Sunday, April 8, 2018

nowhere to go

All week my heart has felt like it's been bursting from my chest.

The panic and fear of sudden and unbearable loss.

I remember this pain.

I have been burned and crushed before,
spread out like ash in the soil,
only to watch myself slowly resprout again in time.

There have been too many years spent reaching out to feel love.

What if I didn't have to?

What if deep in my self,
underneath my chest made of shattered glass,
underneath my stomach made of fire,
what if I found a part of me
within me
that loves and supports me.

My spine is there, like a trunk of a tree, holding me, lifting with each breath.

There's nowhere to go
but here.

Monday, February 26, 2018

already whole

The day the moon became the sun
She grew a long red beard
Put on her hat, and smoked her pipe
Soon after, disappeared.

And we all forgot. And we all forgot.

All the while the moon was singing:

I am more than what you see, I am more than what you see
When I am red, I’m still gray
When I am gone, I’m still there
When I am waning, I am full
I am everything at once.

And we sang back, to the moon:

Let us remember, let us remember
That we are already whole

Let us remember, let us remember
That we are already whole

---
The day the sun became the moon
He slivered into curves
And wore a silky turqoise dress
That floated in the wind

His hair out long, the curls swung down
Like rope, we thought we could climb up to him

For we all forgot, for we all forgot.

All the while the sun kept singing:

You cannot come close to me
You cannot look into me
I am everywhere at once
My light is what you see

I grow the gardens
I lift the seeds
I dry the river
And I burn the trees

But will you ever truly see me?

And we sang back to the sun:

Let us remember, let us remember
That we may never be known

Let us remember, let us remember
That we may never be known

Let us remember
Let us remember

Remember
Remember
Remember
Remember

remember

Sunday, January 14, 2018

what is a body?
what is a being?

what is mine?
what is yours?

what is this sunlight on my face?

what is this water we drink?

even this breath
was given to us
on loan,
by the plants and trees.

we breathe in to accept the gift.
we breathe out to return it,
back to where it came.

we are full
we are empty.

we receive
we let go.

we are here
we are gone.


I used to think that life and all of its little moments were culminating into something.

But the more I sit and listen, I notice that everything unravels as much as it comes together.

We're constantly weaving and being woven and also
flying away
like little seeds in the wind
spreading out life.


We're always something very important

and also, nothing at all.
mostly silence

but then

the bird interrupts,

the sound of snow melting,

the wind chime,

another bird, another chime

back and forth

and all at once

in a chorus of stillness

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

you are within (lyrics)

you are within    my soul.

I am within     your soul.

you are within    my soul.

I am within    your soul.


I am   you
you are   me
I am   you
you are   me.



when will we love a stranger like we love our lover?

when will we feed the hungry like we feed our daughter?

when will we hold the lonely like we hold our mother?

will I see in your eyes, a little of mine?


I heal for you,
I heal for me.

you hurt for you,
 you hurt for me.

we never end,
we never start.

in this short breath
we're all we've got.

Thursday, December 21, 2017

Vignette #2

We had gone to the park to break sticks. The hawk too, had gone to the park, probably to hunt for
squirrels, but I like to think it had been there waiting for us. We didn't know what we were walking into,
only that we had to go. Sam was angry, and I was following his lead, not quite touching my own anger
enough, but I knew it was there too, waiting. We looked for a spot away enough for the ritual, for the
release --in the park, but also in the forest. That's when I saw its eyes peering at me from a high
distant branch. The hawk was watching us. We had arrived.

I remember thinking it would fly away if we got too close, but we kept climbing up the small hill,
nearer and nearer until we were just feet away. The hawk didn't alter its gaze or fly to a different tree.

The ritual began.

Sam found some dead branches and we started stomping and breaking, thrashing and grunting. His
anger fueled mine, and we both let it come flowing forth out of our minds, into our body, out of our body,
into the earth while the hawk watched with steady eyes.
We were lost in our own self importance, grunting like animals,
we didn't even realize that the small boys were watching too.
They kept walking closer, slightly ahead of their mom, gazing up at us
with the same steadiness as the hawk.
Finally, they stumbled up the hill towards us. “Excuse me” the smallest one said, “what are you doing?”
''Oh you know, just breaking sticks." I replied.

Suddenly everything felt incredibly holy and also incredibly silly. I explained to the boys' mother
we were there making weird animal noises and stomping and shaking branches as therapy.
She seemed to understand.
The boys had already understood.


And the hawk was there still staring, wondering -- what took you so long?

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