getting ready for sleep

into the out – because it leads to the out. to somewhere. in me. black with hollow light – and the tears wet the walls. falling down a mile long inside twenty four inches. aches in black. pain and lump feeling in left breast. used to be right, now it is left.
woman with vaginal cancer dying. she says “not because of anything weird” in regards to it being in her/of her vagina. lovely woman. interior design. rust colored fleece blanket. she was embarrassed that her gown did not match. tiny pink flowers covering black – did not match rust blanket. thoughts trail off. medication. and she is back in high school. then in san fransisco. her neck hurts. her glasses have floral – orange floral that matches the rust. on purpose i imagine. she is like that. i love this woman. would love to hang out with her. if she wasn’t dying so hard right now. only 69. she hasn’t eaten for days. throws up when she tries.
who can write fiction when reality is so fucking colorful.
huge tumor on the OUTSIDE of the head. completely inappropriate. it should know better. brain tumors belong on the inside of the head. though this one is so big, it really had nowhere else to go but out. understandable. and the cna is bitching. are you fucking kidding? this guy has a fucking brain tumor on the outside of his head. so he might be a little anxious. have a fucking heart you fuck.
when i breathe in, it is tears in there. got some God. my cat had a hard time getting up the stairs this evening. scary. hope she is okay. i always go to the worst fucking places. cancer. death, something.
i miss you. i miss __________ something.
what kind of drops are there. when you look down the drinking fountain. and paint me with flowers because I am God. what if we planted marigolds – but i hate the smell of them. what do you like. i know roses and dahlias. but i am allergic to them too. to. my face is crooked and could slip off with the glasses on. it never ends. giant roller coaster. can’t even slow down – or stop. pure movement and energy constant. constant. constant. even the most peaceful place is continuous movement – like rushing water. maybe because it is so loud – it drowns out the head. i get sad for the trees and rocks next to rivers and rushing creeks. they will never experience quiet or stillness. i would go insane – until 1000s of years when maybe what if an animal or person picked me up and took me somewhere. that rush is in my head always – trying for the calm that becomes tears when i can sit still long enough which means for a minute. my whole room is moving – the music and my mind make it so – my breath, my eyes and ears – all reacting to each other. there is no calm. the walls sense my movement so they cannot relax either – not til i leave – my cat too.and i turn off the music. my jeans are hanging over my tv. slow motion fight with gravity. still motion movement. conversation with and agreement of gravity. piled up sweatshirt doesn’t fall but i can hear it thinking about it. always the tears. little bits with gravity too. makes em spill sometimes. not float.

I Remember

I remember antique gold starfish clinging to vintage chest of drawers
Forgotten beneath creaky basement stairs
Pink candy striped tongues

I remember whale bones of ivory flesh carved to capture lover’s impassioned embrace

I remember enlightened statues that drop hints and point the way

I remember swirls of glass showered through mists
Of ocean blue Caribbean

I remember you

I remember your clothes too big but I wore them anyway to make you laugh and kiss me one more time before you put them back onto yourself and walked out the door
Red, white, black stars
Because I was your Star

I remember a long drive to the beach, checking into the hotel, then going to dinner – I had salad and steak, expensive but not good steak, and you had the fish. We looked out the window and watched the people walking on the beach as the sun set, content to be somewhere new to us, experiencing something new to us, both of us probably more than a little curious as to how the weekend would go. You took me shopping the next day. I felt like a spoiled princess – so very special, like a dream. You looked for boxers – purple and green, I said like the Joker, but you didn’t find any you liked. I tried on a vintage chartreuse colored dress with little eyelets – you loved it, you bought it for me, I wore it later. To an antique fair with my aunt. In July. I got so many compliments. She took my picture.

I remember sumptuous reflections sparkling back at me

I remember how quiet you could be and how much that would intrigue me – left to my own devices to try to figure out what you might be thinking.
I don’t think it was ever as complicated as I made it out to be.

I remember floating through days and hours
And lifetimes
And eternities

I remember the perfection of loss
Of melting into that moment
Violent
Sublime
A gaping hole torn through my soul
My heart
My existence
Diving in, submerged in experience to savor the anguish and agony

I remember time stopped for you Forever
For me
Just long enough to walk around in that endless split second
Between knowing
And not knowing

I remember the wail arising from somewhere deep down inside of me
A sound I had never experienced
Did not know I was capable of
Otherworldly
Tapped into an ancient primordial sorrow
Of loss
Of humanity
Of existence

I remember crystal blue starfish

I remember days of disbelief and sadness wrapped in memories and heartache
Holding tight to my new prized possessions
Tiny gifts you had given over the years
Once sweet and fun and thoughtful
Now taken on entirely different meaning
Now priceless mementos I would never part with

I remember cameras and photographs. Erotic images in black and white. Special effects to explode the cityscape.

I remember your arms wrapped beautifully around me
Basking in our energetic afterglow
Tears that I would hide
A product of the intensity of the emotion
Of the depth
Of another world
Away in you

I remember our August ritual
Ceremoniously shaving your head in preparation for your journey south
To keep you cool
In the hot circus city in the burning desert

Sometimes, any more, I forget

Sometimes it takes a poem
From a writing prompt

Mostly though
I remember

I remember you
I remember you

I remember you

Finding My Words

I can meet people where they are at
But I want to soar

I can so easily get pulled down into the muck and mire
So easily pulled down into the negativity
Lose sight of what is real

Get confused on the outside
Tongue-tied
No articulation

Heart knows
But mind tries to make sense
To adapt, to relate, to conform

I lose my ground, lose truth
Get lost in words, in speech, in communication
In context, out of context

Hung up on a word
A word like truth
What does that mean
And to whom
Literally, contextually, subjectively

So earnest about words
So I keep them to myself

Try to make them perfect
So you understand

To manipulate reality, your thoughts
My experience, your experience
My need to be in control

Regurgitating, reverberating
Somebody else’s words
Trying to make them my own
Despite whether or not they fit

Feels uncomfortable
Feels painful
Feels forced and false

And my heart knows

So I am finding my own way
Finding my own words
On my own journey

To my truth

Whatever that may be
Wherever that may lead

All I know is
My heart is pure

I will find my words
I will find God
I will soar

Too full maybe…?

I haven’t written here for so long, but have thought of it often.  I write, but just in my notebook, or journal rather.  The words are always swirling and bubbling beneath the surface, but in order to make them public, I want them to be more cohesive, more profound, more impactful.  And I’m not in that same place of intensity, so the words aren’t as impactful, or not in the same way rather…or I guess I am just used to more intensity.  I don’t know.  Getting used to a place of more calm.  It is a good place in many respects, just new and takes time.  Fuck.  It is always easy in my head, then I sit down to share and the words come out in a different way – a different order.  The translation between my mind and my fingers gets crossed up somehow and what appears does not match the thoughts.  Try as I might, I cannot make them match up the way I want.  What is that?  I was just sitting here thinking about the desire – to write – and what is the purpose of it, why do I want to write so badly and why do I want to share it so badly and why do I feel such a need for perfection, such fear of judgment.  I realize it is not a need to be understood per say, but more a need to be known.  I want so desperately to be known by another human being.  For all of my self to be out there and seen.  It is, I realize, the desire for God or what I imagine to be God or what I am looking for when I am seeking God.  I think that is the connection I am hoping to find through writing.  Trying to find the best collection of words to piece together some semblance of who I am so that I can share it with you.  Problem is it changes all the time, from one second to the next even.  I try to stabilize it and capture a moment with the correct words, but based on the ever-changing nature and fluidity of our experience, it is extremely difficult to do.  Thoughts change, circumstances change, energy changes.  The core of me stays pretty much the same though I think.   The desire is always there.  The longing for connection is always there. The feeling of emptiness or maybe it is too much fullness – so full that I can’t see past it.  That actually resonates much more deeply as it comes out.  I do not feel empty right now, it feels like just the opposite – overflowing – with – something.  That feels better than where I started.

I Don’t Get It

So here I sit…alone with my laptop filled with glorious thoughts, ideas, and words to share.  Had a beautiful day of relaxation.  Slept in.  School is almost done for the term, so quite a bit of relaxation around that.  One project to finish up, but have all weekend to do it, so not stressing.  Had a lovely evening out with a dear friend last night.  Lovely conversation, wonderful connection, bad movie…but, hey, tends to be the norm anymore.  Housemate is out of town, so I have the place to myself which is so appreciated.  I so enjoy living with somebody, but time alone is cherished.  I get to walk around naked, which I love doing.  Had leisurely day of practice, lite household chores, community communication, planning a very sweet evening out with the girls next week having dinner and kirtan class.  So nourishing!  Had a delicious peach earlier.  Nice bbq chicken too.  Took a leisurely stroll at a religious outdoor sanctuary…reveling in being outdoors, watching birdies and goldfish playing in a pond, my heart singing at being around other like-minded people desiring to be in a place of God on a beautiful, sunny Saturday afternoon.  I took a wonderful autobiography about a guy on his spiritual quest to India.  It has been a really great read and helping me to get back in touch with my desire for God.  Not that I am not always aware of it, but sometimes it has very different flavors and I forget what the core desire is.  Anyway, loving this book.  Feeling the sweetness.  Sitting out in gorgeous nature alternating between reading this book and writing poetry about my own desire for God and connection.  Contemplating journeying back home to crawl into bed with my kitty and my laptop so I can continue writing.  Got to practice a new practice I recently learned too.  All in all, an absolutely perfect past 24 hours composed of everything I ever wanted in life…dear loved ones, God, practice, community, writing, reading.  And in creeps the bulimia. ???  WTF?  Confusion with nourishment and lack and too much and not enough and craving and wanting and needing more, more, more.  Or feeling like something is missing, when everything is here and I am completely aware of it and appreciating it and reveling in the beauty of life.  So why does this creep in?  Where is the lack?  What am I missing?  Why the empty despite all of the abundance?  Weird karma.  Like a bottomless pit that just has to keep sucking the life out of life.  Disillusioned, misplaced, confused desire.  Inability to properly absorb the nourishment that is quite literally pouring out all around me.  Such a bizarre place to be.  To recognize it all (I think) and yet still not relate with it in a healthy way.  Just trying to sit through it and not act on the desire.  I know it gets me nothing.  It isn’t pleasurable in the slightest and I know this.  Compulsion is strong.  Strong, strong, strong.  On the flip side though, I just have such a difficult time understanding why or how it can go to this place after doing everything in alignment with my path…eyes on God.  Nourishing activities all in alignment with my heart’s true desire.  No confusion.  And yet it is still here.  And this often happens.  When I am feeling most nourished, the bulimia rushes in.  I have tried to Freud the hell out of this one and haven’t gotten very far.  This is a weird one.  Anyway, I don’t know.  Feels good to get this out.  I’ll just keep sitting with it and doing my best not to act on the compulsion.  All I can do.  Weirdness!!!

Bizarre and Vintage

Soulful rhythm
Bizarre and vintage
Over the airwaves.
Fingers dancing and molding
Kneading karmas.
Expansive perception
Of intricacy
In this tiny corner
Of God’s mind.

Like a grain of sand
I am a
Minuscule speck
Of existence.
One of billions
Of possibilities
Experiencing the perfection
And the magnitude
Of the absolute
Unimportance of this moment
In time.

Brilliant.