Saturday, February 26

Woman in Seach of the Cosmos

Last night
under the blanketed silence of the city
water from the snow melt outside made its way in
filling up her room of memories carried from past places

There were cutout cardboard crows with blood red hearts looking left
and an owl feather plucked from the myth of death taken from high places
there was even a bumblebee yellow 1970 paper Pontiac GTO

She was carried out by way of the second story window
floating effortlessly past those by now infamous purple curtains
beyond which laid a whole world
unknown to her






And in her dream she called out to the waters of death: "Take me" she cried, and her voice echoed out into the vastness of boundlessness, nothing to bounce off of, nothing to hold onto. "Take me whole and take now, fill me with your element and lay beside me as I float from this second story of my mind"

As she sank into the falling sands of time, she wondered what would become of her, she wondered what she would make of it all

And there were others. And they too were swimming around her. They kept asking her for things, always they were needing something from her. Watching all this happen in disbelief, she shifted her attention to to a non translatable discourse on the Atlantic ocean being born today. Right now. Here. In front of her dreaming eyes, salt crystals forming. Filling her, engulfing her, becoming her. Becoming one.

"Because there is no separation, right?"

But even so,
as she swam over the copper capitol of the city, she still longed for those damp Pacific Northwest nights
fire engine red Fuji bikes
girl girl tryst
bridges
and those long in breaths
found
while sitting
naked
in claw foot bath tubs
touched
ever so delicately by lavender
and candle light

Completely submerged
she became that water
and with every inhale
she sunk deeper into the endless ocean of light

The penetrating taste of salt on her pouting lips
pursed
waiting
longing
wondering
where to?
How, when?
Who?

But now
here
in this late night excursion
beyond dreams
of the fallen tree limbs of providence
beyond reality
of the continuum of global instability
she's swimming into a space surrounded by Japanese paper lanterns
seeped now in northeast pine
she's sinking into the salty waters of confusion and doubt
wandering about in search of her misplaced joy and firm decision making
she's found herself in a space of don't know
cause she don't know where it went
and she still don't know how she woke up in this ocean state, under white blankets and a room full of gray

She's decided to take up sailing
but is finding
in this pre-dawn storm of laughter
under a darkened February sky
nothing of what she came looking for
but still
she wanders about
like a child
around Christmas time
in search of Santa

What mask this time?

She's wondering
if there really is a mote holding anything back at all
let alone her
back
from
this
this: the eternal timeless realms of all there is

Her footsteps
silent now
as she swims over the antiquated wooden floor boards from bed to bath
bath to tea
tea to floor
she's losing sight of the path under all this water

Its cloudy and foggy and raining outside
and that terrifies her beyond the combined salt marshes of her mind

Flying into her heart
are blackbirds, dancing in this rain
shimmering
into a deeper dance of what this is

Jazz
or ballet?

Perhaps Opera?

Yet still, she finds a calling to just run away
to be high
in the mountains
sitting with nothing other
then the sky
a warm cup of tea
a beautiful man
true love at 9,400 FT

"I could touch the sky
I could drink the stars
I could taste myself"

Cause even the streetlights trigger her now
even the smell of her dad's car

She hears him say "One foot in front of the other young lady
one foot
just keep moving
just keep moving"

Whatever is there is there
is there
no where to run to
no where to go
its there
whatever is there is there
its THERE
meaning
its here
right now
its here
in this mind
in this body
in this heart
this karma
from a past I don't even know anymore

No where to go. Nothing to do. That's what the zenies like to say.

But perhaps, this time
I'll just crawl back into a warm bed
and swim under those white blankets of surrender into the myth of tomorrow


Saturday, February 19

Dear Life


I am here without any idea of how to proceed. I hear "The only way out is though", but how do you even begin to move when your legs are numb, when your legs think they are ears. How do you make your way towards seeing yourself as really true when the dream is where your lost? What do you do when your whole world starts to crumble? When your seeing a deep state of denial for the first time?

Oh life, what do you do when nothing at all makes sense? When time itself floats about like molecules in a universe with no oxygen and you've somehow dreamed yourself in the unknown, the uncontrollable?

Where do you go? What direction do you take when your so caught up in becoming something? How do you unbecome of who and what your not after a lifetime of construction? And how do you perceive where you've already been when you are different? If everyone is already inherently awake, why does it seem so completely unobtainable?  If there's nothing to attain anyway?

How do we live the truth in a way that it is actually actualized? How do we come into agreement with the truth of existence? How do we stop trusting away from ourselves?

What happens when your bottom stepping ground falls away from earthquakes that leave you paralyzed? How do you begin to move again? And where do you go when there is nothing left?

How do you wake up from the person? The dreamer?

Am I losing my mind? Yes. I think I am. Only this time, she' s not sure if thats a good thing anymore

Friday, February 11

Horns and Laughter



Braced in the chasm of falling light
she found her space
in a place thats filled with gray
its that kind of gray that mimics old stones
you know
the ones that hold you in time
as your floating down
when you lose your ground

Yes
she knows there is no ground
there's no need to remind her
she knows its all changing
always anyway

But still
somehow having walls of ashes makes sense to her now

Yes
she knows there is nothing to grasp
that grasping is like holding onto air
and only the molecules appear
that impermanence is the only thing lasting
the only thing thats clear

Still
she finds peace in the perfect placement of her owl pictures and relics

Still
she's finding meaning in the way the paper lantern light gently touches the tree goddess that now hangs upon her imperfect wall

Roots appeal to her now

And as she leans into the pulsation of her molten red hot core
she's reminded of past lovers' eyes
hair
tastes
distant
held as memories now
like the space they occupy
on portable hard drives

But still
she's dancing between the shimmering silvery light that is reflected in those same purple curtains
and the paper patriarchal spiritual lineage chart
hanging
once again
above her bed

She finds relief
that it now holds womenfolk's names
like Jiko
and ryushin

When she looks up to find the Twins in this late winter city sky
all she sees are head lights and bikers passing by

But its okay,
if you listen in a certain tone
there's an ease to the city sounds
honking horns or sirens
laughter from a distance
erupting from unknown mouths
open
with delight in mind

She's finding a truth in the eyes of the passengers in the cars by her side

Stop lights forcing us to stop. Thankfully, its one thing we city folk got.

She's finding a time for contact in her early morning commute
an uncommon kind of closeness in this, The Renaissance City, The City of Divine

Open. More.

Do it again. Again and again

All the while regina speckor sings to buildings
on repeat
in the background

When she looks up she reads the words:

"Be present
Moment by Moment
Don't check out."

And her heart opens. Again. From Rohatsu in Santa Fe to lonely nights in Providence.

Yet it all makes sense. Yes. For this moment in translation, all is okay.

Tuesday, February 8

New Home Insecurity

There's still an echo in my room
unassigned bed placement
too many walls to choose from? Perhaps...

I don't think i can paint it again
what happens when you go from sunburst yellow to ashes grey?
Its funny, and kinda odd that I'm projecting all this instability on the color of my walls, like somehow the right color is going to make everything feel "safe, stable, comfortable, familiar"
but really
I mean after 18 months living in a zen center, you'd think she's got it down
but the only thing she seems to have down is grasping at non reality

But where should I put my fucking bed?!
Where should I put the lamp?
What color curtains? Walls? Bedding?

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Saturday, February 5

Streetlights Under the New Moon

Scraping stickers off the skin of my heart
you know
the ones that have been there
collecting dust
in the back of a second hand store

Its the kind of desk you've dreamed of
sitting in your room
with the thoughts of a writing space
a place in which to communicate your deepest sense of truth

but to who?
who's listening?

The stickiness of the sticker is the kind you have to peel
layer upon layer
fingernail to wood
until it punctures the skin under your nail
and you have to search for its origen
but then suddenly
like insight comes
you realize you have a partial license plate key chain that could make the scraping a bit easier
or so you thought
and perhaps it did
momentarily

The dance continues
and you stare at your new deep purple curtains
which somehow hang in a way that
bring you a sense of relief
at the time

Yet superimposed against the fabric of your life
you question everything
all if it
why celibacy?
why now?
why providence?
why a borderline mother?
a PTSD veteran father?


why chasing yellow trails that gently remind you of silence?
of love?
of the impossible?

But this desk
oh yes
this desk will hold you upright in your darkest hours
and you'll weep
once again
under the emergent hope of white blankets
in the blue light of dawn
welcoming
once again
relief
belief
and sense
in this place
this time
this space