I Confess

"What aisle did you find your serenity in.  . .?

I would love to exude serenity as described here.

Actually, I'd settle for a crown of snowy braids...

erect bearing and radiating tenderness.

as well as “beaming peace like the North Star”; 

These references to serenity, radiating tenderness and 

beaming peace make me aware of how programmed I am to rush.  

My DNA seems to contain a loudspeaker 

blaring HURRY! on an endless loop.   

I'm someone who picks up on the vibes 

of the space I’m in, so when people around me are rushing 

it triggers this competitive, ruthless, mindless 

impulse toward speed.
Three things come to mind as I consider this:
One where the sense of rush is strong is in the airport 

with a river of people all hurrying to get where they're headed...
This happens most often as I’m returning from a trip and eager to get home.

 I pick up on the rush energy and join in with gusto.  
Another is when I’m driving and another vehicle pulls up behind me 

clearly wanting to get around.  I immediately start looking for a place 

to pull over  so they can pass.  I do not do this kindly...just saying...it irks me.
The third is when I have an appointment and I’m running late.  

The loudspeaker picks up speed and volume then.  

The need for approval plus perfection join hands and hit the gas.

I ask myself  why the rush? 

I respond, there’s a list:
1. there’s a rush to knock out mundane tasks in order to get to 
the next "beguiling experiment, or enticing activity...
”should I linger over these dirty dishes or go play in my art studio?” 
2. to get somewhere where I can relax and unwind, ie: home.
3. somewhere I don’t have to meet expectations, 
4. fulfill an obligation, 
5. to escape something that’s going to 

steal time from me...as in rush hour traffic 

16. so as not to miss my turn in 

whatever fun thing is coming up.

I'm hoping these desires can grant this 

"beaming peace like the North Star" anyway.

Activist

"True Activism means to gently immerse your 

whole astonished body in the river of Presence."

These days there seems to be a strong, strong need

for activism.   "Do something" is the refrain 

I hear running circles in my mind.

The next question is, what can I do?

It's refreshing to hear

 "gently immersing our whole body in ... 

the river of Presence" falls under the definition.

This is guidance that removes

the panic and sense of helplessness that tends

to follow me around.

I know its critical to pay attention;

to act when compelled to do so

in whatever way we are called.

"To drown in the mystery of communion

with whoever stands before you, and serve them by being.

Out of being, doing arises."

I will call it to mind when I'm emailing, texting,

speaking on the phone as well as standing before someone.

"The politics of compassion has no party, and no platform.

This is your native country.  It is all sacred homeland.

One thing I remember about my days in the TV field

long ago. I watched a man shoot a news report or a commercial,

I don't remember which, in the tiny little office of the station.

I was struck by how small the whole affair was

and noticed how watching it on TV made it

somehow seem more significant.

All the media coming at us is being produced

in tiny rooms by ordinary people.

 

Joy Conditioning

"So do this in your next joyful moment--take pause

pay attention to the constellation of light 

shining singularly into your life."

Practice, practice, practice...

this is not automatic behavior in my world.

I suspect it might be the same for you.  

Work the muscle of pause...

perform repetitions of paying attention to the sparkle.

"Let this memory embed itself into your body

as a fiber of truth you return to when all alone

and full of self-doubt, . . .even if all you have

to hold on to is this one twitch of joy..."

Turn that twitch into an inner tattoo 

maybe on the back of your hand so you see it often?

Let it repeat itself over and over with your breath.

Recall it whenever you sit down or change position.

Remember it when your joints object to your movements.

Let it reverberate with every step you take.

There are numerous ways to embed it into our bones. 

It's more than worth the effort...to harness joy;

to carry our inherent goodness on our sleeves

where all can see....especially ourselves.

 

i have met women

"stretching bridges across ravines

everyone else called endings."

I have at least two women inside me...

the one who stretches bridges over ravines, 

and tells herself she's being naive and pollyanna,

but stretches anyway;

and the other who stares into the ravine and says its over.

They're slowly learning to walk hand in hand with

a lean toward the bridge while recognizing endings 

are real, with something unseen beyond them 

which just might surprise us. 

". . .a wilderness where scars are simple treerings

. . .one touches to see time."

The idea of recalibrating scars to treerings intrigues me.  

I am thinking of the treerings as the tree's journal...

a unique record of one individual's circle through time.

 

The Journey

This piece is so fitting right now,

"You knew what you had to do,. . .

though the melancholy was terrible"

as I travel through journals from the past.

It was already late enough. . .

With my usual instinct, my first thought is

"it's pretty late, isn't it" but that's exactly the voice

I'm no longer listening to.  

It is right on time.

But little by little. . .there was a new voice, 

which you slowly recognized as your own,

that kept you company. . .

determined to do the only thing you could do. . .

Maybe it takes seven decades to recognize your own voice.

Maybe it takes that long to realize its been there all along...

hidden away underneath the melancholy 

and the voices that need to be left behind.

With a lump in my throat and

a giant thanks to M.O.

I leave you with her stunning words.

 

World Dance

"Everything dies, sooner or later.

Winning or losing, everything dies."

Truth, no matter my attempts to ignore,

deny, avoid this fact.

"The game of pain plays and stays and repeats 

that everything dies sooner or later. 

But the sky behind the sky tells you its secret 

close in your ear and warm against your lips: 

everything lives."

The sky behind the sky...

how I love this way of putting it...

what we can not see or wrap our head around

yet somehow we know it exists.

Everything lives... defies my small mind to understand.

In some cases I can accept this as fact.

We all die little deaths and bigger deaths 

over and over and over.

But there are areas from this vantage point,

where dead is dead as in gone.

Mom's physical hands to hold,  dad's physical hugs...

alive in my memory, yes, but generations to come

will not have that physical memory to recall.  

Perhaps when I myself am dead, 

I will be able to see a truth in this?

"The world is to big to lose."

Is it?

 

All The Night Stars

"The stars shine forever, even when dead.

So do we."

I confirmed that some stars do continue to shine after death.

The idea that we will too, is delightful. 

Whether real or metaphorical,

I'll take it.

"Ignore the background noise of wars. . .

Fear is a sheer nighty on a skeleton."

I adore the image of fear as a nighty on a skeleton.

It reduces it to comical in a grim kind of way.

"Sorrow is wild flowers in a graveyard

over our tomorrows.

Another "haunting" image which does 

 not reduce to comical but defines

in a bittersweet way that matches a sad reality.

"Always remember to shine."