Refracted

The sun is different this time of year, she notices.
And not just because it’s going down earlier, setting even before she leaves
work now,
but also in how it slants through her windows, piercing her eyes,
reflecting off of her desk in bright
sideways rays which make it hard to see things clearly.

Too much light, refracted off of surfaces
can make it hard to see, she notes.

She pauses now, collecting her spirits,
noticing the darkness has grown significant,
surprising for this time of day.
(Was it cloudy when she stepped outside? She can’t remember.)

Sips her coffee,
which is too hot.
Turns on a desk lamp.

Thinks for a bit.
What is being avoided today?
Typically in a given day, she knows she is avoiding something.
Maybe it’s work that needs to happen,
or maybe something more important, like psychological work.
Digging through old scars to get to the point of things.

Dredging up that old dreck is no fun,
she thinks. Maybe I’ll save it for another day.

She steps back from the poem she is writing,
stops again to look at the great expanse of freedom before her
and wonders why she feels so stuck.

11_1_12

We were married
almost one year ago
to the
day.

You are
starting to hear
my heart song
which is
a
wail.

You didn’t hear
it
when
it was
a
whisper

a
tiny
voice
which
i
could
barely
speak
out
loud.

but now
that voice
is a solemn
cry.
a steady weeping

and now
you hear
it.

Too bad.
I
am
angry
now.

You think
this
can
be fixed
with
popsicles
and
band-aids

kisses
on my
ouches

like a
father
kisses
the
skinned
knees

of his
daughter

but this
is not
a skinned
knee.

This
is my heart

and it
is
tired
of
aching.

Where I'm from

(composed July 29, 2009)


I am from tumbleweeds and saguaro cactus, from Push-up Pops and Pop-Rocks, Capri-sun and sliced oranges, their juices dripping down your forearms leaving wavy, sticky lines.
I am from arid, hot wind blowing your hair in too many directions at once and drying your sweat before it even leaks from your pores.
I am from the thirsty palm tree, the aloe vera plant, the coyote and the family of quail running across the road in front of your car.
I am from Labor Day cookouts on a hand-built fire-pit, and lanky red-heads, Grandma Dot and Aunt Mary Lou and Great-Grandma Gert.
I am from insomnia and passive-aggressive silence and leaving to Patagonia with all her stuff packed in the school bus.
From "The Man wants you to work so you can become a consumer and support his Corporate Machine."  From “No Nukes” and “US Out of the Contra” and “Keep your laws off my body.”

I am from Mother Mary, full of Grace.  From all God’s critters got a place in the choir. From George Fox and William Penn and “Love is like a magic penny.”
I'm from Stonyclove Farm, from the rolling hills of Ridgewood, NJ. From gooey enchiladas and spicy chiles rellenos and cheese souffle made my Grandma Dot, but "Shhh, don't be too loud or you'll make it fall."

From the girl who left home at 16 to hitchhike across the country with strangers.
From the could-have-climbed-the-corporate-ladder but instead became a onetime mountain-man.
From the Birkenstock-wearing PTA mom driving us to school in her dusty 20 year old beat-up Volkswagen van.  
From driving across the border so mom can get a root canal because we don't have dental insurance. 

From  four kids, two parents and a giant shaggy dog driving from state to state in a white school bus.  
From two-week long camping trips with no toilet, no shower, no other human beings for miles around.  From seeing snow (in August!) on the top of a mountain.
From tofu and tabbouleh and cous-cous.  
From being vegetarian when it wasn’t “cool” or “hip” or “Green.”  From “But what do you EAT? Can you at least have hamburgers?”  
I am from drinking miso-soup when you’re sick and swallowing bitter yellow goldenseal capsules to help heal a cold. 
From "You don't need stitches, it's only a flesh wound."
I am from a big scar across his abdomen from the war that he did not like to talk about.  
I am from dusty boxes of photos under the bed, from a wardrobe full of black and white photo albums, from a velvet-lined jewelry box with Grandma’s old costume jewelry which must be kept hidden in the attic, away from the prying eyes of children and would-be thieves.

She rocks me into the deep

(for b.) written 8/21/12

She Rocks me into the deep with her soul arms wrapped around me.

Can you see it? She asked me Where did you go? It’s another
Place
A letting go,
a vast ocean
of darkness which is not dark
only space/time

Leaping

to where you need to be
healing
your Soul vibration.

A love that is like
no Other- the primordial rhythm-
pulsing through you
as you
know. you feel. you are. I am.
Love/light/love

peace. Place has no meaning in the place of love.

Light beings are all of us
We know no darkness,
only love-being. We are that

which we were born to be-

Unblemished as we were at our conception-
undamaged unmasked by our mothers’ and our fathers’ experiences.

She came to me in the night
and brought me to this world again.
And I was no longer afraid
I knew I could let go of the fear
and not be held back.

I know there is no such thing as pain
only blocked
energy and “Dive into it.” She said. “You can be free.”

So Dive in.
Into the oceanic love and light
of the waves washing over you

See the shining eye

the blue/purple light when you let go and
Be Free.

Allow your Self to transcend

into the heaven here on Earth.


2. After Care for the Heart

As above,

so below.

You are the truth love light beauty creative

soul self Energy

You are vibrating with this
Peace in a new way
but you always have known

You are coming back to your Soul Being.
Love being.
Love light
love.

All blessings.

Breathing

She took my breath and
my heart
then with one fell swoop
gave it back to me
in five little words

I am still in this.
And just like that
I can breathe again.

Long Road (Advice for when you don't know what to do)

When the night is long
and you are weary
and you are not sure
that you want to get out of bed,
Just get up anyway.

And make sure the children are fed.

When the night stretches before you
like a marathon
and you think you’ll never be able to sleep
and you look at the clock every ten
minutes
thinking about the next day
and how you won’t be able to get through it
Close your eyes. And breathe.

Turn on a light
and write.
Write about your fears,
your longings
your wishes.

Write your wishes into a tiny piece of paper

and fold it up,
even smaller
and put it under your pillow

and the next morning
when the unforgiving sun rises
and your eyes don’t want to open
take it out and read them.

Before putting your pants on.

When you think
that you can’t possibly put one foot in
front of the other
to walk the long path
you see before you

Do it anyway.
When you think you can’t see the path
and you are wondering what to do

Just take small steps

Make a cup of tea
and sit and look out the window
and make yourself
eat a bowl of yogurt.

When you think that the path
you are walking is no longer valid
take a different turn

It does not have to be a big change,
just wear a different color
Shirt
and maybe take a different route to work.
or walk instead of drive.

Let your mind have the freedom to see
a different choice is always available.

When you look down at
your hands and see that they have become
old woman hands
remember that you have earned them.
You have planted seeds and watched
them grow. You have tilled the soil in your little patch
of land

and washed a lot of shit out of a lot of diapers
and worked those weary fingers

For every morsel you have
received.

Remember that you have given
yourself
to others
and that it is okay
to take some back.

If you are not a mother
you probably still know some of this
pain
of watching your babies (whatever you baby might be)
grow older
and watching your heart leave
your body.

Maybe you know it in a different
form.
Maybe you grieve for other
losses. (Maybe your own youth.)

Remember that your grief
is
valid.
And remember that this isn’t forever.

Just walk the path
and trust

this is not forever.

I have let a cold stone

I have let a cold stone wrap around my heart.
Around that I have wrapped it with a layer of foam and bubble wrap.
I am tired of slamming my heart up against the walls of my chest. My
heart
Is a tiny little baby bird.
The bird
needs to be held and nursed back to life.

I am not sure if that baby bird is dying.
Maybe the cat finally got to it.