Caged like a tiger on Tuesday, awaiting the catch and release orders. Found disappearing into nothing, I saw a scar hidden in the bushes of my freaking mind. Freak out when in doubt so that you really can’t handle what is about to come crashing your way. Sitting on the sidelines of my own peep show, I notice the puppet is pissed off and lecherously tired of the sizable hand up its ass. Can I request a rewrite by tonite? Gnashing my teeth and grinding my hips I sense the flow is rushing some other way. How do I get back on track? Is it even possible to needle my way back through the turf of tears that I quench with tired drinks and smoke that stinks of tobacco? How do I get out of my own way and do the two-step with God?
I listen to jazz. Nooo, they can’t take that away from me, croon Ella and Louis. Their powerful voices at the peak of their powers were captured on the recording. Vocal stylings preserved in electrons burned into plastic. I listen deeper and hear resolve, suggesting there is something you can’t lose. I want to know what that is. I have lost much already. What is not annihilated in the end? I wait for their answer, and it doesn’t come.
But Claudia answers even though she’s been dead more than five months, and I miss her madly. She was my chosen family. She had a good death, and I’m happy to my bones for that. Now I know what it means. Death is something to celebrate and sing and dance and cry wildly over. She crosses over so we can be fully alive.
She comes to me one foggy morning in late November. I sense her energy approaching as if she was out at the mailbox about to walk up the driveway, and I’d been expecting her. It was shortly after breakfast when I stumble and stagger toward the bed, commanded to slip unconscious. It was an odd time of day for a nap because that’s usually when I’m the most alert. I collapse onto the bed, smooshing my face near the foot of the mattress, my arm and leg draped over the edge. I surrender to an upwelling of exhaustion as if I’d slipped a date rape drug into my eggs. By 10:10 am on a Monday morning I am out cold.
A lucid dream starts, and I see myself lying still and breathing slowly with a small pool of drool collecting on the white blanket. Claudia enters the house, moves up the stairs toward the bedroom, and I am unable to do anything except receive her. She spoke without words directly to my inner mind. This is the last time I will be able to gather enough of myself that you will recognize me as I was.
The finality filled me with an aching sadness. I was never good at goodbyes. She had already begun the longest journey from which there is no return.
I had so many questions! I wasn’t joking when I asked her one evening after driving her home from radiation if she would come back and tell me what happens on the other side. I would do anything to know. She said she would if she could and then drew a long bong hit. Then we ate Mexican for dinner, her favorite.
Time here is short.
Okay, got it. Is there a god?
No. Heaven and hell are what we make on earth. There is no creator or reincarnation in the whole-being sense, only a few molecules shifting here and there in a recycling sense. The universe is vast beyond description.
What happened to you?”
I’ll use a metaphor that I know your human brain can understand. And, yes, there is so much more to the story, but I'm in a hurry. Picture me as a glass of water, and I was poured out into a vast ocean. The water droplets that you knew as me are being reabsorbed and dispersed into spacetime. It's fucking cool. But I'm not lost to you. You breathe in drops of me, and I'm with you now more than ever before.
There is nothing to fear.
Oh, and Gen, you gotta' tell the others.
On my off time
I am just like you
I bather in tepid waters
Shallowed by facades
With the heartache
I cut off my fear
To stamp out
Of your expectations
I’ll braid back
Of never knowing
What I am thinking
Past the perimeter
Of my eyes
Past the beyond
Of the greater beyond
And if you try
To pin me down
With your arrow of doubt
I’ll still weed your gardens
Plant your beds
And bottle my tears
To drench your soils
I’ve been growing
Into my smile
Are the exclamation
On either side
If you like
I’ll let you kiss them
I am what you want
What you want
You will never know
You will never see
That I am watching
And I don’t
To let out your braids
And walk away.
Tell me something new. Because I’m starting to think this is just the same song on a different scale. Maybe we need new instruments for this, something more personal. Can we use our own breath against the smoothness of our own bones? Or maybe we’ll find that primordial key in the space between our eyes when we lay perfectly still and naked next to one another.
The first function of mythology is a reconciliation of consciousness to the preconditions of its own existence. And then again like carbonation, we are the bubbles that come from beyond all categories and go beyond all categories but in the meantime they’re on their way up, or at least that's how they look.
I was saying to Bobby last night, its all grey. We’re just somewhere on the spectrum. Choices we make, and how close they feel to us when we make them. That’s how I know the next step is going to beautiful. I can feel these choices like cellophane against my soul sometimes and other’s, they feel more across the river. I think this has to be my evolution though. Because I’m sure there was a point when I was younger and my choices could be felt like the space between my skin and a distant star. So maybe that’s life: The expanse between us and our choices, or in other words, our external creations that beget each following internal choice. They are the seed to life. And we are the farmer. Maybe our own inner evolution is the condensing of distance between those parts of ourselves, I see this like the charge between atoms and maybe this whole time/space creation is what we’ve done in order to quantify to our souls how much space exists at any moment between the aspects of our individual beings.
It helps to arrange these thoughts outside of myself. I just wish sometimes they were chunkier, easier to differentiate the corners of. I could put them in my mouth, one at a time and feel them with my teeth and tongue like tribal people did when discovering something new, like children still do.
It would also be helpful if we had a kind of pyramid with predictable shadows and we could arrange ourselves on the steps, and take out these little symbols from the web of our mind and stack them into the contrast of sunlight.
We’ve just become too dependent on words that emerge. We have come to just trust that lying on our back the tide will move us eventually back to shore. And it will. Eventually. Its just that we can never be sure which shore we’ll end up on and we’ll miss the entire journey along the way if our eyes are closed to the sun and our back is against the water. We’ll just lazy ourselves to be this one shape from beginning to end and if that was the point then why did we come here with the ability of being so flexible?
We must move. Our tongues, our hips, our eyes, and trust and urge the words to tumble from our open mouths and onto the steps of our own pyramid. We must be barefoot. We must urge the light from the sky until we can just trust it will always come. And we must keep shortening the distance of creation. And it is the contraction of time and space and thus creation that will build this trust and it is the trust that will ignite the momentum, and this is life.
Do you take this breath like it was your last?
Let the air in slowly, inhaling with a purpose and a depth that brings sweet contentment to your lungs and every other living cell in your body. Can you taste the quality of the air as it fills you up? The BODY knows that this profound, yet simple action is unmistakable evidence that YOU ARE ALIVE, do you? Can you breath in this life-giving energy with the appropriate reverence and respect it deserves? Now, as you exhale, feel the length of your stride roll out infront of you like a long red carpet, keep it rolling, slower, longer, til each fiber of your being drops into a state of calm that only this kind of deliberate breath can bring. The breath is your greatest ally, how often do you allow it to bring you the focus you dream of, the ease and grace that dissolves all fear and anxiety, and the health and well-being that surpasses all medicine. It IS natures most powerful gift,
Do you take this breath like it was your last?
Bringing your awareness to the breath will alter your experience in this life …. It will increase your attention span beyond your comprehension by allowing you to relish in every little part of your day with a renewed sense of appreciation and awe. Take a moment, connect with this ultimate source of life and lets go on a juicy journey together ….. ready? Deep breath now, fill yourself to the brim …… and ……. S l o w l y release it , soften completely, become putty in my hands as I take you on the ride of your life …….
Don’t fret, Everything here is familiar, only more ….. pronounced and blissful. There’s that delicate cool breeze that you love. Let is wrap itself around your like the comfort blanket you cherish, feel it awaken the tiniest of hairs on your skin, tickling you into the sublest of goosebumps, the kind that make your smile. Lets take a few steps forward, it doesn’t matter that you don’t see ahead, walk with confidence and trust that this path is blessed with goodness for you. Your naked feet are receptive to this ground, what do you like most about whats beneath them? Theres a soft, warm reassurance from mama earth as she allows your gentle footprint to caress her ….. skipping would delight her …. Be joyful and playful, the magical forest awaits you. Your vision sharpens as you behold the perfect painting of an undiscovered and inviting beauty, it appears to be a painting only because its hard to fathom the depth of its remarkable realness. Skip inside now and allow the marvel of natures beauty to absorb you, one breath at a time.
There are trees that appear to reach the mauve and periwinkle sky, draped with luscious leaves that are dripping in succulent droplets of nectar. To deny the nourishment of this sweet liquidy treat would be blasphemy. Drink from the funnels of trees, let them quench your thirst like the heavens goblet of dew. Taste the smell of thousand year old blossoms that possess the cell-imprinting medicine from ancient times and groves. Let your taste buds explode in celebration and wonder as they swirl in the magic of this rich and flavorful nectar. Now, let this juice of life fuel your inspired light feet to skip through the forests many winding paths and bring you to the place where the faeries and gnomes have collaborated in creation of the magic labyrinth.
Do you take this breath like it was your last?
Breath in the thick, oxygen laden air of this wonderous place and infuse with it your intention to walk this spiraling sacred path. As your exhalation leaves your body, make each step a prayer and be guided by your hearts wisdom through this meandering madness. Step by intentional step, keep your breath close, for hidden behind each toe, lies a door to the infinite choices of your heart. Will you knock? Will you run? Will you open a door that unlocks a world far beyond your wildest dreams? As you decide, check again, make sure your breath is guiding your choices. The purity of your breaths intuition knows that you can handle the magic, the exquisite beauty of being connected to your senses more deeply than you knew possible. For here you will discover the truth about BEING ALIVE, expanding your mind to the fullest potential of your experience and embracing the immeasurable bliss that awaits you. Its all right here, now, open the door ……
Do you take this breath like it was your last?
Why do drifters let themselves be blown? for the drinking of the distance, for watching the smell of the hooves on sweet grass, for the lullaby of the rails, for the hot shimmer of the next town or just an ache. hole. I know why I do this, why I step in painful feet and and then. Of course I do this because I am rock that has been here for years before there were numbers to count them, because I don’t have to try to merge with the nighttime or sheer cliffs or the clouds dampening the tops of the trees, I just wait, and the rain percolates in and down ad down and I am simply. Sand dust powder. Without muscle or thought. Still. Did you know? Flowers are meant to be given. Away. Because they were stolen in the first place when. Snap of the wrist, slice of the blade. Not karma. Too kind. Too simple too. But sins have vengeance and holes. Sins can only redeemed by giving. Be careful what you give! Where you give it from. From down. Locked. From polluted pools or. Which slice of me would you like to eat today? Sins of the father, toes in the desert, the stale bread that doesn’t breath. I thought, I could slide into that one note, that one string on the violin and complete. Resonant. And fall into. Instead I have to sweep myself up, put all the pieces. I must have a child that’s an artist it must. Balance the triangle, feed me. strong legs, deep simple heart. So close. There is no force stronger than this gravity to warmth and stillness, it bleeds away rivers and gullys in the dome of dark, away down. There. Pit, core seed soul nucleus magma stomach and heartwood. Fall me out of love with the wind, I have so many. Have anchors. Have crystals brewing in laboratories, fall me out.
My chest warms like a glowing lotus every time I think about this last Sunday. Friend’s faces spill over the edges my heart, filling my warm bathtub across the lawn. Love floods my memory banks. I am loved because I love. I can see the past deserts of my lost soul, the dryness of my anger and how I used to drown in my own reclusive insecurity. I see my bygone life littered with chewed up mothballs, while yelling out for anchors to be thrown at my skeptical face. Creating the very existence I would later find myself running away from, I was soon lost in the deep wine barrels of my misery. When they were tapped dry, I would turn to one more dirty, bad girl martini, would somehow propel me into a more suitable universe, where my unlived dreams couldn’t find me. Cause we do dream up all this shit, ya know. It doesn’t matter how many balloons life sucks up into a clear blue sky, time can always spit out the rubber like a white whore’s hole. Oh, how I tried unfaithfully to protect myself from its demise. Life patterns scatter like acorns across the roots of a mighty oak tree, tiptoeing across the meadow, shaking, with leaves shuttering and lives dangling from its branches. As the smiles of our beloveds enlighten this ancient giant from deep inside as a radiating glowing sun reflective of life, we watch stars blaze across the sparkling midnight of its endearing glances. I fly out across our spinning globe in a wave of bliss as I reminisce of all my relations who have touched my life across the planet. Networks of relationships crisscross the globe, stringing light in all directions, building a grid of kindred souls in connection with each other, like dew on a spider web. I wonder how our mother Gaia is this truly affected by our travelling gratitude? Are we the invisible super glue that holds her together while she is being assaulted by smoke and mirrors? I wonder does the black monstrous megalith that created the TSA, is aware of this? And that is why they try to make travelling as uncomfortable as unconstitutionally possible? “Oh, fear not my weary children,” Gaia whispers, “For your TSA discomfort is merely a shadow of the atrocities you do not wish to see, if your focus is on complaining. Just know that behind every complaint, behind every judgment, is the fear of the truth. Call out the divisiveness hiding inside of your patterned fears and an illuminated path will once again reveal itself to you.” … Wow, I did not write that and yet I did. Thank you mother earth, for all the ways you speak to us. When we lend out hearts to the hope of such a connection, you fill the void with green and blues. I’m sorry that I forget about you sometimes. Please forgive me. I love you. I always have. Thank you.
The surging rushing of hopeful promise licks and laps at my belly like an intimate playful wind.
Exposed to fortune's divine treasures I dive beneath the slick surface to snag the largest fish attracted by the golden penetrating morning light.
Wealth and sparkling riches take crystalized form as I bite through the rough chewy salty skin.
Nourishing my adventurous dancing feet and windup giddy heart with tubes of swift flight and curving roads
Remembering twisted scented ivy and darkened paths brings laughter through the snail tunnels of my forked choices.
Dreading no more.
That's thankfully over.
Determined to reach beyond lifeless couches that nestle and cradle and contain.
Jumping sideways and pulling breath from crowns and cupboards.
Falling onto billowing mattresses with a puff of forest greens.
Relishing a dormant orchid that bloomed.
An omen of flowering petals of promise.
Watering all others in hopes of encouraging further flourishing moments.
Time has wrapped us closely together and like finger plucking frets we are pried and rejoined
again and again
Keeping us in tune with evolving notes
and complementary melodies.
Humming along like satisfied sailors on a windy day.
Too the depths
Of my womb
I can see the light
That makes its way
Through my mouth
And I wonder
Will I swim
For the horizon line
That limits my eyes?
Will I gasp for breath
When I hit the shadow
Of the moon
In noon day sun?
If I was to climb
Up the mountains
Of my ribs
And stand on my tongue
Holding my heart
Would you look away
At the sight of my insides
Or, would you play
In the ripples
I leave on your shore?
A Sandpiper runs across the grassy green landscape of sloping earth falling into gulches. It Stops and pauses, hunting for invisible friends to have for lunch today. No napkin, no forks, no bottle of wine pouring from the hands of Jesus. Instead, gnats and flies, eternally connected to the divine, practically worship that Sandpiper who frees them from their world of survival and reproduction.
“May I have this dance?” a purple moth asks the airless Sandpiper. “But of course! Let’s tango and salsa and then do the refried bean. It’s taco time!” and together they chase and run and flit and fly. “Oh, bye-bye, sweet world!” the moth whispers, as it feels the skyscraper tongue of the dashing Sandpiper lick the lavender powder off its wings in mid-flight. “Now, who shall have the next dance?” the Sandpiper wonders as it stalks upon the stalks of seedling weeds. Distracted by a flit of flurry, it doesn’t see the clouds puff along, heading to the coastline to give its blessings upon the ocean. Nor the lulling waves caressing the seashore of its native homeland. It has forgotten the taste of tiny hidden crab cakes lost between the grains of sand. Trading waves of rapture for greener pastures, comfort foods flood the yard. There is some Sushi under the trees! Beer battered fish and chips and dips litter the walking path stones. Mana’s German Chocolate cake is carried on the wings of butterflies. Cilantro Lime Shrimp rolls down the driveway. Did someone say kale? Oh well, who needs all that food anyway? One bite at a time I say. Except for chocolate nibs. Eat those by the handful! Especially on birthdays. Have you ever wondered why we celebrate birthdays? Is it just another chance to eat more chocolate while taking off our pitiful masks? We could just see each other for who we really are, if we only knew. But we forget this, so maybe that is why we have birthday parties. Let’s get out the turntable and ‘rub one off’ together, yes?
I love the saying, “Having children is like having a tattoo on your face. You gotta be committed.” I guess that is why I have mine inked in places hidden from the average persons viewpoint. I believe I would have done the same with kids, which is why I chose not to have any. My folks didn’t want kids and weren’t the greatest with me. They always seemed so stressed, so I made up that I was the source of their pain. I have no interest in passing that one on to another generation. I unplugged the lamp and remain childless. Instead, I take my lessons from my ohana family in a way that heals everyone on the stage, where we dance together in life, instead of running away from each other. That’s better than chocolate and wine, with bacon! OK, it’s almost as good anyway. I’m a believer. The beautiful thing is that we get to believe whatever we want when our parents are dead. The question is, CAN WE? Are the quilt patterns ingrained for life? Is the blanket to heavy to lift with a finger or a feather? I think the sandpiper know the answers. He just ain’t talking English. Maybe it’s time to learn Sandpiper. I wonder if he likes chocolate too? Maybe we can do a trade? Barter his wisdom for chocolate and I’ll even throw in some blueberries and banana chunks. Oh, what’s that Mr. Sandpiper? Hummm… He said he’d get back to me on Wednesday. I guess I can wait. What else am I going to do? I can make Chocolate Hearts that fly on fairy wings and then we will go from there.