Just because & why not?

I went to a women's writing group this eve- as I came about it in a serendipitous way I figured I would try and go.
We are all so very different, the 5 of us, and with writing bringing us together it just might work.

Next meeting, 2 weeks and I shall have something to read aloud to this new audience. I am looking for prompts as to which of my many ideas I will go with to develop and...why not...consulted my Purpose cards as I found them frighteningly right on the mark twice now. I was called an Oracle by the younger set so it seemed fitting to get the cards for our weekend away.

Tonight, I asked what to dream about, a three card spread. And, this is what came up.

We shall see if I can remember.

Until then, stories abound!

Ok, listening.

So, you can't make this stuff up.

10 minutes at the end of Friday

Friday night, weekend away. A place in some dry hills, cooler temperatures, farm animal sounds drifting through the air.

I wondered about doing my 10 minutes here, out loud, rather than in the book by hand.

It is so easy to delete here - which I have already done so. The waste - of time - or space - of stuff. It is a waste that I wonder what will happen with the stuff. Is there anything to do with the stuff?

Yet, all in all, it really doesn't matter if I do anything with it or if I do not. Just that I sit here and time the 10 so that I can fulfill my goal - the idea is in the practice.

Not drinking alcohol amongst so many who do is a string of moments to write about.

In this moment, I sit in my bunk, next to the window and nearest a door, as intended, with a party of sorts going on outside and around the corner and a quiet space in here for myself and two others. We do not talk. We are alone with ourselves yet I wonder if they feel my presence as strongly as I feel theirs?

In this moment I am thinking if this is unique to me and perhaps why I like to be alone so often - unburdened then by the intake of all their projecting. Information stretching out from their pores and beyond like a wave hitting me

and I sputter

trying to breathe

and still hold my own self afloat.

Yet, in this manner,

who am I?

Just the flotsam reacting to their jetsam.

or

vice versa

it really does not seem to matter.

And this phrase - about the phrase it doesn't really matter - which has been spoken a lot, this is what is on my mind now and how I have used it for effect rather than gathering together my intentions and feelings (both before and/or after) on what I wanted to say. Am I cruel to myself on purpose? Is it because as another mentioned in the circles today that I am still procesing the way in which I was developed before I was even born?

I have been exhausted by all the thoughts lately - all the plots for happiness and 100 days of this or that.

Why not just be by myself and live amongst my own thoughts to see how I really am?

Then I wonder about the other component - the relationships with others - would these come to me on my own accord or do we live seeing the supposed perfect scenario and mimic without thinking.

Am I really just this debbie downer when around people all the time dowm deep and joyful when alone in the deciduous forest?

Do I care to stretch the moments together to test out the theory?

And

does it even really matter?

thoughts going round and round with 11 days to go.

October.

Wrote for 10.
Plank for 60.
10 squats.
Read a book.
Cooked dinner & didn't set table or clear.
Got little boy to bed after bath & books in time.
House clean.
Yard ok.
Halloween decorations in progress.
Talked with friend.
Planned a future event.
Daydreamed a fun scenario.
12 days till 42.
12 days till tipsy.
12 days to get through 41.
Took a photo.
Walked the dog.
Laughed with a big boy.
Thought about decorating improvements.
Sat in the shade.
Concentrated on breathing.
Did a good deed.
Planned a better one.
Experienced a creative moment.
A random postcard brought me to tears.
Received a compliment.
...all in this day.
Thanks.

New found self

Although not writing here doesn't mean not writing anywhere
tho diligent I may not have been.

Discovered a place where my efforts on paper can be appreciated
by me

spent 4 hours on an agenda
feel confident
and free.

It seems as if that little voice
whispering upon my shoulder
when not shushed by the no-can-dos
actually can do.

And
with the reminder
that I do not need to guess
predict
anticipate
the ending
For anyone else but me
I can live free.

Last challenge before 4:15am
find a passage of harmonious truth
to share with other souls

Looking...
looking.

Goals

Meditation is up to 7 minutes,  yikes!

Still haven't written the gratitude letters, making no good clear time for myself...

Writing sporadically, almost every day however in Evernote and not here.

Fell back in old habits, kicked them out (sort of).

Back walking almost every day.

Interested in this 6 month permaculture class, ohmygee- it would be amazing.

School begins this week and I find myself wanting more in-house-alone-time... big boy needs a job.

Byron Katie is amazing. Keep folowing.

Mountains & ocean, who can choose?

Trees, trees, it is all about the trees.

September.

Days till something happens,
Days till nothing happens.

All the signs point in one direction
Yet
I look away.

The ground, 
Sturdy.
My footing,
Even.
My heart,
Yearning.
My eyes,
Ahead.

And...
My bags,
Untended
Unfriended

And

Yet

Blisters
remain.

The Sewing Room

material is what I bring to the table.
cloths so thick with it

and some threadbare
whispy
downright invisible.

and me
wrapped in tapestry
with bells
and a sideways smirk
which hides
on the inside...

materials.
of those,
I have lots.

The Giving Tree

and then the heavens broke
and I was busy
and there were jobs to do
and places to go
and a friend
and I was happy.

The park
a haven for interactions
dreaming of putting in
a little library.
:)

Pixie Dust

Isn't it amazing
when I focus on the shortcomings
the negatives
the problems
then
all I see
are problems
negatives
shortcomings.

And
when
instead
I seek out what I like,
that what likes me comes back.

Amazing.


***


Byron Katie = amazing.
sparkly.
pixie dust was sprinkled
and then she hands you the jar.

And
in thanks
I sprinkle my toes
so I have some wherever I go.

Awake and Dreaming

The twins in the teak cottage
amid the ferns

they work
studiously
side by side.

And I
on a tree lined balcony
the city spread out beneath
with the white Persian cat weaving between my ankles.

The coffee is hot
and the cinnamon still swirling.

I am looking off into the clouds
and feel the mist
from the leaves
from the depths
from the forest floor
so far away
so far away


Tomorrow
the newspapers will arrive
and I will have some such thing
want to read to me about how the day was done
yet
I already know
inside
because I wrote it.

There,
in the octtage,
the walls speak.

Day 1 of year 24

anger or annoyance?

Bubbling, building.
gaining focus.
clearer thoughts coming together.

today I saw the white cat about my ankles
crossing from left to right in the mirror of my dressing room.
when I looked down, she was gone.
the persian princess had been smiling.


***
uncertain about where to be one thing vs another in my world of boxes,
I muddle things up and can not keep them straight everytime.
fruustrating.
human.
equally frustrating.

A lesson which finally resonated enough to stick was that it is the practice and not exactly making it to the finish that counts the most.
Perhaps I knew this as the medals held no triumph for me.
yet,
for some reason,
just saturday
on a new trail
with a different band of women
mist still hanging in the sky
awaiting bright dawn light
I heard it again and it struck.
The practice
is where the perfect is found
and not
the other way around.

***

I must articulate myself wisely.

reading a book by Jean Shinoda Bolen
fantastic.
daydreams about visits to greece
research of history vs. mythology
aching to touch maps and follow the lines of streams

It feels good to have a daydream.
The good is in the practice.

Also, had an idea for a short.

The tale of Artemis, the twin of Apollo
being withheld from her father until it was safe to meet him
and amused he asked her what she wished:
A bow and arrows,
and to find them herself.
Nymphs to follow her
and to find them herself.
Hounds to protect her
and to find them herself.
And the perfect woods, streams, meadows...
and to find them herself.
Laughing, the delighted God granted her this
and off she went.

The hunt for each item as exciting as the item itself
and lost in creating her own world she was.

Lovely.

What Gives?

Doom & gloom.
I always thought it was him,
but
lo
it very well may be me.


***


Took a day off from writing, etc, due to a bad food experience and yes, found how easy it is to rack up another excuse. Didn't walk for 2 days, feel awful. Boo.

Going back to thoughts on being media free for awhile again... there is just so much noise coming in and not enough concentration on me.

Delving into what is authentic
is it ok to live in denial for a huge section?
I know the answer as I write this...
yet why do I shy away from truth?
guilt?
would I council anyone else to live like this?

no.
never.

Stuck in crud. Of my own design.
for 30 years now...
why?

Eve of Thursday

Dates.
My new favorite food.

Dreaming of Persia
and Greece
Water
and Sands

The Bedouin.

Adventure.
Travels.
Absorbtion.
Ressurrection.

I ccok a meal
I dream of wine
the prefect compliment
to my date.

when ideas come

It has been a dry spell for ideas I think because I have been quite down on myself lately. My relationships are not what i expect them to be.
I am not what I expected to be. ..
upon further investigation it turns out I just don't want to work hard for it.
That is ok if I was willing to settle but since I am not,  I am my own royal pain.
Just fabulous.

So,  enter meditation and walking and enforced writing. ..
enter ideas of being in that tiny house by the sea (I can hear the waves crashing even if the train rumbles close by & my neighbors wear underoos in the daytime. Big whoop).
or maybe the mountain one is right for me.
tap, tap, tap go the fingers on the keys
coffee and cinnamon please
a garden
a cat
birds chirping
some swirly skirts
a beaded arm
early mornings on the beach
the bite on a juicy peach

Blah blah
and more blah.
why didn't this publish on time?
dunno, just keep going.

checking the boxes

Made a new meal (kale & roasted carrot salad w/feta, dates and walnuts)

Renewed interest in eatoeating raw.
reading about 5 books at a time:
women's circles
women's quests in mid-life
raw eating
saving the family cottage
men are from Mars, women are from Venus
(Thanks, Gisela)

Mary Oliver haunts me,
as does Jean Shinoda Bolen.

Thinking up what I would do if I could do anything... start that leucadia beach circle on Sunday eve
except
do I really want to be there every Sunday eve?

Seeking a partner in crime for shenanigans...
looking forward to champagne, Dirty martinis, and that freaking mango margarita.

Salt lamp, check.
meditation up to 5 minutes
cracked my self out of bed this am reluctantly however always so glad to go out.
love the cloudy skies, marine layer, fog.
too much sun for me!

23 years ago I had a baby.
dang.

The Inkling

so.

Here I am again.

I understand a reason why I am unable to fully live this life and
it seems
that many others have known this all along.

Dressing it up,
Reading books,
engaging in diversions
even quite intricate
don't change much.
Even
resorting to
coloring the glasses.

When the mind is made up
it is made up
even if there is dress up.
Darn,
because I love dress up.


So,
I had an inkling.
And it rages.
However,
I am good at closing doors
and walking down other hallways.

So.

saturdays

Always a dilemma on how to run this day.

Had a tough time kicking yself out of the bed the morning to walk but I am always so glad I do afterwards.

Lazy breakfast, errands, fighting a nap, beach afternoon with sunset bonfire, roasted divver over the flames and smores with neighbors... not a bad ending at all.

Fighting sleep now but still have to do almost all on my "list."

Had a  nice time this morning reading and communing with myself while boys were at yoga.

All in all, a lovely day, even if the end results are still a fight away.

this week

Meditations are getting easier.
That its good news.

I cooked a new meal,  sweet orzo salad w/feta & carnelized peaches. It was from Hello Fresh, a food prep delivery service.  I really like the idea if this thing however all organic coves would be key.  Their packaging is far better than the competitor Blue Apron. Regardless, I realized I like orzo lots However the peaches were sort of odd and I am not a fan of cucumber either.  I'll toss the recipe but retain the interest in pursuing orzo.

Mailed package to Balin, Happy Birthday! 23, holy crap. What was I doing 23 what's ago?  Better yet, what was I doing 24 years ago? yikes.  Getting older is...interesting...

Got further in on my story idea.
General gist its down with some motivations still need to bete worked out.  Not to bad.

Got re-interested in a writing group.
Reading a book about women's circles... Perhaps there is a connection?

Trouble waking up to walk because of late bedtime.  Love dawn. Must get up.  Boo.

That's the news i'm willing to blab...

2084

i just don't know what I should be doing.
Perhaps because I have always had those things that I needed to do
and now I have time.
Time when I thought I would be finally able to get my own thing done
and I am frozen.

I think in prose
dream about painting
see myself writing songs
imagine the dresses and beads and braids
yet...
nothing.
crickets.
I don't challenge the status quo
yet I allow myself to be dreary because of it
my excuse.
the great "it"
whatever it is.

and on and on and on and on and on.

I have many things bursting to be said yet
can not.
the topic is too much of a challenge to handle
i can not manage how my audience would hear it
and I don't believe myself strong enough to care

so, I sit.
and I do the dishes
and I get fat
and I allow it.

All the news talks of doomsday
and I wait for it
because
under that type of duress
my skkills would shine.

I live the life that people die for
that people are dying for
in droves
every day
and
I
am
unhappy.

directionals

A night under the stars
ocean crashing a deep blue
sandy hair
smiling cheeks


Sometimes what is missing
is the nature right in front of me.

Am I going to live this close to the great Pacific ocean forever?
most likely no.
so, more visits are in order.

Plan to be spontaneous
and go Sundays & Wednesday afternoon/evenings
And swim with the fishies.



Yeah, I realize, after reading this over, that I am a very big waste of space.
Time to figure out what for!

Ponderous Things

Is there anything about me
That makes me Me?

Where do my fabrications end
And my truth begin?

All people can be all things
And...?

Proving to myself
Being for the world

Mother vs. Wife

Husband vs. Son

...so...
Set about a writing schedule
And GET ON IT ALREADY!

Not Them, it's Me.

It's not them, it is me. Truly.

In all cases, when I see something that I find aggravating, I can find the same issues within my own practice.

Ugh.

It is a pain having to always watch myself. To always be checking to see if I am screwing up somehow.  Then, I turned 40 and said so what?  That was liberating.

Now, I am backtracking a bit to see where I did things that I wanted to do by choice rather than by situational outcomes that just sort of "happened."  Ugh. Do I need to do this?  No.  So, why am I?
Why not just dance and sing and admire the flowers all day long?

Somewhere inside me the same issues keep coming back up and I would like to unpack the baggage and look at it one last time before tossing it overboard.  Some bags are already gone. What bags?  Some things... double ugh.

I pretty much have an answer for everything.
Perhaps this is why I am annoying. There are many reasons, I am sure, and I don't really care much anymore.

I just would like to talk to someone aside from my own wayward self sometimes. And it is crickets in my home... Crickets.

Well, working on it.

This book I am reading now "Carry On Warrior, Thoughts On Life Unarmed" has far too many sections with undeniuably resonate with me.  Ugh.  (how many uggghs is that?)

I highly recommend reading.

Dear Future Me: keep reading.

:)

Believing

...workking on it.

There is a school of thought out here in southern Californis that your thoughts can remap your mind.  That there are no bad days.  Awesome.


Yet, what about when there are?

Well, in walks Byron Katie to show the unschooled how to really and truly believe what is true..


However, what is left are all the disjointed thoughts that are not proven to be true yet still magnetized by some brain activity - perhaps the subconsciousness - and when can one draw the line at who they are if it isn't what one thinks?

Turned around and upside down yet... does it really even matter?

Today, a good day.
Tomorrow, another.

Thinking, Reminiscing

The past two weeks have been full of thoughts- some focused and many just clouds passing by...

One cloud took a detached look at my ideas on who these boys of mine are and my parenting, so very different, of each one.

One cloud wondered what else I needed to DO for them. This one had an emphatic tone. I found myself struggling. Then, I watched the cloud pass by. I believe I had to allow it to pass or I would have spent hours dwelling, fliking up dream space with chatter.

Pass along, clouds. How varied you are. How you turn from whimsy to tricky back to just thin air.

Sometimes the clouds gather to rain.
I love rain.

Settling Truths

Sinking into the tasks however not yet in my own rhythm so it is a bit taxing to forget and remind myself and think if I did all those things.

I have a plan to work on organization aspects to get my intentions for efficient work down. I like this. So, even if I balk at the process sometimes, the overall outcome is favorable. I must remember this and apply it to further reaching aspects.

Planks. Ugh. My friend Connie is up to 4 minutes. That is a heck of a lot of seconds.

If she can do it I must as well. so far, 40 seconds is fine for me.

Looking forward to a more secure schedule in September when more physical activity both regimented and spontaneous can continue.

What I have learned: Once a day is far easier than three times a week or monday-friday. Every Day, Get on it.

I love books and reading obscure things. Randon tangents that flow into each other while perusing the shelves at the Library are an interesting benchmark of what is going on in my head. I have been taking photos of the bedside table about twice a month. Too many scattered blogs - I may add them all up in once place here.  Gah, I do so like organizing and streamlining!

Looking forward to getting home Sunday afternoon. My time in NYC has been wonderful on so many levels that I don't even want to flush them all out. Just humming happily. Walking the streets for blocks and blocks is simply wonderful. I have missed it. My love affair with Central Park continues to grow. In one of my college classes at SLC in 2008 I took a class called Death & Mourning. My research project was about burial practices in America 1900-2000 and I stumbled upon the history and development of city graveyards which spilled into parks. Thank you, gentleman who's name I can not remember, who decided there had to be trees. They are simply fabulous.  My youngest boy and I picked wild blackberries in the ramble. We saw swimming turtles. It was glorious.

With that, goodnight fom NYC. One day left them off to CA I go.

Next week, house shakedown (pick the damn wall colors already & make the studio).

Grindstone

So the day doors indeed go a bit better when tasks are done first,  or early,  and checked off.

Also,  I do so like organization and expect to try a paper weekly calendar upon arrival home.

Feeling better about the plank and meditation and man do I love the walk...especially here in nyc, however time for myself is lacking even with a task list/goal.

I am getting a plan together for when my little friend goes back to school. 

All in all,  progress,  and nothing bad or especially hard.  Yay.

Reality vs.

So the plan was a challenge even before a word was written.
I did accomplish all tasks yesterday as my day 1 and there were parts of it that sucked. As in, no ideas I had to write about ended up, when finally sitting down to write them, passing the internal "is it good enough" test.

This is a thing.
Something to get over.
A hurdle like this is practice as it comes up again and again.
Each time will be practice.

Time to meditate.
Ugh & om.

Making Way for Me in 2016

So I flitter around without really doing anything or saying anything - sort of just waiting for things to happen.  I feel stuck in this beautiful life and it goes by differently than half of me would like. For a little experiment, I have decided to see what happens with a little experiment.

I am giving myself a test.
For the remainder of 2015 in order to get my head and heart on the same page, to further and more specifically define my goals and to find out about exactly where I want to go and what I need to do to get there I committ to the tasks below.

Every day until December 31, 2015 I will:
Write for at least 30 minutes.
Meditate.
Plank, stretch, squat.
Brisk walk or run.

I also committ to:
Write and send out at least one gratitude letter each week.
Cook a new meal at least once a week.

I committ to documenting this here.
Every day.

mountain dreaming

I have an idea.
a certain set of thoughts that gets stuck, looping, around in my head that I am not able to shake clear without consideration.
I love the idea.

I am in strawberry.
making it work.
it is hard work and i need some hard work.
i need to fix problems that arise and make things beautiful.
i need to draw a crowd of people and learn from them - hear their stories - and create my own.,

the opportunity of summer is looming and I feel like I must go there from day 1 through as long as possible.

although my favorite time would be summer turning into the new year, i will take what i can get.

how to again push away what i long for?
again to crumple up a dream?

it isn't like we are living a dream for any other - my spouse does not seem to have a dream except not working and that is just preposterous.

so, what to do?
go to pilates.
that is something that strawberry wont have.
without me making it.
go and be here and love it while you are here.
who knows how long there is amongst this beauty?

sounds and feeling

guitar
loudly
and echoing
and taking up all the space that the dream was inside my head,
that lucid space
the swiss cheese holes they filled with music
and then became
all consumed
by it

and then i cried
inside
for a moment
deciding.
and then i spoke.
taking me as more important
for i would die
by my own hand
if i didn't get this bit down.

December 2014

The leafless trees
pointed
spiked and sway

the trickle
a stream
flows down around
and away

my breath
finding rhythm
I hum within.

The chill
here and there
around bends and corners
and I do not expect it to be heard
or understood

I am
I am here
to hear and hum
breathe and run
and so I do.

In the mist

Disappear
I can
one day
when it rains
and I have the right boots
fit for long walks

Disappear
one day
I will

Beards and Sands

Sometimes all it takes is a glimpse of the something else
and off the mind goes
on tangents.

In this case,
while reading about explorers
before maps were a household item
far before even a thought of the digital world

I escaped from my hovel of wonderment
into another place.
And considered my fascination
with the 1800's and the life of the explorers who left comfort and sanity
for distant un-American/English/Western lands
and
if it was adequate enough to carry one away.

A man
and his Hungarian wife
caused quite the interest
amongst Africa back then
when they
and mostly her golden tresses
arrived.

I too
follow each person as if they have these
golden tresses
as if they walk
in harmony
with their lover from a distant land.

A watcher am I
to experience
filling in with my breath
what can not be known.
And care not
do I
of details
when all that is left
is faded parchment
turned to dust,
footsteps on the Sahara.

Having Wings

I am at the rope.
Unable to see and content in this.
So, I listen.  I think.  I remain on tangents.

Then, a voice.
It says "What are you waiting for?" and I laugh.
Exactly this, I figure.
Then I go and it is wonderful.

Here, now, so long after that fact, I still wait for the voice.
I can be my own voice yet have fear.
In order to let go of my perceived security, all this stuff that seems real must be embraced
as the make-believe
which it is.
Only then will I be able to use these wings
which have been
so ever
at the ready.

The Corridor.

Was so totally depleted the last few days.  Un-enchantment growing.

Turned a corner after some quiet reflection thanks to music, writing, and talking with others. Seeing that corner now behind me helped recognize something which might be important.  For some people, when help is most needed, they might be completely unable to reach out.  Just slowing down for a few minutes to notice the way the leaves turn in the wind, the way the sun rises, the whole entirety of people on this planet that start out beautiful and free, living fully in the ability to hear, feel, see and communicate... If I did this more often, this slowing down, I might catch the eye of another person down a corridor.  I might see more and differently.

Hear. Feel. See. Communicate.  <3

Beacons

Grown men
Running
To the waters
And i
Amongst them
Accepted
Accepting
Watching
The glowing sky
Go to darkness.

The Princess Bride

I died the day I said

'i do'

The little me I had imagined

blossoming into a great big me

dissolved

behind

duty and responsibility

and

then

I

found

love.

In ten little fingers

and

ten little toes.

And a new me

bloomed

and bloomed

and 

bloomed.

getting back in the business mindset

getting back in the business mindset

I am doing a new thing here.

Monday Funday

All I do
is cook and clean
when is there
time to act on dreams?

When lost amongst the dish suds
My other self gathers flowers in heaps
jete leaps
sails in waters blue
singing
dancing
wearing glittering jewels

Women are such beautiful things
they are darkness
they are light
I am beckoned from the horizon line
to gather up and join the procession
those no longer baking the bread
washing the sheets
birthing the babies
...the cooking the cleaning the hiding the weaning
the whining
the judgements
the looks
the confinements

Asking elders what they did?
Oh, doll, you just wake them up
fix them up
prop them up
push them on
make the lines'
drive the cars
build the houses
rape the lawns

kiss the children
love them well
send them off
...to hell?

I stand by and wave
and smile
and lie
yes, life is difficult
suck it up, little one.
My little ones too?

GDR

the motherland

tells her a story

with each step she takes

through mountains of glory

and wooded road ends

meeting her fate.

THE OLDER

THE OLDER

feeling dejected.

Neglected

by my own skin

my shins

black and blue

climbing fences over you.

Turning them against me

yet 

minds for themselves

if the faith persists

they have been on their own side

all along

and that which you have given up for them

has no bearing

aside from the deep welts

the feelings 

depthless

from that vast empty 

echo down in.

And one more makes four.

The Daughter's voice
calls in the night.
Through the stillness
it lingers.

trouble.

So I know that I should be sleeping

and that the morning is sure and soon to come

and I know that there is no reason

however here I sit

thinking of the energy/connection/connectivity between people

whether I like it or not

and I think of a man purely from the standpoint of what I see reflected back at me

or what I feel when he is looking -or thinking -of me.

Am I right? I don't care.

It doesn't matter.

So, in this situation, I get up and text. He is nearby and I know it will be wrong by morning

yet I am compelled.

And so I set in motion a rolling that gets us within connection distance of each other.

Connection distance.

And, there I was

floating

in the pond

in a boat

high and mighty

and gazing at the stars

food for the living night

in whatever shape or form it came in

and what I saw is unexplainable

and unable to be recreated

and mine

somewhere in the deepest recesses of my brain

whether or not I came home with damp feet

and breathless

grinning.

Gardens of Dreams.

Don't know what I am here for
living like wasted space
many avenues
of people slinging the blues
masks to shed
trading spaces, trading beds

If following the heart
is the way to go
who pays for the ads?

The head
leading in another direction
marches in line, in tune
sublime

yet, the soul
the something other
knocking
clocking
follows its own path

brambles
streams
rainbows
dreams
there are no dishes, no laundry, no meetings, no outfits
just feeling
and doing
and
the grin is wide.

Little Dress Black

There is a dress with my name on it
a something
a little something
that has a neckline
causing

a dream
of flashing silver
of a smile and a spark
and a shy gaze towards a magical moment

and fade to black.

Hays Field

the mornings

which could have been early or late

dew on the grasses at the bottom

just drying up on top

running fingers over the tips 

feet following the path

up Hays field

looking for the milkweed

blossoms still tucked into their tidy and perfect felt pockets

the flight path of the monarch leading my way

eyes closed

I can smell the earth

smell the sounds of the day

and I am one with this all

my universe

finding my place

not knowing I needed to be found.

Only later,

later,

having to call what I had been given a name

thinking on the experience

of being wild in the wild

connections to trees and grass and sun and rain

it was a life

and it was mine.

((getting it))

Not knowing about how it will feel
but knowing the focus
the effect
the heat
the touch,

to clear my head to find the space within
sit with it
and breathe.
Listen.

You will want it too.


((And I can get it for you.))

the woman with the long pearls.

the woman with the long pearls.
She was,
and I wasn't.
No matter
nothing
floating
gorgeous
light
glowing (((glow)))
injest it
sequest it
you burn
so slow


***

Strength
through his eyes
green
and into mine
I dream

of her
breathing.


***

boredgames

A battle,

he gets me to talk

then ignores me

like a kids

gathering attention

in his little glass box.

The Basis of FTR

Spill it, sister.  And live free.

This is what we should teach the daughters.

Sisters, of course, already know.

Are you
a daughter or a sister?

A group of women 
A circle 
some hats
more likely,
with smelly cats.
Spinsters?
Fat?
Grotesque?
Who cares?
These ladies-who-lunch 
don't give for the stares.
Just laughing
and smiles
around the globe
Sisters with daughters
wherever she goes.

FTR 1

the fragments are large

and groved

like lands

distant.

Lovely.

And she sat.

And waited.

With wings on.

Intention

The light
Golden
enveloping
unspoken
in smiles
beaming out
surrounding.

The cloud
spun from within
of fear
and greed
a need with no end
no end
to heed.
Shelter
we think
yet destruction
of fortresses
greater than good.
A pestilent pool
of gloom
Misunderstood.

Fragility?
A test.
Challenges?
A quest.
Perseverance.
Honesty.
Truth.
Vision.

Follow the voice
it hums.
This is where
the Golden light
resides.

5th Element

what is it about pain?

The feeling of feeling

for the gifted.

Feb 2014 performance piece

Performance piece:

In a glass window 

like Bergdor'fs 

writing 

with music on and a crazy outfit and a glass of champagne

giving a lap dance to my spine and my seat to the beat

and I have drawn a crowd

as they draw me

and I have two younger gentleman

stylized

covering my faux pas

with sticky notes to the offending moment
exaggeration at my mortifications
((perhaps the scene calls to draw rosy cheeks and characterize - how blatant is one without the other?))

the piece is saying:  See this woman?  See this woman.
this is woman, see how raw and amazing?

Yet the is edited by whoever you, with viewers baggage.

((-make the two gentleman into anything at any time, they can be a different thing with a tip and top of their hat. simple as that.))

((cast differently for effect, seasons, occurrences, places in time.  styles of an era, attitudes, political performance....))

The Beast

Capture an emotion
a point in time
and that one thing
embody it, that which your voice creates.

songs like characters
characters as music
the sound
captures the spirit
pieces of the piece.

be the sexy
be the sultry
be the beast.

be the vixen
be the girl
be the child

be the teacher
be the learner
be the woman

Rise up
rise up
rise up
and sing.

unedited.

unedited.
untouched.
in tears am I
underneath it all
under ground
hiding the tremors between the piles and piles

when you hear the music out of the pattern
out of context
and you didn't know the voice was talking to you.
and then the music turns to just pulses
and you see yourself
sitting
cold
in a room
below
alone
and you want to punch yourself
and make you bleed
leave a scar to remember
tomorrow
for tomorrow

and pinecones,
they leave a mark
and bark
bark.

Music & Mind & Body

The S creature
This thing that stands tall within
armed with layers of steel
shiny and cold
unmoving
when heated
turns molten
lava
volcano
Inferno.

Resonance

The Cello.  The deep sound that, when stroked just so, brings out a movement within me
so much so that I can not sense if I am accepting of this or if it has created me.


...and here, betwixt ass and oxen mild am I.

#19

19) Build a mastermind group to share ideas with.

Yes, this.
Who else is in?

I wholeheartedly agree with most all, and practice most all.
http://www.lifehack.org/articles/communication/20-ways-wake-with-motivation.html

Warrior Woman

I can lead a horse to water and get him 

to drink 

(and be awesome) 

but then he tramples the fountain. And excises the memory from his brain. 

It is a challenge I can only grow from, 

this I know. 

Then I remember the warrior I once was, 

with all of my witnesses 

they, who

-at the very least-

saw me experiencing it for myself

within my own skin. 

I treasure the good vibes from that trip. 

The physical challenges were not as hard 

for me as 

as acknowledging my audience. 

You did exist. 

You did see me being strong 

so I am strong. 

The Others, and Me.

How do I know if I am holding back something incredible that would help others find their way?

How am I so sure that I should be repressed and allow it for the concentration of my angst to set forth

in deeper rivulets

which could as well bring about greater good in the longer run

just trust that the path I am on is the right one because I am on it.

wishing there was something as easy as religion to fall on when the trust wanes

however, there is not.

There is just me.

And thank god (ha) for the woods

that I can climb through and find a path set by others for perhaps other reasons

yet there I am on it

and finding my way.

Amongst those others

all in a day.

July 7th - deleted Catch notes

Sometimes I just get so tired
thinking about all the people in the world
The old swimming ladies with
shriveled vaginas and concentrated opinions
The drivers going north
and the same set going south
The wind that blows for no one
yet everyone...
And I sigh
and pick up a book to get lost in awhile
to forget
and re-live
to relearn.

7/25

My eyes tell me the story 

that my heart hears.

My fingers get the soreness 

before your ears.

music is.

music.

It causes the tentacles of my brain to sway and braid together, fibers rubbing and connecting with ideas and emotions, situations and instigations – and before I know it, hours have passed and pages have been written and here I still sit. 

 ...waiting for something to happen. 

 Yet it is happening. The very moments combining together to make the tentacles of my brain sway and braid together, fibers rubbing and connecting with ideas and emotions, situations and instigations – and before I know it, hours have passed and pages have been written and here I still sit.

 ...waiting for something to happen. 

 Yet it is happening. The very moments combining together.
Forever.

April = Poetry Month 2013

I write

it seems
only when gloomy
or story
and freeze
when happy
no longer forlornly
gazing out the glass window
am I
but rather
the smudge on the pane
showed that although I had to shove to open it
I was there
and now
am not.

Who Are You

your protector is coming home

coming home

awake at night

and waiting you sit

contemplating

you life with out your life

now its gone

awake at morn

after the storm

you wish the words that swirled

had been washed away

yet they stand 

strong

for years anyway

your protector is coming home

coming home

now alone

you see what is clear

you didn't need much but your own self near

stand strong

stand tall

reach the sky 

hold your head up high

your protector has come home,

You are home.
Home.

Winter morn

Deep within the dawn that tasted like night
that mid-place between waves crashing and cars rushing
I walked
and listened
to a lone bird sing
Dew, mist, rain upon my face
I drew in and inhabited
this textured space.

Dreams from Today

Walking the red carpet with my 3 sons.

Learning and internalizing manual camera functions.

Printing and hanging up those gorgeous photographs.

Creating more art.

Painting BIG!

Share my joy.

Find more places to dance.

Write the story.

Listen to the elderly.

Walk the ocean.

Smile lots.

Organize my history.

Organize the garage.

Show and tell my boys that I love them.

Eat raw.

Create new meals.

Run regularly.

Experiment with makeup.

Dress up and go out in it.

Laugh.

Sing.

From a Dream

...and then, the rising tide of the gloom surpassed me

and I closed the book and said goodbye.

_____________

See the shadow?

It's coming down now.

The ridges the lines – each detail combines

until you think it is part of you

until you think it is part of you

until you think it is part of you.

It is bright outside

the light

catches eyes

closing them tight

until you think it is part of you

until you think it is part of you

until you think it is part of you.

Tasting dirt

braced for more

never opening any other door

until you think it is part of you

until you think it is part of you

until you think it is part of you

...until you think it is part of you!

1978 London

with a brick wall
there are mortar cracks

with concrete,
you've got a sledgehammer to smash

but the iron shield
that I feel
... impenetrable.

what is said
and what is done
are opposing countries
with axes drawn

I can see all this from above
and you?
lost in a foggy pond.

2am

(2am and) the Ponto waves are crashing crashing calling
will I meet myself out on the bluff this night?
shadows swoon
reflections, detections,
There is no me just twinkle stars and a sliver moon.

Garden of Delights

The child,
I hear him,
pitter-patter
pitter-patter
a giggle
a tap
the door shoves open
a wet hand
some jam escaped
the smell of a garden
and I
jumbled
inside
crying.

Muse.

Remember!

Remember.
Remember what it felt like – what it FEELS like to be that woman, that girl.
The daughter, mother, wife, woman, girl. Remember.
In tears and sorrow when no one wants to follow

your heart

is empty of causes

'cause you have no where to run to

until your ends have unraveled to reveal

threads of a thousand colors and fibers with which to renew

yours into ours

and we shall then follow

the strands down into the trembling hollow by her neck

waiting

awaiting

for the moment between the beats

warm lips

tentative breath

and she smiles upon us.

Then, and only then shall the first words be written.

Fall Fog

Balk against the tasks that beckon

your back turned oh so slight

the weight

may take

your right to flight

always at stake.

Hide the key that turns the lock

lest no one find it and

your soul rot

sweep the crumbs under the sheet

my sweet

no one will see

'till morn'

that your son was born

and grows

thriving

under the setting sun

while you

under clouds

wither.

Tides

To what depths
must I follow
my heart racing
my gut clenching
my mind drifting off
   imagining the grocery shopping
   the curve of the laundry line
   my hip a different shape than before
click, tick, shock, tock
I whistle while I wait
and meet
and smile
and get busy painting my mask
but still here the gloom resides
and creeps back in
and out
and in again.

Man and you

I shake your frowns out of my head
not from my dad
     smiling
this time.

Inside
a happy person am I.
And you
my scar tissue.

Cutting it out
leaves another mark.
Got to be the turtle
shell on my back
life out of whack
but moving,
still moving.

It is into the water
where fast I go
grinning
when
swimming.

April 30

Don't need no coffee
or alcohol
no meat
or fish
no gmo's
no fast food
or trash food

but
beans and greens
water and life
live laugh love
and beautiful days
of streaming rays
out of my heart and into your hand
if this can heal the world
wouldn't it be grand?

April 29

Dew on my toes
the morning
like a hiccup
passes
but it was love
while under the spell
of mists
and drifts
and no longer thirsting
for the promise
of sun.

April 25

Eyes open
looking, seeking
art in all the wrong places
made by faces
upturned
or inside
hiding the gift
a secret.

Pavement
clicks
and something shifts
I have to move to find it.

The groove between joints
dries up
crumbles,
add more vibrant
solvent;
guide it.

Eyes closed
finding-
make me blinding
on my own
try it.

April 23

Perceptions
glide
on wings
crumpled
under the reflections
of delusion
and repulsion
sticking
like filaments
to the fabric
of life.

April 22

I tried twice
to write this
came in to my quiet place
but little feet
tip tap stomp
into my heart
and out of my hands
go the words and sound.

Outside
green thick grass
the smell and swell of ocean
dense in the air
and my head
under the sun
fills.

April 19

In the movie "The Secret Garden"
there is a glorious scene
where
as the camera pans through the great stone manor
and continues curling down a darkened corridor
a thrilling voice is heard.

The notes swirl about my untethered head as I recall
the beauty found within such a shadowed place.

Displaced by that surrounding gloom
by tones turned magical
around the corner we follow
taking in the sight
of fast moving hands
a flour dusted apron
sleeves rolled up
that robust glow
of almost ecstasy within
seeping out through pores
and pixels
through air,
time
and into my ears, eyes, mind, heart
and to me here
again,
recalling.

Greensleeves will never
     could never
be the same.
That cook
eyes closed
resides in the home of my heart
singing
while baking and creating for souls she did not make.
Just a job for her,
     a life, yes,
but a world to me.
and inside my mind
my heart sings
while I cook for those I do and did bear
infusing my actions
with what can not be expressed
in tones
alone.

April 18

The mist
how I beckon you
to delve further inside
quiet places
honed spaces
'til the taken in
and pressed out
no longer listen.

Up on crusted rocks
waves crash where I can't see
and through this thunder
I can feel and breathe and be.

April 17

I don't know if you remember
but I do.

The monarchs with stick black legs
on stiff orange-headed flowers in a field so thick of summer
     you couldn't swallow without tasting some hours later
the winding way that the road had
with the bump like an eyelid
winking and blinking as the bike wheels squeaked
the sandy turnout by the mailbox and the rutted two way drive
the woods-
     oh, the trees!
full green so blinding you could see out of your grin
and the sounds
of the grasses
blowing
in
the
wind.

I remember.
I remember it all like no one else can.
No one but you.

You charged out into the world, knowing and claiming
understanding and relating
and I followed
quiet, eyes open, trying to make sense
trying to figure how the dots go together
seeing colors and sounds
as light and tone
floating in and fading away
unable to make them stick down
and pause
so I could formulate a question
     like my big sister could
but you were then gone
up the hill and around the bend
in my clogs
that were dutch blue with a white painted daisy
and I, sad, not able to walk over the jutting stones,
could never catch up
to
you.

April 16

There is a tiny key
I hold it inside my heart
closed over
scabbed
so it remains dark

I forget it is there sometimes
but then it starts to rain
and I feel that familiar clinking
pulling me towards its chain

Links forged from another metal
not from my land of love
I shrug my shoulders and wait
one day
when the ledge is close
I won't even need a shove.

April 15

The lines have been drawn
in ink, pencil, pigment
between man and woman
male and female
you and she.

Sitting alongside,
one forms the differences
but the interior walls
made of cells and sums
hum
at a frequency more different than two boxes to check
(or more if you have evolved farther yet),
and off we go without thinking of what matter matters.

And I
hover
somewhere between the two
able to see me and you
and he and she
and we
as the multitude of divisons
sway this way and that
curving around our understanding
like the bends in a ruler
and the tubes shrinking past
and the rusty bolt, the steam rising, the goggles and
     the glass.

Don't think on the future
think of the now
the moment
this moment
and see with all sides
I am not the she you think
and you not the he I would be
but yet together we sit
and mingle
before sprouting off in another direction
to retangle
perhaps
if the soil is left
unfiltered
by the side of a darkening tree.

April 13

Does no one else glide the tips of their fingers over sturdy bound books
with empty waiting pages
no lines please
but grain
enough
to hold the ink from bits of escaping thought
     like a net catching one fly off the flock.

I have sounds and words
swirling
but am deaf and blind to them
most times
I see that paper and itch for my pen
to sit and breathe
and let the words roll out
     again.

April 11

If I am half here
and half there
and half inside
and half out
does that mean
I am twice the size I think I am
or half the size of you
or are both these scales that measure
a bit or more askew?

April 10

My shell
that which you see
does not hold all of me.
I roam
to places far and wide
unknown
unseen
but wandering.

As life passes by
and I think to a future chair in the corner of a room
by a window
and a lady in mauve
with her hair pulled back in a bunny headband
giving me my meals and regrouping my upended deck of spades and hearts
and clubs and diamonds
I wonder what will cause me to stop drooling
and remember
that I live
still
amongst the frail forgotten
and that
when I was thirty eight
I wanted to go running every day
but didn't
and sat eating dark chocolate covered pretzels
and beet juice flavored chips
fiendishly
instead.

The view from my perch is lovely
the clouds
like cotton over a wound
dressing up the gray
and I
still
sit
gazing.

April 7

Cool wind
must be the door
open
the dog comes forth
cold
wet nosed and seeking.

Warm toes
in socks
I yearn for.
The floor
chilled
the dog
stilled
at my feet
waiting.

April 6

On land
waves still rumble
underfoot
     and jumble
my thoughts
     amiss.

Sunny days
soaking up rays
and laughter
love
light

The horizon grasps
what I might lose
when the light shifts out
of sight.

April 5

Hot air blowing
round and round
it goes
hummm.

Boy's clothes glowing
folded with the halo
balanced
then done.

April 3

Bubbles
subtle
slide

An ache
sometimes deep
swims to hide

and I
atop my pile
find a way
fizzing, fuzzy, floating
sand between my toes
and
orange blossoms in my nose
my hand,
my heart,
my love,
my life-
I glide and slide
like melting ice.

Sky and stars
moonlight glow
air rushing past
then slow,
s l o w.

From underneath a presence breathes
punching out from in,
A cloud
a fog
a shadow seethes
watching, waiting
sin.

April 2

dinner cookin' atop the stove
and the grass keeps on growing.
Dogs wait by the door to rove
and the dust bunnies keep on flowing.
Is this what I waited my life to be?
A mama to boys & dogs and
     ...me?
Hang up the coats,
shake out those boots
the rain has dried
go rouse the troops!
onward and outward
show them some love
the outdoors is calling
and they need a shove.

April 1

and so, we continue
in that drab fab way
You there and me here
     counting the specks on the wall
     wondering if it matters at all

Water washes down the drain
pulling bits of this and that
those hardened specks
they stick on
and I can't help but throw a glance
knowing what is still there
knowing, too, that I can come up afterwards
and shake the sponge at the mess
cleaning slop
frothing up
delicately.

Grinz

Motivation

what have I been waiting for?
a window
a hand to hold
an answer
a door?

I think about the green grasses
the warm breeze
the trees
the things
that make me who I am
when I don't think about what came later-
the unanswered unuttered questions
the complexity
the garbage filled up and crumpled useless information just piling up
...
and I wonder and I wander
but now am sedated
or sedentary
but here,
or there
to window shop
or buy the repair...

My green grass
My watermelon patch
the carrots fresh and true
the lettuce and zucchini too
I wonder about what happened to the little girl
who saw all that was
and all that could be
wrapped up and floating inside of me

Am I here?
Does the I in me still exist?
Have I been replaced
or even just
missed?

My sons, grown and growing
never saw the girl I was.
But what kernel
what nugget
shall I think true
to pass on
to them and then
to whoever is after them...
and them...
and then them too?

Is the beauty that one sees
all that is left of me?
My hopes my dreams
mean nothing.
It is what was and what still lingers
from others.
and mothers.

Plant your garden
love the hens
eat meat if you must
but only from gorgeous farms and not pens
you are what you eat
no boxes
less toxins
smile and laugh and live and be
you are what you eat and you is me.

Invisible she
faint lines
tying a spell
resting to dwell
on other lives lost
whispery vines
tying knotted lines
I wonder
but then
remember
I am not me.

5.2.11 9 years, 243 days counted.

Man on a bridge
shaking the flag
eyes shut tight
hands clutched white
cars going by
not many see
but
me
I hear the beeps
his pose doesn't shift
got his mind focused
on waving that flag.
Is there an end
to an eye for an eye
even after another
man has died
I wonder about
this son of a mother
as I cuddle my youngest
and weep for his brothers
Is there an end
to any of this
swirling
twirling
within the mist.
I drive on
making my way
the man with the flag
continuing to wave.