I've been going to church every morning. I look forward to two parts of the mass: the entire church reciting the Lord's Prayer and the moments of quiet reflection after communion. In these moments, my ego rests. When ego rests, I have a clearer understanding of who I am. When ego is active I identify with what the ego has told me about my unworthiness. No matter what our religious beliefs are, we all believe we have a higher self and a lower self, and when we are in our higher self we feel better. That higher self is not competetiive and therefore doesn't see lack. It's neutral, and because of that it's easy to forget or ignore.
Yoga is another time/place where I can rest in my higher self. There are moments in yoga and mass when I fall into ego: whenever I stand in either venue.
If I am standing, others can see me, and if they can see me, I am vulnerable. To be vulnerable means to be open to attack, but what if we take "attack" away from the definition and leave it as "to be open to..."? I have to stand to receive communion, both the wave of the words of a community prayer and the intimacy of holding the body of Christ in my hand and on my tongue. I am vulnerable to God's presence in those moments.
Yoga asana is all about breathing to me. If I stay mentally connected to my breathing I am again in the presence of my higher self. But a moment or two disconnected from my breathing and I am suddenly filled with ideas of not being pretty enough, good enough, worthy enough.
The key for me is to remember I am always breathing,a communion in itself, a moment of being open to... There is nothing I lack. And I am good enough, despite years and years of ancient voices saying I'm not.
Yoga. Meditation. Prayer. The occasional mass. Kissing my kid. Walking the dog. These are my medicines , especially during the holidays. I am often a little house of cards, and these hold me up. These allow me to be open to... We don't need to find God, but we do need to feel God. This is communion.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Thoughts On Samskaras and Bindu and Science and God
Some Thoughts on Samskaras and Bindu and Science and God and Maybe They All Go Together
Samskaras are the seeds of karma. Imagine a garden shed with a drawer of seeds your great grandfather collected. Maybe there are seeds there which he received from his great grandmother. You are now the owner of your great great great great grandmother's seeds.
Now imagine you actually lived in the time of this ancient grandmother. You collected a lifetime of experiences back then. Some of the effects of those experiences came into fruition during the lifetimes between then and now (karma) and some didn't. Just as many seeds were planted by your ancestors and some remain in the drawer, unused, samskaras exist in your consciousness.
We carry our history with us. We know that, but maybe we never really cared to explore the history older than the bones of our physical body. Maybe our religion doesn't believe in multiple lifetimes, so we don't. I don't give much thought to past lifetimes, either.
We know all about actions and consequences from our present time on earth. We don't need to look farther back. Besides, if we lived multiple lives we probably have multiple lives left to live, and sometimes that's a debilitating thought.
Still, karma and samskaras exist now. How do we know?
...
I am not a scientist or a master yogi but I like their ideas. One person sharing their ideas, especially when those ideas are not the norm, creates more space for another person to do the same. There's a name for that; it's called collective resonance. When one person chooses to look at things differently another will, too. Similarly, when you do something to one electron, another electron will be effected. Why? Because according to many, there's only one of us here! All particles were once one small thing, the size of a pea. Those particles began expanding, and they kept expanding until everything was made. They're still expanding, but all particles are always connected. The word bindu means a dot or small point. From that point came everything in existence. Bindu also means potential. It's all stored in that point. In Christianity, that one thing is the Word. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made." Every kundalini yoga sadhaka knows at least that Bible quote!
The Age of Aquarius will be known, they say, by the marriage of religion and science. God is the thing. The bindu.
...
We know karma and samskaras exist now because we see the power of cause and effect within our chemical make-up, that electron being manipulated creates a manipulation in the other electron. That one thing continues to expand without losing its connection to all other particles.
Here's something Quantum Physics calls "The Measurement Problem", which is the idea that something exists only when you're looking at it, when you have a conscious relationship with it. They say there are no objects, actually, just relationships. Wo. What happens to something when you're not looking at it? How can something only exist when we are in relationship with it?
We are always relating with our karma. It's here, and the dormant seeds are waiting to be used. If I lived before then I must have brought a lot of seeds with me into this life. Maybe that's why I sometimes make careful decisions and I sometimes am just driven to make others. I don't think one way is always better than the other. And I don't think karma and samskara are the only things motivating me. But the clearest action is taken when the karma is worked out and the dormant seeds are burned through the practice of yoga. It might take many lifetimes. Catholics don't believe in those, but they do believe in the words of Jesus, a man who chose to look at things differently, who said do unto others what you would have them do unto you. That sounds like karma. Yoga burns samskaras. Put them together and you have a nice marriage joined together by science. Or just God.
Samskaras are the seeds of karma. Imagine a garden shed with a drawer of seeds your great grandfather collected. Maybe there are seeds there which he received from his great grandmother. You are now the owner of your great great great great grandmother's seeds.
Now imagine you actually lived in the time of this ancient grandmother. You collected a lifetime of experiences back then. Some of the effects of those experiences came into fruition during the lifetimes between then and now (karma) and some didn't. Just as many seeds were planted by your ancestors and some remain in the drawer, unused, samskaras exist in your consciousness.
We carry our history with us. We know that, but maybe we never really cared to explore the history older than the bones of our physical body. Maybe our religion doesn't believe in multiple lifetimes, so we don't. I don't give much thought to past lifetimes, either.
We know all about actions and consequences from our present time on earth. We don't need to look farther back. Besides, if we lived multiple lives we probably have multiple lives left to live, and sometimes that's a debilitating thought.
Still, karma and samskaras exist now. How do we know?
...
I am not a scientist or a master yogi but I like their ideas. One person sharing their ideas, especially when those ideas are not the norm, creates more space for another person to do the same. There's a name for that; it's called collective resonance. When one person chooses to look at things differently another will, too. Similarly, when you do something to one electron, another electron will be effected. Why? Because according to many, there's only one of us here! All particles were once one small thing, the size of a pea. Those particles began expanding, and they kept expanding until everything was made. They're still expanding, but all particles are always connected. The word bindu means a dot or small point. From that point came everything in existence. Bindu also means potential. It's all stored in that point. In Christianity, that one thing is the Word. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made." Every kundalini yoga sadhaka knows at least that Bible quote!
The Age of Aquarius will be known, they say, by the marriage of religion and science. God is the thing. The bindu.
...
We know karma and samskaras exist now because we see the power of cause and effect within our chemical make-up, that electron being manipulated creates a manipulation in the other electron. That one thing continues to expand without losing its connection to all other particles.
Here's something Quantum Physics calls "The Measurement Problem", which is the idea that something exists only when you're looking at it, when you have a conscious relationship with it. They say there are no objects, actually, just relationships. Wo. What happens to something when you're not looking at it? How can something only exist when we are in relationship with it?
We are always relating with our karma. It's here, and the dormant seeds are waiting to be used. If I lived before then I must have brought a lot of seeds with me into this life. Maybe that's why I sometimes make careful decisions and I sometimes am just driven to make others. I don't think one way is always better than the other. And I don't think karma and samskara are the only things motivating me. But the clearest action is taken when the karma is worked out and the dormant seeds are burned through the practice of yoga. It might take many lifetimes. Catholics don't believe in those, but they do believe in the words of Jesus, a man who chose to look at things differently, who said do unto others what you would have them do unto you. That sounds like karma. Yoga burns samskaras. Put them together and you have a nice marriage joined together by science. Or just God.
Monday, November 14, 2011
In The Groove
Sat Nam! Thanks for stopping by.
I'm working on something special. I'd like to write about my reading from the past week of the Sutras and Gita and other information on yoga and the ego. When I was pregnant it seemed as though every other woman was pregnant. When I was dating a guy with a white Ford Ranger, it seemed every guy in town was driving a white Ford Ranger. Now that I'm studying yoga and the ego, um, everything I do and say seems to be coming from my ego.
Consciousness is made of these: mind, intellect, memory, and ego. Yoga is defined as stilling the thought-waves in the chitta, consciousness. Even a little of this stilling can shift you from the habit of relying on the ego to communicate and choosing another area of the consciousness. A breath, the yogi's magic pill, is all the time you need to create this shift. We all know that, but we don't always do it. Why? That question fascinates me. It has a lot to do with how our patterns of action create litle grooves in the brain. Every time we repeat that action, we carve a deeper groove. We like getting in a groove. It's familiar. All the attention to the breath in a yoga class is designed to form a new groove.
Basal ganglia are nuclei in the brain having to do with the execution of smooth movement patterns. They play a part in coordination, cognition, and emotion. A novice guitar player is a bit clumsy with the strings, but the more she practices, the smoother her playing becomes. Neurons are firing in her brain and working together to make the action smooth. Eventually, she won't need to follow the music sheet. If she gives up the guitar and picks it up again ten years later, clumsiness returns, but give her a few minutes to warm up and things start to come back to her. The groove remains after the action has stopped. It can get weaker, as those neurons have stopped connecting. But the groove is still there, waiting to be exercised.
Yoga would call those grooves samskaras. Samskaras are the seeds of karma. They lie in the consciousness like seeds in a packet. Give them soil and water and they grow. More on samskaras will come next week.
Meanwhile, back in my ego..
In yoga class, in meditation, often in private and some social situations, I am aware of being a soul here to experience being human. A flash of that wisdom informs the whole day. At family events, I am nothingness. I am dismissed. I can't be offered a scoop of cranberry sauce without hiding in a deep groove of telling myself I am insignificant and unworthy. It's just cranberry sauce, but it doesn't matter what is said or offered. My ego has responded the moment someone has looked at me for longer than five seconds. I've been seen, which is what I want. But being seen is being exposed, and I am nothingness, remember? Put a pack of cigarettes in front of someone who hasn't smoked for two weeks. Put a box of cookies in front of a dieter. Put me at the Thanksgiving table. Old habits die hard. I could change it with a deep breath, but will I?
I'm working on something special. I'd like to write about my reading from the past week of the Sutras and Gita and other information on yoga and the ego. When I was pregnant it seemed as though every other woman was pregnant. When I was dating a guy with a white Ford Ranger, it seemed every guy in town was driving a white Ford Ranger. Now that I'm studying yoga and the ego, um, everything I do and say seems to be coming from my ego.
Consciousness is made of these: mind, intellect, memory, and ego. Yoga is defined as stilling the thought-waves in the chitta, consciousness. Even a little of this stilling can shift you from the habit of relying on the ego to communicate and choosing another area of the consciousness. A breath, the yogi's magic pill, is all the time you need to create this shift. We all know that, but we don't always do it. Why? That question fascinates me. It has a lot to do with how our patterns of action create litle grooves in the brain. Every time we repeat that action, we carve a deeper groove. We like getting in a groove. It's familiar. All the attention to the breath in a yoga class is designed to form a new groove.
Basal ganglia are nuclei in the brain having to do with the execution of smooth movement patterns. They play a part in coordination, cognition, and emotion. A novice guitar player is a bit clumsy with the strings, but the more she practices, the smoother her playing becomes. Neurons are firing in her brain and working together to make the action smooth. Eventually, she won't need to follow the music sheet. If she gives up the guitar and picks it up again ten years later, clumsiness returns, but give her a few minutes to warm up and things start to come back to her. The groove remains after the action has stopped. It can get weaker, as those neurons have stopped connecting. But the groove is still there, waiting to be exercised.
Yoga would call those grooves samskaras. Samskaras are the seeds of karma. They lie in the consciousness like seeds in a packet. Give them soil and water and they grow. More on samskaras will come next week.
Meanwhile, back in my ego..
In yoga class, in meditation, often in private and some social situations, I am aware of being a soul here to experience being human. A flash of that wisdom informs the whole day. At family events, I am nothingness. I am dismissed. I can't be offered a scoop of cranberry sauce without hiding in a deep groove of telling myself I am insignificant and unworthy. It's just cranberry sauce, but it doesn't matter what is said or offered. My ego has responded the moment someone has looked at me for longer than five seconds. I've been seen, which is what I want. But being seen is being exposed, and I am nothingness, remember? Put a pack of cigarettes in front of someone who hasn't smoked for two weeks. Put a box of cookies in front of a dieter. Put me at the Thanksgiving table. Old habits die hard. I could change it with a deep breath, but will I?
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Day 31: A Haiku Within A Haiku
FINALLY! I DID IT!
to my dear reader
(the 2 or 3 of you)
May's poems are now over
(there are more poems to do)
udnib says goodbye
(the backward bindu)
Let me tell you, this was no picnic. It was hard, harder than the first 30. But it was good. A poem needs more time to be created if it wants to be good. And I found myself giving less and less time to this project. But each rough piece was a drop of bindu, and I am happy with the outcome. Thanks for reading! Sat Nam.
to my dear reader
(the 2 or 3 of you)
May's poems are now over
(there are more poems to do)
udnib says goodbye
(the backward bindu)
Let me tell you, this was no picnic. It was hard, harder than the first 30. But it was good. A poem needs more time to be created if it wants to be good. And I found myself giving less and less time to this project. But each rough piece was a drop of bindu, and I am happy with the outcome. Thanks for reading! Sat Nam.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Day 30: (Memorial Day) : Falling From Heaven
He told us keep praying or they'll fall back into life.
It's how Heaven works.
The forgotten are released - dropped like a Pepsi out of the machine.
They land hard and shiny into a new life and spend it searching for those friends and family who dropped the ball.
We know our parents, our grandparents, and sometimes our great grandparents.
Then who?
Your cousin's kid is Uncle Willie, a hero in the Civil War.
Memorial Day was created for those who fell then.
I walked to my car with my head bowed in prayer.
I drove home thinking of my ancestry.
I opened the front door and hugged the dog.
It's how Heaven works.
The forgotten are released - dropped like a Pepsi out of the machine.
They land hard and shiny into a new life and spend it searching for those friends and family who dropped the ball.
We know our parents, our grandparents, and sometimes our great grandparents.
Then who?
Your cousin's kid is Uncle Willie, a hero in the Civil War.
Memorial Day was created for those who fell then.
I walked to my car with my head bowed in prayer.
I drove home thinking of my ancestry.
I opened the front door and hugged the dog.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Day 29 (NoNo's Birthday): Weather
The sky is grey with rambunctious potential.
I like it this way.
Except our world has seen enough unforgiving weather.
This morning I feel as though I'm looking
up into the next disaster.
What happened to the mornings when rain made me smile
and run to the nearest book, paper, and pen?
Pink bouganvilea flutter happily as wind lifts their dresses.
Tangerine leaves cheer.
Everyone in the yard is clapping now.
Bring it on, they seem to say.
Wind, rain, storm.
This is California!
And you know what they say about us:
We're fruits and nuts, raw and wild and passionate.
Stand outside and let God toss you around.
Thank you, I say, but He does that fine from in here.
And you're right.
I'm a fruit and a nut and a flower
standing in life with my dress fluttering and my hands clapping.
Thanks for reminding me.
I like it this way.
Except our world has seen enough unforgiving weather.
This morning I feel as though I'm looking
up into the next disaster.
What happened to the mornings when rain made me smile
and run to the nearest book, paper, and pen?
Pink bouganvilea flutter happily as wind lifts their dresses.
Tangerine leaves cheer.
Everyone in the yard is clapping now.
Bring it on, they seem to say.
Wind, rain, storm.
This is California!
And you know what they say about us:
We're fruits and nuts, raw and wild and passionate.
Stand outside and let God toss you around.
Thank you, I say, but He does that fine from in here.
And you're right.
I'm a fruit and a nut and a flower
standing in life with my dress fluttering and my hands clapping.
Thanks for reminding me.
Day 29 (NoNo's Birthday) : Today's Weather
The sky is grey with rambunctious potential
I like it this way
except our world has seen enough unforgiving heavens.
This morning I feel as though I'm looking up into the next disaster.
What happened to the mornings when the rain made me smile
and run to the nearest book, paper, and pen?
Pink bougainvilea flutter happily as wind lifts their dresses.
Tangerine leaves cheer.
They're all clapping now.
Bring it on, they seem to say.
Wind. Rain. Storm.
This is California!
And you know what they say about us;
We're fruits and nuts, raw and wild and passionate.
Stand outside and let God toss you around.
Thank you, I say, but He does that fine from in here.
But you're right.
I'm a fruit, a nut, and a flower
standing in life with my dress fluttering and my hands clapping.
Thanks for reminding me.
I like it this way
except our world has seen enough unforgiving heavens.
This morning I feel as though I'm looking up into the next disaster.
What happened to the mornings when the rain made me smile
and run to the nearest book, paper, and pen?
Pink bougainvilea flutter happily as wind lifts their dresses.
Tangerine leaves cheer.
They're all clapping now.
Bring it on, they seem to say.
Wind. Rain. Storm.
This is California!
And you know what they say about us;
We're fruits and nuts, raw and wild and passionate.
Stand outside and let God toss you around.
Thank you, I say, but He does that fine from in here.
But you're right.
I'm a fruit, a nut, and a flower
standing in life with my dress fluttering and my hands clapping.
Thanks for reminding me.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Day 28: Untitled
"Pain is caused by our separation from now." Guru Singh
Which is where I was last night.
Which is where I have so often been.
I was grieving then -
when I go to the place I visit-
he was dead and we were barely holding on.
I was present then
only I never knew it
present was such a raw and fighening place to be.
You broke the spell when you walked in the door.
I was present then.
Don't let me go.
All my mistakes were made for you.
Which is where I was last night.
Which is where I have so often been.
I was grieving then -
when I go to the place I visit-
he was dead and we were barely holding on.
I was present then
only I never knew it
present was such a raw and fighening place to be.
You broke the spell when you walked in the door.
I was present then.
Don't let me go.
All my mistakes were made for you.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Day 27: Joplin
Joplin
her hometown
her high school
demolished
her friends' homes
demonly wrecked
her friends
alive
Joplin
she spoke the name with love and casual pride
the homemade prom dress
the teenage boyfriends
the restaurant where she counted her tips at night
Joplin
the name now sacrosanct
the country bows her head
one more temple site on the map of our holy land
Joplin
all over the t.v.
a man mourns the death of his two sons
while standing on a pile of wood which used to be
the place where they ate and slept and did homework
where they threw baseballs in the yard and rode bikes in the driveway
Joplin
the high school is gone
her hometown
her high school
demolished
her friends' homes
demonly wrecked
her friends
alive
Joplin
she spoke the name with love and casual pride
the homemade prom dress
the teenage boyfriends
the restaurant where she counted her tips at night
Joplin
the name now sacrosanct
the country bows her head
one more temple site on the map of our holy land
Joplin
all over the t.v.
a man mourns the death of his two sons
while standing on a pile of wood which used to be
the place where they ate and slept and did homework
where they threw baseballs in the yard and rode bikes in the driveway
Joplin
the high school is gone
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Day 26: Wednesdays With Sylvia
Our first session:
Sylvia is 92, born in Genoa.
I walked in and she said, "LOOOK, I can touch my toes." She raised her arms and folded forward, fingers to her black tennies.
Sylvia drives, paints, has a dog, a cat, and a parrot. Her chihuahua died last night at 15.
I put my keys down on a carved wood table. "Someone offered me $18,000 for that. I took my keys off the carved wood table. She had three Tiffany lamps. They're Seconds," she said.
We spent thirty minutes practicing yoga together. Her ujjayi was as robust as my husband's. She was standing straighter when we were through.
Afterward she told me about her childhood in Genoa, and how she would walk to the mountaintop to gather mushrooms her mother would fry and serve alongside dinner. She told me this story twice. As I left, I thought I wouldn't mind hearing it a few more times.
Sylvia is 92, born in Genoa.
I walked in and she said, "LOOOK, I can touch my toes." She raised her arms and folded forward, fingers to her black tennies.
Sylvia drives, paints, has a dog, a cat, and a parrot. Her chihuahua died last night at 15.
I put my keys down on a carved wood table. "Someone offered me $18,000 for that. I took my keys off the carved wood table. She had three Tiffany lamps. They're Seconds," she said.
We spent thirty minutes practicing yoga together. Her ujjayi was as robust as my husband's. She was standing straighter when we were through.
Afterward she told me about her childhood in Genoa, and how she would walk to the mountaintop to gather mushrooms her mother would fry and serve alongside dinner. She told me this story twice. As I left, I thought I wouldn't mind hearing it a few more times.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Day 25: Id Rather
"Would you rather be perfect or would you rather be complete?" Carl Jung
I would rather know affluence than poverty,
though I would live one and dream the other and therefore know both well.
I would rather know friendship than loneliness,
though I carve time alone or I find I'm alone and so have lone moments and chunks and planks.
I would rather know compassion than dispassion,
even as I sometimes find neutrality the better way to live through things.
I would rather know motherhood than barrenness,
but there's barrenness only a mother knows when her child is far away.
So I would rather be perfectly complete,
but then I would be dead.
I would rather know affluence than poverty,
though I would live one and dream the other and therefore know both well.
I would rather know friendship than loneliness,
though I carve time alone or I find I'm alone and so have lone moments and chunks and planks.
I would rather know compassion than dispassion,
even as I sometimes find neutrality the better way to live through things.
I would rather know motherhood than barrenness,
but there's barrenness only a mother knows when her child is far away.
So I would rather be perfectly complete,
but then I would be dead.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Day 24: I thought I saw summer
Down the street and around the corner,just off the island, I thought I saw summer walking toward me. Then I turned on Born To Run and drove home under a purple sky.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Day 23: You know it's bad when it's a haiku about facebook
sifting through facebook
good morning to everyone
down the endless page
good morning to everyone
down the endless page
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Day 22: A Lullaby For Mommy
black gives way to indigo
I finally give way to sleep
but before I do...
know that I'm up because I'm thinking of you
as I pour through the images I keep
I finally give way to sleep
but before I do...
know that I'm up because I'm thinking of you
as I pour through the images I keep
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Day 21: Some Other Things I Saw
I saw someone get it
I'll leave you to ponder what they got
I saw teenage girls singing
in a supermarket parking lot
I saw my husband lull the dog to sleep
with his guitar
and everyone talking about
the end of the world on Bill Mauher
I saw a black sky turn blue
and in a dream, I saw you
I woke up and you were there again
We'll be fine when the world ends
I'll leave you to ponder what they got
I saw teenage girls singing
in a supermarket parking lot
I saw my husband lull the dog to sleep
with his guitar
and everyone talking about
the end of the world on Bill Mauher
I saw a black sky turn blue
and in a dream, I saw you
I woke up and you were there again
We'll be fine when the world ends
Friday, May 20, 2011
Day 19: 2 Versions of "5 Things I Saw Today"
I saw my hand tremble
a man drinking the blood of Christ
a hundred people dropping to their knees
lips moving
women holding chains
I saw a lily beginning to die
the body of Christ laid in my hand
I saw a black pool of ants on the driveway
and for one second
I saw time stand still
as she walked through the front door
a man drinking the blood of Christ
a hundred people dropping to their knees
lips moving
women holding chains
I saw a lily beginning to die
the body of Christ laid in my hand
I saw a black pool of ants on the driveway
and for one second
I saw time stand still
as she walked through the front door
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Day 19: My Dream Last Night
Our new office was on the third floor
Our new condo a corner unit overlooking the ocean
He was old and wanted to give us these things
I needed the things and wanted the friendship
and I can flip that around all night but the truth is
some things we need and some things we want and sometimes
we have it all backward
Our new condo a corner unit overlooking the ocean
He was old and wanted to give us these things
I needed the things and wanted the friendship
and I can flip that around all night but the truth is
some things we need and some things we want and sometimes
we have it all backward
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Day 18: Ellery Drive
I never knew the man named Ellery, but his name is a part of me
I am made of pale blue carpet
spaghetti and fish sticks
I am made of fire hydrant meetings at dark
and the lamp post I smiled at as I ate my breakfast
I am made of a certain ordinary tree and an old metal slide
I am made of many mouths of loose teeth
looking up the word orgy in the dictionary
I am made of the word intercourse which we found there
I am made of riding bikes
of laughter and singing, hiding and seeking
there was a boy I was mean to
I am made of him
I am made of handball aginst the garage door
and soccer in the rain
I am made of open doors
and places set at the neighbor's tables, just for me
I am made of manners and lent and hanging out in the driveway
I am made of sweet, magical summers
I am well made
I am not damaged goods
that was your word for me
I am made of Eggo's and Grandma's manicotti
distilled into this freckled face
this sleepy voice
this heart on a hand-me-down sleeve
I am made of pale blue carpet
spaghetti and fish sticks
I am made of fire hydrant meetings at dark
and the lamp post I smiled at as I ate my breakfast
I am made of a certain ordinary tree and an old metal slide
I am made of many mouths of loose teeth
looking up the word orgy in the dictionary
I am made of the word intercourse which we found there
I am made of riding bikes
of laughter and singing, hiding and seeking
there was a boy I was mean to
I am made of him
I am made of handball aginst the garage door
and soccer in the rain
I am made of open doors
and places set at the neighbor's tables, just for me
I am made of manners and lent and hanging out in the driveway
I am made of sweet, magical summers
I am well made
I am not damaged goods
that was your word for me
I am made of Eggo's and Grandma's manicotti
distilled into this freckled face
this sleepy voice
this heart on a hand-me-down sleeve
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Day 17: Why Is May So Long?
May, May, go away
I've got nothing more to say
it's killing me to publish a poem a day
these things should not be rushed this way
I was going to write about things that scare me
like touching rotten fruit
or even looking at it
someone needs to clean out the fruitbowl
there's an orange in there who's guts I spilled when I innocently grabbed it for a snack
I trembled to feel my thumb pierce its green soft bottom and mushy flesh
I threw it back in the bowl
I never want to see it again
a rotten orange on the ground under the tree feeds the animals and the tree
this one is far from home and wasted, without a chance to use its life force for good
poor thing
a shame to die unlived
Anyway, I was going to write about the things that scare me.
I've got nothing more to say
it's killing me to publish a poem a day
these things should not be rushed this way
I was going to write about things that scare me
like touching rotten fruit
or even looking at it
someone needs to clean out the fruitbowl
there's an orange in there who's guts I spilled when I innocently grabbed it for a snack
I trembled to feel my thumb pierce its green soft bottom and mushy flesh
I threw it back in the bowl
I never want to see it again
a rotten orange on the ground under the tree feeds the animals and the tree
this one is far from home and wasted, without a chance to use its life force for good
poor thing
a shame to die unlived
Anyway, I was going to write about the things that scare me.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Day 16: All I can say is UGH! Give Me Something
Give me something
cried the pen
See, seee these words
too random to speak
too mild to marry
too small for the big, white paper
I've got stories to tell but the hand hesitates
Unlock your elbow! he shouts up to the arm
Let me dance instead of march
Let me drop under the line
It's my blood you spill on nothing
Free me before I'm all used up
cried the pen
See, seee these words
too random to speak
too mild to marry
too small for the big, white paper
I've got stories to tell but the hand hesitates
Unlock your elbow! he shouts up to the arm
Let me dance instead of march
Let me drop under the line
It's my blood you spill on nothing
Free me before I'm all used up
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Day 15: Dawn
"Keep the dawn pure." Peace Lagoon
the birds wake me up
free concert in the trees!
the soft dawn of May
the birds wake me up
free concert in the trees!
the soft dawn of May
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Day 14: New Incarnations
new incarnations of the lilies I planted long ago arose this morning -
and now this poem is about three flowers - carnation, lilie, rose
and what of my own work is blossoming?
the lilies have a powerful self-understanding
six weeks of elegant beauty before they are dirty, blood tipped swords
standing proud, then falling, one by one, on the dry dirt
and what about the roses
with their petals soft and unfolding, their fragrance - so much like a young girl-
cut them off before they get too haughty
anything too haughty is unattractive
besides, new buds will come and will need to be taught well
carnations? I've never seen them growing
what is their natural habitat?
they are like a rare bird in a zoo
never haughty, you can depend on a carnation
it will stand in the supermarket on its strong and slender legs at the ready
in various nature and man made colors, waiting to fill in the blanks in an otherwise grand bouquet
carnation, lily, rose
girls, you're perfect just the way you are
and my own work that is blossoming
is, too
and now this poem is about three flowers - carnation, lilie, rose
and what of my own work is blossoming?
the lilies have a powerful self-understanding
six weeks of elegant beauty before they are dirty, blood tipped swords
standing proud, then falling, one by one, on the dry dirt
and what about the roses
with their petals soft and unfolding, their fragrance - so much like a young girl-
cut them off before they get too haughty
anything too haughty is unattractive
besides, new buds will come and will need to be taught well
carnations? I've never seen them growing
what is their natural habitat?
they are like a rare bird in a zoo
never haughty, you can depend on a carnation
it will stand in the supermarket on its strong and slender legs at the ready
in various nature and man made colors, waiting to fill in the blanks in an otherwise grand bouquet
carnation, lily, rose
girls, you're perfect just the way you are
and my own work that is blossoming
is, too
Friday, May 13, 2011
Day 13: The Red Lilies
the red lilies dry up and fall
stalks like swords dipped in blood
soon crumble
summer burns the lilies and me
what can I do but water us all
stalks like swords dipped in blood
soon crumble
summer burns the lilies and me
what can I do but water us all
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Day 12: Waiting
waiting
perched at the edge of myself
for disillution
we, transcendental,breathe together
let this drop of world become me
sleep now
I'll be here to keep you alive
perched at the edge of myself
for disillution
we, transcendental,breathe together
let this drop of world become me
sleep now
I'll be here to keep you alive
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Day 11 Watch a Bird Fly
Watch a bird fly after it rains
watch a boat push through choppy waters
watch as they meet in the open and play together
watch the foam push against the small boat and the boat trudge on
the bird saying it's easy- just ride the current
imagine the face of the sailor and the bird
and the soft awe reflected in your own
then stand up
walk home after it rains
past the wet roses
you are the boat and the bird
you are the one you have been waiting for.
watch a boat push through choppy waters
watch as they meet in the open and play together
watch the foam push against the small boat and the boat trudge on
the bird saying it's easy- just ride the current
imagine the face of the sailor and the bird
and the soft awe reflected in your own
then stand up
walk home after it rains
past the wet roses
you are the boat and the bird
you are the one you have been waiting for.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Day 10: Listening For Jesus
listening for Jesus
in the E Street Shuffle
as in the music in the hymnal
as in the sound of my husband's sleeping breath
breath-
necessary for singing
required for prayer
inevitable for turning song into prayer
there is faith in a good song, but there is also shraddha
which is not blind but based on what you know you've heard before
Bruce still rides shotgun after all these years
and when I need to breathe
I turn him on
in the E Street Shuffle
as in the music in the hymnal
as in the sound of my husband's sleeping breath
breath-
necessary for singing
required for prayer
inevitable for turning song into prayer
there is faith in a good song, but there is also shraddha
which is not blind but based on what you know you've heard before
Bruce still rides shotgun after all these years
and when I need to breathe
I turn him on
Monday, May 9, 2011
Day 9: Under The Hoodie
Under The Hoodie
She put her hood on because the room was cold.
Looking down at the puzzle pieces scattered on the rug
then suddenly looking up at me-
she took my breath away
fawn skin, angel-kissed cheeks
coffee eyes crafted like a woman's
cannot hide the questioning sad flash happy effervescence
of the child she still is, once was, always will be
angels exist
they help us solve puzzles
She put her hood on because the room was cold.
Looking down at the puzzle pieces scattered on the rug
then suddenly looking up at me-
she took my breath away
fawn skin, angel-kissed cheeks
coffee eyes crafted like a woman's
cannot hide the questioning sad flash happy effervescence
of the child she still is, once was, always will be
angels exist
they help us solve puzzles
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Day 8: Mommy, I Want to be a Ring Girl
Mommy, I want to be a ring girl
and strut in stilletos, holding up the round
I've practiced getting in and out of ropes
I'm excited about the new path I've found.
Mommy, I want to be a ring girl
and be seen in sparkles by the entire world
and before you judge me and start to cry
know what that means to a lonely middle girl.
Mommy, I want to know I'm sexy
I want to walk through puddles of sweat and blood
I want to stand for the boxers who fight with their hearts
and dominate for that minute the boxing brotherhood.
Mommy, I hope you understand
you know I don't need your permission
this is my dream of owning a stage
and has nothing to do with submission.
Mommy, I want you to see me
as someone unbound by time
as worthy of spotlights and sparkly bras
strong, radiant, crystalline.
So Mommy, I'm gonna be a ring girl
I'll wave to you from HBO
millions of boxing fans around the world
will cheer for your baby, Bravo!
and strut in stilletos, holding up the round
I've practiced getting in and out of ropes
I'm excited about the new path I've found.
Mommy, I want to be a ring girl
and be seen in sparkles by the entire world
and before you judge me and start to cry
know what that means to a lonely middle girl.
Mommy, I want to know I'm sexy
I want to walk through puddles of sweat and blood
I want to stand for the boxers who fight with their hearts
and dominate for that minute the boxing brotherhood.
Mommy, I hope you understand
you know I don't need your permission
this is my dream of owning a stage
and has nothing to do with submission.
Mommy, I want you to see me
as someone unbound by time
as worthy of spotlights and sparkly bras
strong, radiant, crystalline.
So Mommy, I'm gonna be a ring girl
I'll wave to you from HBO
millions of boxing fans around the world
will cheer for your baby, Bravo!
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Day 7: Waiting For the Sky to Turn Blue
Awake in the dark, I walk to the beach
waiting for the sky to turn blue
as the core of my mind right now
and what is blue?
tranquil, sensitive, electric, unsleepable
colors begin to fill the gray around me
sand becomes sandy brown
ocean becomes foamy ocean green
I look over my shoulder and see a dark pool
a dead seal black as last night
fear stabs my every vertebra
I was six feet from death and didn't know it
but can't the same be said for every day?
One day the sky will turn blue without me
haven't I walked through that anniversary for 45 years?
I look again to the seal
still young and beautiful.
waiting for the sky to turn blue
as the core of my mind right now
and what is blue?
tranquil, sensitive, electric, unsleepable
colors begin to fill the gray around me
sand becomes sandy brown
ocean becomes foamy ocean green
I look over my shoulder and see a dark pool
a dead seal black as last night
fear stabs my every vertebra
I was six feet from death and didn't know it
but can't the same be said for every day?
One day the sky will turn blue without me
haven't I walked through that anniversary for 45 years?
I look again to the seal
still young and beautiful.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Day 6 Part Two
I compose a dream
suddenly contradictory
to what I hoped
it would be.
I stop the play
oblivious now to
whatever disturbing thing undeveloped there.
My barefeet touch the cold floor
I walk to the front door and stare
waiting to hear footsteps on the other side.
Maybe they won't come
I'm not even sure who's footsteps I'm waiting for
but I think they're mine.
suddenly contradictory
to what I hoped
it would be.
I stop the play
oblivious now to
whatever disturbing thing undeveloped there.
My barefeet touch the cold floor
I walk to the front door and stare
waiting to hear footsteps on the other side.
Maybe they won't come
I'm not even sure who's footsteps I'm waiting for
but I think they're mine.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Day 6: where your soul wants to be made visible
I chase it on paper
I open the doors and windows of my body
I sleep deeply and awaken abruptly
to catch sight before it seeps back inside
or is it I'm seeped inside and abruptly wake up
toward the surface of my skin and
the frontiers of me
I open the doors and windows of my body
I sleep deeply and awaken abruptly
to catch sight before it seeps back inside
or is it I'm seeped inside and abruptly wake up
toward the surface of my skin and
the frontiers of me
Day 5: I and Me
I is tall and proud
me is so low case
Who I am is me
It is I who wins the race
I am merely humble me
but humble me
holds the key
to infinity
me is so low case
Who I am is me
It is I who wins the race
I am merely humble me
but humble me
holds the key
to infinity
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Day 4; First Steps
She took ten steps then fell down
said the babysitter
I hung up the phone and smiled
It's what I work for
besides
I will see walking
walking into the schoolyard
walking out the door
walking away when I'm mid-sentence
walking into another's arms
walking with the graduation procession
walking down the aisle
all those independent steps opened today
an invisible path to her life
and I was there
I was the ground she walked on
said the babysitter
I hung up the phone and smiled
It's what I work for
besides
I will see walking
walking into the schoolyard
walking out the door
walking away when I'm mid-sentence
walking into another's arms
walking with the graduation procession
walking down the aisle
all those independent steps opened today
an invisible path to her life
and I was there
I was the ground she walked on
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Monday, May 2, 2011
Day 2: "It Came To Our Shores"
Somebody waited until
after the start of the Libyan Revolution
after the earthquake
after the tsunami
after the nuclear threat
after the mile-wide tornadoes
to wake the turtles
sprawled out in their dark refuge
Somebody waited with similar care
after forensics
after presidents were notified
to look square in the camera and say
justice has been done
Somebody, with shock and awe,
pulled the trigger which freed the tortured soul from the torturous ego
the horrific mind from its self made cruel world
Somebody said we didn't choose this war
it came to our shores
and that with extraordinary courage
united in our reslolve
we took custody of his finally dead body
Our One American Family
with the fabric of our faith at times
frayed
today agrees there is a Hell
to pay for
the empty chair at the table
This morning
after a long winter
the turtles will drink in the spring
they'll swim all summer and eat all fall
to find their boxes once more in some caring one's garage
Somebody once said we'll always have war
He never said why.
after the start of the Libyan Revolution
after the earthquake
after the tsunami
after the nuclear threat
after the mile-wide tornadoes
to wake the turtles
sprawled out in their dark refuge
Somebody waited with similar care
after forensics
after presidents were notified
to look square in the camera and say
justice has been done
Somebody, with shock and awe,
pulled the trigger which freed the tortured soul from the torturous ego
the horrific mind from its self made cruel world
Somebody said we didn't choose this war
it came to our shores
and that with extraordinary courage
united in our reslolve
we took custody of his finally dead body
Our One American Family
with the fabric of our faith at times
frayed
today agrees there is a Hell
to pay for
the empty chair at the table
This morning
after a long winter
the turtles will drink in the spring
they'll swim all summer and eat all fall
to find their boxes once more in some caring one's garage
Somebody once said we'll always have war
He never said why.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Morning
Morning
and we recognize each other in the soft light
before ego colors our perception
Night
we know through sound and touch who we're lying beside
If
all is forgiven before sleep catches us
then dawn brings an opening of eyes-
quickly now-
Like Adam waking up on the 7th day
and we recognize each other in the soft light
before ego colors our perception
Night
we know through sound and touch who we're lying beside
If
all is forgiven before sleep catches us
then dawn brings an opening of eyes-
quickly now-
Like Adam waking up on the 7th day
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
31 More Poems
Sat Nam, Friends!
Welcome to my new home! Here is where I will continue the momentum from NaPoWriMo's 30 Poems in 30 Days with 31 more poems. Beginning Sunday, May 1st, check in for a daily dose. Let me know if you like/don't like what I have to say. Some things will gel and some won't, but that's the best you can do when you write a poem a day, isn't it? Thanks for reading! Love, Rosie
Welcome to my new home! Here is where I will continue the momentum from NaPoWriMo's 30 Poems in 30 Days with 31 more poems. Beginning Sunday, May 1st, check in for a daily dose. Let me know if you like/don't like what I have to say. Some things will gel and some won't, but that's the best you can do when you write a poem a day, isn't it? Thanks for reading! Love, Rosie
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