Wednesday, September 29

Wax in Water

Dreaming in the dark on the edge of this
changing season of auburn barley miso soup, nori sesame rice balls and vermicelli sunomono. Setting suns before 7. Ours.

still
there's a craving there
and
somewhere
the questions are still unanswered

even when she stands alone under this fading smoke-filled pinkening sky
she sheds multitudes of this:
a sentient being inside

searching
out-loud
to herself
she's searching in same way of those needles from cedars and pacific madrone's shedding layer upon layer
reaching out towards the salt
reaching out towards the cliff
before berries
or bloom
she's searching

and this
at the half moon of autumn's first round
a deep
deep longing for that kind of stability that comes from years of practice
a deep stability that comes from years of deep practice
but the further she goes down into that labyrinthine rabbit hole
she's finds not much else but her minds eye immersed in the dizzying gray boundless waters of illusion

she's hugely confused by feminism now
greatly confused by sexual preferences
and gender identity
but mostly
mostly
she's confused by all those years of constructing an identity at all
clinging to those foundations she built

built
from a strong determination to be someone worth striving for
and now here she is
being told to throw it all towards the wayside
but instead
she's just sleeping by the wayside
lucidly looking for it all to make sense
shattered piece by piece
broken heart by heart
deluded story by story

spent!
she screams
i'm fucking spent!

its useless
she hears herself mutter quietly to those spiraling winds of time
its useless

but wait
wait my dear love
wait

she hears a whisper so low it sounds like ants marching through space

wait
its the eastern wind carrying raven upon their breast
wait
and listen
beyond bounds is sense
beyond sense is truth
a life worth striving for 
is inherent in all beings
for all beings belong

so
she sighs
okay winds of time
okay heart busted open
okay raven of the light
okay autumn of the fall



i'll wait
she says
i'll wait
and just keep facing those faces and those walls
i'll wait
for the melting to commence

drips
like wax
dripping
like water
into the timelessness of surrender

Saturday, September 18

What's Worth More than an Open Heart?

Born
like people in this world
juxtaposed against a precarious history of numb
superimposed over stable
conquered
our hearts have been
conquistador style

Still 
we can rise

Still 
we can awaken to our hearts
beating inside
we can awaken to our lives
to our partners
our commitments
and communities
to ourselves
the changing seasons 
and seashores

We are humans
but we can be more
we can be warriors riding the darkness well into the morning
and heroines
trading in our made up masks for something more real

Still
I ask you what you need
and as I look you in the eye
I'll send in a busted open heart as backup
just in case this portal closes
again

There's something I want you to know
something I've needed to say
since our last conversation on this precise moment in translation
in that foreign kitchen that time 
on that narrow street
in that city of height
under the guise of breakfast
what I've wanted you to know 
is that
when your facing a wall of a human of stainless steel made of iron and ore
its especially hard
even with a busted open heart 
no matter the gender

And that when you open yourself to those who are just as broken as you are
thats hard too
and it hurts to see them turn and walk away from love
but its worth it
cause then there's not one regret to state

Cause there was that nanosecond of an opening
and written in braille in that ice cold core 
was molten iron
I felt a raw heart 
wide open

But now back to broken
now back to 'shut'

But still
I'm telling you this:
we can rise

Still
we can fill a void in this world of cerebral attachment  
heart disembodiment

Wondering what it is you need

What do you need?
What do you need?
What do you need to open?

Is this is all a game in vain?
Am I the blind fool? 
Something I've missed?


So what fear? I'm not going to listen to you anymore. Just open. Open. I'm only going to listen to this center. Open.









What about Mr. Elliot Smith who impaled his own heart with stainless steel? How sad. That an opening like his led to his death in this cold shut culture

So, what can we do?

What will we do before we find ourselves in our graves?

Do you want a life gone by unnoticed for a fierce type of bravery
in this culture full of stones?

Saturday, September 11

Cross of the Martyrs

The moon hangs low over Santa fe
a mere ten feet from the gleaming cathedral
over Guadalupe's tear and a smile

Fading summer's Scorpio is in the sky tonight
and before me a procession of light
of fire
of peoples passing by
and cultures
blending
into a continuance of the whole

Preserved in our hearts
a manjushri welcomes us
blessings bestowed
invocations for true integration being called upon
in this time of ministers threatening to burn anther's bible
this
a time for peace
I hear voices in the crowd
rising up to meet the stars
a post 9/11 peace
persuing patience and partnerships
a time for love and unity
of nonseperation
deeper connection

Gathering along this stream
I feel as if I'm one of them
and I am
as they are me
as we begin the ascent to the cross on the hill to pray for peace to prevail
on this
the eve of the burning of the Koran
as if their book is not sacred
as if its a bible that flew into the twin towers in downtown Manhattan
that late fall
before the first snowfall
as if the US is on the top of this
our connected world 
that somehow a map can be made
with borders
and boundries
and seperation
even though we all live inside this floating circle

I close my eyes for a moment and listen to wind
asking for guidence
for direction from the spirits of the land
and in that next moment of eyes wide open
I grab hold of her hand
and his
and  join in the stream of the chant
in Spanish
then English
for justice to be truly
understood

Tuesday, September 7

A Lovers Reflection

What was it about that swan dive across the mighty pacific that took me closer to myself
yet further away from any truth i would've perceived?

Something about heading due west...

What was it about New Orleans that called you deeper into babies and intimacy?

There's something about our chosen directions that speak to me now.
Something about growing beyond our confining walls
You heading south
deconstructing childhood dreams
Cinderella style
Me heading due west
to die
alone
Phoenix style

Still
I'm trying to rise from that ash
from those times
from that anger
full of aspen style roots
and passion
and letdowns

I sometimes still wonder about those time we'd sit on the rocky distant ledge of understanding and try to dance ever so delicately
sinking deeper and deeper into those myths we'd woven

There never really was a sense of truth inherent in our connection
was there?
it was mostly smoke and mirrors reflecting something deeper then we'd allow
a fairy tale of sorts
of two lovers
wary
and torn
broken and worn
steering by a culture of fear

Its been 4 years baby
4 years in the making
4 years since I last called you mine
and now you've furthered your kin
and here i am
stating blankly at this riveting early autumn desert night sky
looking for Venus but only finding Jupiter

Still
I'm thinking of you
wondering what planet that could possibly be in this twinkling cloudless blanket above me
positioned oh so cleverly in the south of the east of the south
of the sky
arousing
astounding
bewildering

Separate now
finally
i'm separate from you
and those days of oppressive humidity and wild ferns untended to
are  now extending into a boundless nature

The difference now
is that i'm finally tending to those wildflower gardens we never got around to cultivating
and get this baby
they are blooming in a deep interior kind of way
in colors i've never known
with a fierceness of tender arousal

I hope yours are too
my darling familiar
I hope yours are too..