Tuesday, December 11, 2007

What If (a song)

What if dreams came true
if you just wanted them to,
and what if stars could fly
into you when you die?

What if everything
were black and white
and brilliant colors faded
from your heart's sight?

I want to know
someone tell me
what if the secrets
aren't meant to be?
I want to know
I really do
if it doesn't matter
then what to do?

What if the ceaseless motion
just leads to more of that?
What if you want so much to,
but never get to bat?

What if all the rain
in this world,
won't grow your love,
and passion just spins you into a whirl?

I want to know
someone tell me
what if the secrets
aren't meant to be?
I want to know
tell me true
if it doesn't matter
then what to do?

Stop, for a while
sit, for a while
breathe, for a while
and help me see.

What if all the tiaras in the world
can only beauty take?
What if it really is
about the love we make?

What if time is wasting
and here we are apart?
It can take days and years to
create that sort of art . . .

I want to know
someone tell me,
what if the secrets
aren't meant to be?
What if I come running back to me,
What if I don't like what I see,
What will I say to her if she,
keeps on asking "what if?"

Friday, November 16, 2007

Brenda Takes Her Leave

I didn't know Brenda that well. Something of an acquaintance, but one of whom I was fond. Brenda was very funny, and anyone who can bring laughter to my days is someone I am blessed to know.

I met Brenda two summers ago. My first camping trip since I was a child, I joined an AMC hike, and she was a frequent hiker. She loved the White Mountains of New Hampshire. A few years before I met her, she began hiking with a wonderful group of mindful nature admirers.

I was Brenda's foot massage partner. On that first hiking trip, we gathered around the camp-fire after a very, very long and grueling day of hiking, and partnered up to enjoy foot rubs. When I heard the sorrowful news yesterday, I thought of that night around the campfire, but just now recalled that she massaged my tired feet also. I also remembered that on that trip, she suggested we all hold hands and sing a song of thanks for friends around the dinner table. We did, and it was a moment of gratitude in my life I won't soon forget.

I admired Brenda's occupation. She was a hospice nurse. I can scarcely imagine a more difficult profession. On subsequent hikes, she sometimes told me, half-sadly and angrily, and half humorously, about her patients and their families.

I never imagined Brenda was sad or was having any severe difficulties emotionally. She was single and had no children, but surrounded herself with many different joy-filled communities of people, from the Unitarian Church to various groups at Rowe Conference Center, to an ecovillage initiative, to the AMC hiking group.

I wish I had known her better. Then maybe I would have seen her sorrow. Maybe I could have convinced her to seek help for her deep and intense pain.

I can only say now: Thank you, dear Brenda. Thank you for the moments of hilarity and light you brought to my life. I wish I had the chance to tell you now, and to hike with you again.

Brenda drove herself to the White Mountains earlier this week, and walked into the woods to end her life in a place which brought her peace. I truly hope it has. I shall miss you Brenda.

Saturday, October 27, 2007

For Baci




"Baci" means "kiss" in Italian. Baci was my cat-friend for 12 years. He loved to kiss anyone and everyone, like some kind Italian uncle. Today I drove to the vet with him in my lap, sobbing, so he could leave this earth in peace instead of in pain.

I found Baci in my backyard one snowy winter night about 12 years ago. It was sheer luck that I walked outside right at that moment and saw him. He was a large tabby, a very strong Tom-cat. He seemed hungry and it was cold. In case he belonged to someone, I didn't take him inside that night, but left him on blankets in a large box on the front porch, so he could leave if he wanted to. He never wanted to.

Baci was a champion purr-er. That cat had the loudest purr I've ever heard. And he loved to purr right into your ear, in the middle of the night. He tried to lay on your head (likely so as to capture the heat) while you tried to sleep while launching him to the end of the bed over and over again.

Baci was at my side through many events in my life. He was there when I brought my son home from the hospital and when I woke in the middle of night with him for exhausting years. Baci always knew when I was upset, and he would walk over and offer the comfort of his purring and softness. He was there when I cried and cried over a lost pregnancy and then a few years later when it all happened again. He climbed onto my lap as I wailed like a lost child at the news of my beloved grandmother's death. Baci was there when my son learned to walk and talk. He was there when I passed the bar exam and cried with joy and relief. He watched and listened as my marriage crumbled over time. At the very end of his life, he taught me to be courageous in the face of death.

Several weeks ago, I noticed that Baci was spending more and more time in stillness and seemed to be getting thinner. At first I chalked it up to old age, but after he spent over 6 hours one day in one spot on my bed, I realized there was something truly wrong with him. The vet went through a lot of blood tests only to conclude that while he was dehydrated and had lost weight, all tests were normal. It left us with two options as to what was wrong, and it ended up being the worse of the two. There was a large tumor right next to Baci's big, strong, beautiful heart. I saw it right there on the x-ray, through tears, as the vet's eyes grew wet too, and he softly and compassionately said, "I'm so sorry."

Baci had been at the hospital for 2 nights and days at this point, so I asked if I could take him home for one night, and bring him back the next day. They removed the i.v. and feeding tube, and I took my Baci home to be loved like crazy for the next 24 hours. He slept on my head that night, purring loudly, and I didn't make him get off me. In fact, I moved as little as possible so Baci could stay exactly as he wished all night long.

I took pictures of my friend, so I wouldn't ever forget what he looked like on his last day on earth. I'm surprised I stopped crying long enough to take photos, but I did. One of them is at the top of this journal entry. He rested on my chest like that for a very long time as I cried and tried to memorize the weight of his body on me, the softness of his fur, and the sound of his "purrrrr, purrrrr."

I gave him every delicacy I could find, from heavy cream to cat treats to Petromalt, which he loved and always gobbled like candy to a chorus of "purrrrr, purrrrr."

I carried him around all morning, and talked to him. I took him outside, held him in the autumn sunshine and kissed his nose. I laid on the front porch swing and held him on my chest while he purred and then slept.

I held his adorable head in my hands, looked into his pale jade green eyes, and told him "thank you." "Thank you Baci (sob), for being my friend for all this time (sob), for sitting with me when I lost two pregnancies, and when I lost my grandma, and when things were sad and when things were happy. I love you Baci, thank you."

I didn't want to take him to the vet today. My body even started to fight me and I began to shake after I loaded him into the car.

When the very kind vet injected him with the anesthesia, it was as I'd heard and been told: He seemed to just very peacefully and quickly go to sleep and relax in my arms. His beautiful head was supported on my arm, his strong Tom-cat body on my lap. I was petting him when he died, and my voice was the last thing he heard, "I love you Baci." How I choked that out I have no idea. I guess I could do it because I wanted him to hear it.

He died snuggled in my arms, in no pain. Though I hate today, I can see the beauty of it, too. He was very ill and would have only gotten worse. I hope I gave him a gift in easing his passing. He gave me more than I would ever have been able to repay.

Thank you Baci. I love you.

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Will You Take This Heart? (a song)

Will you take this heart, as day spins into day?
Will you take this heart, though frightened words we say?
Over lonesome miles, over shining years
through the glowing smiles, through the rain of tears,
Will you take this heart?

New day whispers now, roads lead to us somehow,
fresh sun streaming in, wakes desire again,
no matter what we said, as we laid down in bed,
your body shelters mine, nothing else could feel as fine,
Will you take this heart of mine?

Always hold me close, hold the light that matters most,
all my armour now is gone, carried for too long
I see into your brown, and you can fall into my green,
sending laughter and a kiss, can we always feel like this?
Will you take this heart?

Friday, August 17, 2007

A Week with Thich Nhat Hanh


I am at a loss for words to describe this week of mindfulness in the presence of Thay. Perhaps that is a good thing. Perhaps it means I learned this week to find the place where awareness means more than all the words I could write.

I am so thankful for this week of kindnesses large and small. I am thankful for a week of steeping in pure white love. I am thankful for each smile and each moment of silence. I shall carry this week with me always. Thank you, teacher.

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Missing (a poem for Davide)

When you are there and I am here,
I long to hold you close, my dear,
when the work day makes us miss,
delicious lips I long to kiss.

Some day we shall recall the way,
work and child kept us away,
walking sweetly hand in hand,
upon some beach of golden sand.

Reminiscing -- all the years,
all the salty mermaid tears,
washed us clean and made us whole,
bound our hearts and blessed our soul.

Missing is one thing I,
can tolerate, until the sky
leads me to you, back again,
wrapped in arms of dearest friend.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

I Don't Know Why (a song)

A memory hits the heart and turns it upside down
everything inside spills out, turning me around
precious jewels I thought I long ago, cast into the sea
like the tide, ceaselessly, circle back to me
and

I don't know why
I don't know why
it isn't like you look at me the way you used to
I don't know why
I don't know why
the heart holds on to love, a whole life through.
I don't know why
I don't know why.

Horses fly down old dirt roads, pure, white, and free,
the way you rode into my soul, saw inside of me,
that place, only you knew, only we knew,
but you don't feel any of the dust of we two,
and

I don't know why
don't know why
it isn't like I still long to be with you, so
I don't know why
I don't know why
the heart holds on to love, a whole life through.
I don't know why
I don't know why.

Maybe someday I can let you go
and never think of us
and how we used to know
that the heart knew, the heart knew . . .

But,
I don't know why
don't know why
it isn't like you look at me the way you used to
I don't know why
I don't know why
the heart holds on to love, a whole life through.
I don't know why
I don't know why.

Monday, June 11, 2007

Fall Into the Brown (a song)

Fall into the brown, fall into your soul,
into hot chocolate pools, and swim to what I know,
fall into the deep, spinning down and down,
I'm never coming back, and I don't want to,
I fall into the brown.

Mahogany and chestnut, who knew there could be,
this many shades of earth, I never looked to see.
I fall in every time, you look at me that way,
and all I need is strength to find another way to

fall into the brown, fall into your soul,
into hot chocolate pools, and swim to what I know,
fall into the deep, spinning down and down,
I'm never coming back, and I don't want to,
I fall into the brown.

Your moon hides in the darkness and it winks at me,
obsidian with a dash of light, to shine into my sea
I fall in every time, no hope can there be,
but baby if this is hopeless, show me the way to

fall into the brown, fall into your soul,
into hot chocolate pools, and swim to what I know,
fall into the deep, spinning down and down,
I'm never coming back, and I don't want to,
I just want to fall into the brown.

Sunday, June 03, 2007

Learning to Love with Open Hands

The thing about Buddhism that always trips me up is the detachment---detaching--non-attachment . . .whatever! When something is good and delicious in this life, the natural and all-too-human instinct is to grab it with both hands and hang on for dear life.

And this, friends, is the root of all our suffering.

Tonight, for the first time in our nascent relationship, my lover went to bed early, halfway across the country, and shut off his computer and cell phone before retiring. He also sent me an email, saying he was fading fast and was going to go to bed. And also, that he loved me and was thinking of me, and some other sweet and savory words.

Were his words, which should have been like manna for my heart, enough to satiate my hunger, my grasping, for him?

nope.

Instead, I watched with amusement as I got upset, then started doubting his love and desire for me, and for this "us", and then the piece de resistance: the Ghost to Beat All Ghosts arrived in her full regalia . . .I started to doubt myself.

Eventually, though, I did what I almost always do when I get a ticket for the Self-Awareness Train . . .I started writing.

So here I am.

I found that I actually moved pleasingly quickly from a space of upset and doubt, to one of acceptance and trust. If this keeps up, I might actually start skipping the doubt altogether. Now, THAT would be a neat trick, and it's about time.

My precious lover has quickly taught me many things. Probably without meaning to, he helped me learn another lesson tonight. I learned to love with open hands. Grazie, amore mia.

Querido (a song)

I know that I can't take away his pain,
or stop the tears from falling like spring rain,
but there is nothing that I wouldn't do,
for my sweet friend, forever, querido.

We never know the how, the why, or when
from heaven comes another precious friend.
This one rests in a special corner of
my sanctuary lit with pure white love.

I didn't know I had it inside me,
the way I learned to love and then set free,
the one who saw into me, eyes sky-blue,
my sweet friend, forever, querido.

I'll never know just how I managed it,
patience comes to those who still and sit,
the wisest lessons--- I will never learn,
while crimson fires, they forever burn.

I know that I can't take away his pain,
or stop the tears from falling like spring rain,
but there is nothing that I wouldn't do,
for my sweet friend, forever, querido.

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Fly To You (a song)

All at once I know what I should do,
spend sweet time learning to love you,
run to you when I can't see the light,
trusting everything will turn out right.

when direction I should take is not too clear,
when all that I can taste is bitter fear,
nothing better now for me to do,
than turn and fly on golden wings to you.

Trusting comes so slow and isn't neat,
learning how to fly by my pants' seat,
dancing in a darkened room sometimes,
and learning how to speak each other's rhymes.

When direction I should take is not too clear,
when all that I can taste is bitter fear,
nothing better now for me to do,
than turn and fly on golden wings to you.

Why create all sorts of useless questions?
Just take my hand and walk in this direction.

Ghosts haunt these parties of sweet beginning,
spin hearts around like plates that are spinning,
but my ghosts don't stand a single chance,
they really can't stand it when we dance.

When direction I should take is not too clear,
when all that I can taste is bitter fear,
nothing better now for me to do,
than turn and fly on golden wings to you.

Friday, May 25, 2007

Water Spirit (a poem by Lyra)

My dear friend Lyra wrote this. Recently rediscovered, it was shared with me and because I instantly loved it, onto the web journal it went . . .(and it has the words "ocean goddess" in it!)

Mountain cascades
winter ice
vapor disappearing
darkness into hovering cloud
bursting, washing, clearing

Smallest droplets
on the threads
of a spider's weavings
droplets far as eye can see
ocean heaving, swelling

Water spirit
source of life
ocean goddess flowing
streaming, cleansing
blood of earth
river-veined, betstowing

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Where Have You Been? (a song)

What? What did I do?
To deserve this kind of love from you?
How? How good must I have been,
To call you now, my sweetest friend?
When? When was I a saint?
God covers us with golden paint,
And Where? Where have you been?
It's good with you, with me again.

I see you clearly now
standing at my future,
I can only see you,
smiling at what you reflect.

There are no doors between us
that you won't open wide
every time I knock you say,
come on in, baby, come inside.

What? What did I do?
To deserve this kind of love from you?
How? How good must I have been,
To call you now, my sweetest friend?
When? When was I a saint?
God covers us with golden paint,
And Where? Where have you been?
It's good with you, with me again.

Sometimes you just know
you really just know
it's the stuff of fairy tales,
I don't care if no one else believes.

We believe enough for now,
we'll make it somehow,
day spins into day~
and we won't throw this chance away.
hold another close,
see what matters most
I want to know,
where have you been?

And I see you clearly now
standing at my future,
I can only see you
smiling at what you reflect.

There are no doors between us
that you won't open wide
every time I knock you say,
come on in, baby, come inside.

What? What did I do?
To deserve this kind of love from you?
How? How good must I have been,
To call you now, my sweetest friend?
When? When was I a saint?
God covers us with golden paint,
And Where? Where have you been?
It's good with you, with me again.

Monday, May 14, 2007

The Light of a Thousand Lanterns (a poem)

Winter was long,
the icy nights, dark.
From the top of the tree
into which I'd climbed,
I saw--
the hint of light.

Squinting into the black,
I climbed down,
stumbling in your direction.

Nearer it seemed,
as the winds swirled in my heart
and the scent of love,
came to me on the early spring breeze.

At once, the rain and sun
broke
into my empty spaces
and filled me with white again.

Ancient songs called,
ancient rhythms repeated,
a whisper in obsidian --
the light of a thousand lanterns,
was lit for me that day.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Bind Your Wounds (A song)

Why are any two brought together,
to learn to sail seas in stormy weather,
to be a salve on badly wounded hearts,
to pray again for second starts.

Chorus:
I will be your light, will you be mine,
when I can't find the reason or the rhyme?
I'll be there to whisper who you are,
hold you up to touch the furthest star,
rebuild your ancient solitary ruins,
hold you tight enough to bind your wounds.

Light shines from within and then shines through
passes golden grace, my heart to you,
but no one ever knows the reasons why
when two sparks touch, light silver winter's sky.

Chorus:
I will be your light, will you be mine,
when I can't find the reason or the rhyme?
I'll be there to whisper who you are,
hold you up to touch the furthest star,
rebuild your ancient solitary ruins,
hold you tight enough to bind your wounds.

Monday, April 23, 2007

Mermaid's Heart (a poem)

In the depths of
a mermaid's heart
lives longing--
shimmering and brilliant,
silver moonbeams on black night water.

In the depths of
a mermaid's heart
lives passion--
furious and sweet,
red tide on black night water.

In the depths of
a mermaid's heart
lives laughter--
bubbling and dancing,
green frothy foam on black night water.

In the depths of
a mermaid's heart
lives love--
strong and tender,
driving white rain and mist on black night water.

In the depths of
a mermaid's heart
lives peace--
vast and star-filled,
indigo sky over black night water.

Monday, April 16, 2007

Little Souls Fly (a song)

Who built the cell
which once contained the heart
of the two
who joined to create one life?
How many bricks it took
and how heart's trembling shook
the walls,
until they came tumbling down.

Was there some Great Plan,
is it all in larger hands?
how can this
serve the Light now?
Pain from far away,
and from long ago,
pain built this prison,
while we watched in disbelief.

Chorus:
But little souls fly free,
no matter how the weight
of the world
tries
to keep them tethered to earth.
And little souls dream,
no matter how things seem
so dark before the light begins to shine.
Little souls know,
because they are so close
to the place we all come from.
Little souls will, always reach their sky,
because--little souls fly.

We each might have
stopped this jail's construction,
but now destruction
falls on those we created.
The only way to move ahead,
and to leave this prison bed,
is to hold the light
so little souls don't lose sight,

that though created
within those walls,
it's not from us their freedom falls,
love gives them wings.
If we buy our freedom
with olive branch instead of sword,
sign the treaty, no more war,
peace gives them strength to soar.

Chorus:
Little souls fly
no matter how the weight
of the world
tries
to keep them tethered to earth.
And little souls dream
no matter how things seem
so dark before the light shines.
Little souls know
because they are so close
to the place we all come from.
Little souls will, always reach their sky
because----little souls fly.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

Ocean's Calling (a poem)

It is so beautiful and amazing to be seen. This poem was written by a new friend. Thank you, David, for this gift.

Ocean's Calling

On a beach of the virtual sea
I sang of the longing in my heart,
for the friendship and love
of a companion to unravel and revel
in the mysteries of this life.
I sat in the shallows as the echoes
of my earnest supplication faded,
the waves lapping at my feet
in promissory consolation.

From the depths of the virtual sea
her liquid voice rose up to me
and I listened in stunned disbelief
to her captivating, lyrical song,
wavering dream-like, as if it came
from lost Atlantis herself.
And as the last notes faded,
her melody played on in my heart.

I gazed into the virtual sea
and saw the dichotomy of her being,
two goddesses in one glorious incarnation:
Athena, defending those in need
with strength and erudite wisdom,
and Aphrodite, born of the sea,
love and beauty personified.

I am set adrift, mesmerized,
as the turquoise tide carries me away.

I am borne into the virtual sea
to where Beauty shimmers.
Is she real, or a heavenly
reflection
in this undulating mirror,
poised to flee from those
who dare disturb her visage?
Will my touch meet the one
Fate has destined for me,
or dispel the illusion
of this bitter-sweet dream?

Compelled to know,
I extend my hand ...

Sunday, April 08, 2007

The Length and Breadth of Sorrow

The length and breadth of sorrow reflects the depth of love. The grieving would be less, if the love had been less, or perhaps if the attachment had been of a shallow sort. The trick in this life, the best trick, is to love deeply and to love big, without getting stuck. Good luck with that one. (If you know anything about astrology, I can shorthand this for you with one phrase: I'm a Cancer. So now you know the way I love.)

It is of some comfort to label the painful emotions by their names and attempt to let them pass like clouds on a windy day . . .oh, but when one's wind ceases and doldrums remain for weeks, or months, or longer, what then? When the clouds just sit there, taunting, raining and raining, teasing with spells of dry weather, then pouring rain on one's parade again and again, what then?

The answer, my friends, is not blowin' in the wind. (There isn't any wind, remember?) The answer is: I don't know. All I know is: it still hurts.

There was another poem read at the meditation retreat yesterday, and I laughed at it. I laughed at its TRUTH, shouting at me. Though it needn't have shouted, it was helpful to hear, and I didn't mind the volume. If it hadn't shouted, perhaps I wouldn't have listened. If only listening would ease the pain . . .

THE GUEST HOUSE

This being human is a guest-house.

Every morning a new arrival,

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you

out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

~Rumi

Saturday, April 07, 2007

I Tasted a Cloud (a poem)

Today I received
a most amazing gift.
I tasted a cloud in my vegetable soup.
The cloud, which made the rain,
which fell on the rich brown fields,
which watered the seeds,
which became the meal,
I brought to my lips today.

Today I received
a most amazing gift.
I tasted the sun in my bread.
The sun, which shone brightly
onto the rich brown fields,
which warmed the seeds,
which became the manna,
I fed to my body today.

Today I received,
a most amazing gift.
I tasted the tears in my food.
The tears, which fell poignantly
onto the rich brown fields,
and joined rivers of sorrow over time,
and flowed into the ocean,
in which I washed myself today.

Today I received
a most amazing gift.
I tasted the joy in my repast.
Joy, which burst through the sadness,
drying the rich brown fields,
balancing the sorrow over time,
that living things could grow,
and nourish at this blessed table.

Beautiful gifts from other voices . . .(poems)

I don't usually post the work of others here, as this is primarily a place for my own heart to overflow and spill onto the screen. Today I attended a meditation retreat, and these two poems were read. They were such gifts, that I want to share them here . . .

Tripping Over Joy

What is the difference
Between your experience of Existence
And that of a saint?
The saint knows
That the spiritual path
Is a sublime chess game with God
And that the Beloved
Has just made such a Fantastic Move
That the saint is now continually
Tripping over Joy
And bursting out in Laughter
And saying, “I Surrender!”
Whereas, my dear,
I am afraid you still think
You have a thousand serious moves.

~Hafiz


Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

~Naomi Shihab Nye

Friday, April 06, 2007

The Sprouting Heart (a poem)

At the end of the halcyon days,
came spring,
came spring.
The moon, though beautiful,
set at last,
and the sun warmed my earth.

The small and fragile seed
planted itself,
planted itself.
The weeds, though persistent,
and also beautiful,
yielded to a fresh and hopeful green.

And finally it was heard,
the Truth,
the Truth.
The heart, though watery,
whispered, hushed,
"I just want to Be, myself."

Monday, April 02, 2007

The Heart Knows (a poem)

When, my love,
does the heart know?
When it freezes drops of water
into ladybug-sized diamonds on diminutive branches?

When does the heart know?
When it laughs into the 'morrow,
when it laughs into darkness,
when it smiles on another burst of light?

The heart knows when to run,
and as the web of us was woven
you vanished in mid-spin,
weaving a life of alone.

When does the heart know?
When it cowers at the thought
of the chance to fly,
fearful it could never soar with grace?

Monday, March 05, 2007

Where is my poem?

The day you said you had to go,
we stood at my door and looked into eyes,
which had been windows to god,
in bed and out, for many months.

Our elixir, incapable of ingestion by many,
open-eyed prayer of intimacy created together,
shared with joy and peace.
I let you see, I opened.

From behind your strong walls,
I heard your words,
and through your smile and kind eyes,
"I can't wait to write a poem for you."

Words that didn't come
when we were lovers,
still haven't,
and I suppose they never will.

Thursday, March 01, 2007

I Don't Know About That (a song)

All I know right now,
is crazy as it seems, somehow,
I found you in an ocean of words.
I like the way you say my name,
and the way you frame-
simple thoughts into paintings.

Maybe there's a sunrise here,
if I chase away the fear,
of opening to this light again.
And maybe there's nothing there,
but did you laugh, I could swear-
a flash of recognition.

I've heard what you've said,
and falling into bed with you,
would be so easy now-
but caution is a friend,
and as I begin again
I can't say where this goes.

Make the choice to run away
as night spins into day
shut the door before it opens wide
but I don't know about that
yes it would be better
avoid all stormy weather
take shelter while I can-
but I don't know,
I don't know about that.

Whispers on the sea
has love come to find me?
I tried to hide but only so long~
My life of only one,
had really just begun,
should I release my hold and let go?

Maybe there's a chance,
to start another dance,
with new music, I've never heard before~
Balancing is hard,
maybe I won't fall too far-
is that a net you're holding?

I hear what you're saying,
the games we won't be playing,
this could be so easy now-
but I don't know about that
caution is a friend,
as I begin again,
if she who hesitates is lost
I won't stop to count the cost
But I don't know,
I don't know about that.

Sunday, February 25, 2007

My Brand New Day (a song)

In and out
forward and back
up and down,
as a matter of fact,
days like this
I just wanna shout

Get out
of my mind
stay away from my heart
can't you let me
make a brand new start?

Spin around
fall down
skin my heart on the ground
but there's a way
and I'll fly free
put the sad behind me

A rainbow
appears in my sky
time to dry my eyes
haven't lost much anyway,
Here comes my brand new day!

Fall far, fall fast
gonna let go of my past
with you
without you, too

Stand up
reach high
stop asking
questions that my life
won't answer anyway
won't answer me anyway

Begin again
step back in
wade in the river of life
so swift
the current takes me
to my ocean of now.

Spin around
fall down
skin my heart on the ground
but there's a way
I'll fly free
put the sad behind me

A rainbow
appears in my sky
time to dry my eyes
haven't lost much anyway,
Here comes my brand new day!

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Dreams on the Wind (a song)

A word from the wind at the window pane,
whispered to give you the news,
that in the heart, if one listens sharp
are found all your Beautiful Truths.

More love than could ever be wanted,
tender touch and companionship rare,
like dragonflies flying spring dances,
your dreams take to shimmering air.

And this life of alone that you're thinking,
is the only one held in your hand,
if your ear to the earth can't reveal,
then perhaps heart and patience, they can.

So the sky that comes next waits so sweetly
because it can know what we can't
and the wind that caresses your future
whispers take off your shoes now and dance.

More love than could ever be wanted,
more touch and companionship rare,
like dragonflies flying spring dances,
your dreams take to shimmering air.

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Prayer Flags (a poem)

The sun dappled the earth
and I stood there, trembling.
letting go is so tricky,
the timing matters so much.

I stood there in the morning light,
light which once caressed
our morning bodies
as we made love on your bed.

Holding prayer flags in my mouth
so I could use my whole being to gain height,
I rose with effort to the uppermost limbs
and paused to look over the landscape of my heart.

Viewing the crater left by your loving,
I estimated it would take some time
to fill in, for new seeds to take root,
but eventually, flora would thrive again.

With effort, I rose higher into the tree,
the tree I knew it was time to climb --
and, tears falling from my face
but with the same tenacity
with which I love you, I freed myself.

I tied the flags, the wind took them,
fluttering colors of strong and enduring wanting,
colors of the taste of your mouth and the smell of your skin,
the sky matched your eyes.

I prayed my prayers,
please take him,
please take him.

The wind heard me
and in an instant, my heart unclenched
opened to the sky, prayers flew to God,
that I could breathe again.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Letting Go of the Beautiful and Rare

It's easy to let go of the sorrows and pain of the past. If one comes to any awareness in this life, if one spends any devoted time in meditation, the release of the ugly and difficult gets easier and easier. Let go of the pains of the past? Hell yes, sign me up. Motivation for that task is easy to come by.

But even on a serious and dedicated spiritual path, it's very easy to overlook the incredible importance of letting go of the rare and beautiful . . .where is the motivation for that? The rare and shimmering moments of our life are what make it worth remembering, yes? The sorrows and horrors of a life have some value in the remembering, but the sweet and beautiful memories suspend themselves in the sunlight of our consciousness like multi-facted gems . .. "oh, that one, I remember the depth of that color!" "Oh, look at that one, one of the most brightly shining of them all!" The memories melt again like the most luscious dark chocolate on our warm tongues . . .see? The mind and heart would like to add: tongues which used to touch with curious desire as the eyes opened to Light and closed to find Light within, the contact sending jolts of energy circulating between two human forms, from me to him to me to him to me . . .

It's much more difficult to let go what was rare and beautiful, to look one last time at those gems, and, with tears or without, cast them far into the wintery blue ocean of distant memory. It takes much love and faith to hold the fact that something beautiful will come again. Or to see that letting go is sometimes part of holding on. Or that through is the way home again. Without enough faith, one can't release.

It takes hard-won wisdom to know if we don't let go of what was, there simply can't be room for what is or what will be . . .the heart is huge, but in that way, in only that way, the heart is finite in its capacity to hold. Yes. There is only so much room at one time for present beauty. Rare and heart-opening moments come to us when the Universe detects there is room for another experience to fill the soul.

I am at the Letting Go Point and have been since last summer. I never said I was quick to let go, tenacity being one of my most powerful blessings and curses. And I need to work on the faith piece of the equation: Love + Faith + Releasing = Future Beauty. I have much love, beautiful sweet love---and I have successfully released what needed releasing.

I have enough faith to let go, but not enough to be unafraid I will never again touch or be touched the way I once was. Some religious traditions use the word faith as a verb. I like that. It feels more accurate, because it's something one does. I'm faithing, because I'm letting go while frightened to do so. And that's called courage and I know I have that.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Take Me to Your Darkness (a song)


Show me all your shadows as they stretch into noon,
the mystery of your longings on the far side of the moon,
brilliant flash of diamond, a spark of light in black,
let go of belief that you are never coming back.

Fall into the crevice and feel alive within,
the deep and unknown part of you, it's time to live again,
punish no one now, and leave all guilt behind,
take me to your darkness, a gift of life so kind.

Uncover wounds long ignored, time to heal now,
if blackness overtakes your sun, you'll rescue you somehow,
look the monster in the eye, and what you'll really find,
is the darkest part of love, don't leave it behind.

So lay your dark side at my feet-the whole of you, the taste so sweet,
obsidian sand on endless beach, a promised fall into the breach,
don't just want to see the sun, but the absence of it too,
take me to your darkness, I see the whole of you.

Take me to your darkness, I want to love the whole of you.

Monday, January 22, 2007

Another Stone To Trip Over (a song)

I know the time has come
to see the road and start to run,
To pull the rip cord and float free
to seek the land I know is me.

Another journey after all
the way I learn to love the fall,
that flippy stomach feeling now
and always there's a net somehow.

A walk in darkness, after light of day,
tripping over rocks in the way,
Can't we just lay in soft spring clover,
instead of finding one more stone to trip over?

Feel the way to dive within,
while we dance this dance again,
hands together or barely touch,
while we take the space we need so much.

I don't know, even though I'm smart,
what got broken in your heart,
that made you leave this pure white love,
I ask again and I look above.

Won't you open and let me in,
won't you let the healing begin?
I'll whisper in an ocean blue tone,
as I move another dangerous stone.

A walk in darkness, after light of day,
tripping over rocks in the way,
Can't we just lay in soft spring clover,
instead of finding one more stone to trip over?

Can't we rest in soft spring clover
instead of finding stones that we trip over?

Friday, January 19, 2007

Public Garden (a song)

Everything I thought as I first walked among these trees,
Everything I wondered as I watched the falling leaves,
And over there on that blue bridge my heart skipped at the view,
as you walked here to meet me and I saw that it was you.

Chorus:
A garden of my future
a garden of right now
that's the way I saw this place
but it looks different now
I walk alone as night falls all around me
but I'll never ever say that I was sorry
no, no, no.

Every step we took with your arm over my shoulder,
Everytime we kissed as this brand new love grew older,
And over there where we embraced after missing us so much,
when we breathed with two full hearts and I felt your sweet touch.

Chorus:
A garden of my future
a garden of right now
that's the way I saw this place
but it looks different now
I walk alone as dusk falls all around me
but I'll never ever say that I was sorry
no, no, no.

Monday, January 15, 2007

A Prayer Painted by God

I thirst for that which feeds my senses and my heart. When I imagine Odonata, I breathe a sigh at the homecoming. It's beautiful, with swooping roof lines and curving doorways, fascinating textures, a feast of colors, rich fragrances and smiling sounds. . .

I feel Odonata as a sanctuary, a spiritual community where one is blessed with the opportunity to practice giving and receiving love and care, every day. It will be a space created for the intentional nurturing and careful tending of the human spirit--where joys are doubled and sorrows are halved by the company we'll share.

Our surreoundings have a great effect upon us, upon our mental and emotional health, physical health, and spiritual health . . .this community will sweetly support and sustain every facet of the jewels we each are, and in doing so, will lift each of us upwards toward Light. It's important that we not underestimate the power of our physical surroundings upon us. Odonata will be the home of sacred spaces and blessed people, accompanying one another on our journeys in this precious life.

And Odonata will be a sweep of God's brush across the landscape, a prayer painted by God.

Blood-Borne Wondering

A woman's work in relationship is to wonder. A man's work is to walk on, and woman may accompany, or she may not. . .but stop for her he surely won't. She can wonder where they are going together, or wonder if she wants to go (though most women don't adequately consider her man's purpose and journey before signing on.)

The wondering lies deep within our blood, some flotsam of times past when we couldn't fend for ourselves, or could, but needed a seed to be planted in order to survive, literally survive . . .perhaps the purpose of the wondering is lost, and it would better serve now to Still and Be, rather than to be tormented by the blood-borne Wondering. . .but it's still there, and better to face it than to not. There is some relief in the Facing.

Some days the Being feels so difficult, and the Wondering feels so painful. With skill, we can reverse blood, and live in something far more indelible than instinct. We can live in Now and rest in The connection. Sweet relief, sweeter than most any feeling in this life, and a sweetness surpassing even the most intimate, soul-scorching kiss, weelll, maybe.

If a woman's wondering is an illness, then Presence is the only innoculation. It's most certainly a dis-ease, this Wondering. And Ease is what comes to us when we rest long enough for it to find us.

Beyond the Struggle

With swift clarity I've realized the journey is over. All seeking leads to the same X on this ancient treasure map . . .so that the seeking is now merely auditioning different paths to the One--which is who I am and who I've always been. In an instant, I can feel God so intimately that the love overwhelms me and I'm taken into the arms of the only true Security---Security known as Love----which runs forever in the violet evening sky.

The only thing to seek is Presence. To still and allow swirling thoughts to settle like little flecks of dust aroused before a shaft of sunlight through a window . . .particles of dust---invisible thoughts . . .invisible only until the Light of one's Presence reaches them.

So perhaps this Seeking is nothing more than finding different ways, and the best way for each of us, to open the curtain on this light-filled day, so we can see the dust long enough to know the real trick is to still and settle, and feel the Sun.

Did I actually title this piece, "Beyond the Struggle?" That's funny because I'm not beyond the struggle. Perhaps more appropriate words would have been "I'm Beyond Trying to Feel Spirit's Presence Within Me and Now I Can Feel the Sun Anytime I Want!" I've finally accessed enough Peace often enough to have built a solid, abiding faith. In my own way, I know. I Know. So in that sense, the seeking, the struggle, has ceased, and I am always, always home wherever I travel.

Sunday, January 14, 2007

When Does the Heart Know? (a song)

When does the heart know,
the truth of white and clear?
When does the heart know
in the span of one short year?

When does the heart love,
when can it fly free?
When does the heart love,
or feel blind and can't see?

When does the heart cry,
when the levy fails to hold?
When does it meet winter sky
when does it feel so cold?

When does the heart ask,
as though a small child?
when does the heart ask
with peace which only smiled?

How does the heart heal
as day spins into day?
How does the heart heal
makes its courageous way?

I thought the heart knew,
but time would tell true,
some things we can't know,
and some hearts must go.

Monday, January 08, 2007

In the End (a song)

In the end
I won't be missing,
and in the end
I don't hear tears,
in the end
the lips, which kissing,
will speak the prayer
of another day.

In the end
of all my sorrow,
and in the end
of this world's fears,
in the end
of all tomorrows,
she will fly home
to rest again.

Another day
another day
the earth spins on,
sun lights the way,
white stars, they dance
the best romance,
and heart shall whisper--
eternal Yes and yes.

So in the end
I'll be a breeze,
which warms the skin
and longs to free,
the sweetest touch
of one heart's love
will turn and turn,
begin again.

In the end
I won't be missing,
and in the end
I won't taste tears,
in the end
the lips, which kissing,
whisper a prayer
of another day.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

I am Sorry

In my ignorance,
I loved you.
In my ignorance,
I respected every boundary
of the land you are,
and could not see my own borders.

I thought the light was present
but it was dimmed,
the darkness of my mistake
overshadowing the Sun.

I felt to love
was to love Big
but to love Bigger than mySelf
was no love at all.

Compassion and an open heart
were my innocent goals
but in the haste to love,
and in effort to keep the heart open to you,
to remain tirelessly compassionate,
I lost compassion for mySelf.

I damaged the blossom of our Flowering,
because I did not sweetly tend mySelf enough,
choosing in darkness to tend to you,
and for that, I am sorry.

Monday, January 01, 2007

Make a Place for Me (a poem)

Travel to golden fields of straw,
gather up enough for my bed.
Pluck the downey snow-colored feathers of geese
which fly to sun before the winter's grey.

Scatter straw on the ground
in the corner of your heart,
the corner which is warmest,
before the fire which burns constantly with passion.

Seek the softest silks, cut out the pattern
for my place near the fire,
fill abundantly, cozy and plump with goose down
and lay it atop the straw.

Find the sweetest blankets,
to keep the warmth when you can not
leave them there for me,
and I will find them.

When you've readied the corner of your heart
nearest the fire,
when you've made a place for me,
I will be welcome
and I will come.