, I said lovingly) clean the dish as you might wash a loved one, a child or a lover, whichever sort of feeling you'd like to evoke. Really look at the dish, really see the water as it clears away the soap and the dish is left shiny and new again. New. And when you're satisfied with your work, lay it gently in the drainer or on a towel next to the sink.

Take up the next lucky dish, and proceed with your washing ceremony . . .careful not to clank dishes around, careful to move slowly and deliberately, careful to breathe, to feel, see, smell and hear everything going on at your warm, wet fingertips. Be there. Be only there.

What a perfect thing to accomplish! If you've done it well, not only will your dishes be clean and happy, but you will, I promise (trust me, remember?), feel a lot better than you did when you started, having taken a few moments of your day to be exquisitely Present, which is always the best gift one can give oneself. Happy Day of Life, and Happy Dishwashing!

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

Only Two

There are only two emotions:




Which do you choose?

Thoughts create reality:

which thoughts do you choose?