Angel

Goodbye

It is like an addiction; this need to be heard, to be accepted, to be loved. I log on, eager to read new verses, new thoughts, new insights. And then I am a beggar, eating the scraps of left over food, drinking the last drops of water from a bottle absently left behind.

Who feeds me, and quenches this thirst for my answers? My readers? My admirers? I'll take anything, even a whisper, a shadow, a typed footprint of a word crumb left behind, any hint that you were here.

I want to leave this all for a while. I need to repaint the landscape around me, the one I see in my mind. I need to sing the song of this soul flying in my heart, even when no one is listening but me. I need to see with an infants eyes, unobscured by the shadows of suggestion.

I want to enter her life from another time, and walk by the beggar holding her palms out for scraps. I want to slap them and scream, "Get up! Walk away. Go write in silence. Learn to hear yourself, and you will hear others differently. The sound of praise is the sound muffled through waxed ears if it is louder than your beating heart."

Old

On our way to the Grand Canyon, we pass several Native American shops. One in particular catches my attention. A sign posted outside reads:

Friendly Indians

A seed of sadness is spreading through me. I studied American History in grade school, and took a course in Native American culture in college. But I am far from an ethnographic expert.

Friendly? There were certain tribes known for their aggression, while others were more peaceful nations. The caricature of the red Indian riding a horse, equipped with bow and arrow and tomahawk, and a shrill war cry, is hardly representative of one tribe or nation. When I think of a Native American, I think of a wise elder whose wrinkles chronicle time like rings in a redwood tree trunk. I remember the prayers of thanks chanted before animals are killed; the animals are worshipped as gods, allowing themselves to be killed for human sustenance. I see their land as food, as water, as shelter, as home, as religion.

Friendly. One word. It cannot even begin to describe a people displaced by selfishness and time. In silence, I try to capture this sadness giving birth to hope. Somewhere in a past life, you taught me to love this land, to honor it as my own breath. She cannot be owned, or even tamed by the human ego.




aged and barren
on the edge
holding on
with dignity

Red

canyon rock
jagged edge
a river quenches
your anger

On-Time

Heartburn and gas. Products of food inhaled rather than chewed slowly. Hurry up! Why must I eat to live? It only slows me down.

At 8 weeks, you are no larger than a peanut with a beating heart and developing brain. But your heart has surpassed your head.

"Slow down, mom. You are not the only one eating here."

I hear you, your beating heart, your love for the both of us. You already know what is best.

Here in Sedona, I am learning to chew on things, mull them over, taste them, savor them before swallowing.

Prior to our arrival, the landscape was not blurred in splashes of color or hurried haste. A painter was defining the red rock, the trees, the stretches of road on the way. I was not looking for the past in the rear-view mirror, or pulling the future ahead towards me with my gaze miles ahead. The world outside appeared at my side, just as I passed it, and not a moment too soon.

I can move and stand still at my own pace.

time
is a clock
thoughts turning
seconds speeding
minutes moving
hurried hours

what if you
could reset the clock
and alter time
to the beating
of your heart
the rate
of your breath
when thoughts
are standing
still

would the new rhythm
kill you with boredom
or infuse your veins
with life
with anti-adrenaline
with parasympathetic paradise
with peace

a chance
a choice
to reset the clock
to reinvent time

would you take
the time

On Writing

thoughts tailored
words woven
letters lacquered
in swirls
of silken expression

a perfect tapestry

*****

i guess there are two ways to write
one is for an audience
a forced performance
aimed to please
the other is for yourself
a natural eruption of expression
aimed to heal

*****

thoughts tangled
words wandering
letters lounging
in loose ends

the raw material
the real thing

True to Life

passion
a small bird
learning to fly
on wings of freedom
crushed by need
for approval
for love

the things we feel
but never say
burden our souls
kill us in midair

broken spirits
flesh upon the earth
gasping for air
bleeding for life

feathers rising
towards eternal release
as the next small one
takes flight

apr 2003

Iris

purple velvet
petal face
smiling at the sun
smiling at me


big head
big joy
balanced
on a thin
green stem neck

you were
the first flower
to win these eyes
fill this heart
with love
and more

the rose
she can have
her lovers
her slaves
to tradition

in your throat
lies the deep blue sea
in your heart
a violet stillness

in you
i swim
in you
i trust
loving you
and no other

Questions and Answers

After reading two other posts, (you know who you are) I started to ask myself, "What is a fine balance? Who has the answers?" I cannot tell you how much time I've spent thinking this, dreaming this, living this. At times, I have been so intent on answering these questions, that I've been oblivious to my surroundings.

Don't get me wrong; a little introspection and escape from the outside world is
periodically just what I need, but too much introspection is exhausting, while too much thoughtlessness is irresponsible.

Recently, I've been thinking about my life, and the life of a close friend. We are both the same gender, around the same age, and have similar careers. She appears to be the female Atlas carrying the world on her shoulders. Compared to her, I feel like I'm wearing a toga, lounging in a lazy boy recliner, eating grapes, when I'm already full.

Who decides how much adversity is handed out to some and not to others? Who decides if you or I will win the next Lotto in wealth, love, forgiveness, or all of the above?

Oops, these are more questions. I thought I told myself to stop asking them!!!

Bottom line, the last word, my final breath.

"Don't ask. The answers will come, when you need them to. Sometimes we will be a fleeting thought, a fluttering leaf, a quick smile from a stranger, or a waft of air behind the nape of your neck. We’ll come and go so fast, that you won’t even know we were there. You will know when the time is right."

Who said that? God? Nature? Me?

Does it matter?

*****

The tree does not ask,
"Why must I lose my dress in the Fall?"

The sun does not ask,
"Why must I sleep at night?"

The moon does not ask,
"My must I be alone in darkness?"

The cloud does not ask,
"Why must I cry?"

I will not ask,
"Why must I bear this?"

I will ask,
"What am I learning from this?"

And the rock weighs the same as the feather.

Nature's Way

white pearl

in a black sky

her reflection

in a black sea


She was not chosen to be the neighbor just around the corner from the other earring. She was not strung close to the other pearls on a neck or wrist.


In her loneliness, she pulls the waves to her. She summons the clouds to shroud her sadness. White on white. She doesn’t know she only glows brighter.


You are the pearl of wisdom.


You have taught me that I must light my own way.


*****

The ocean, the sky, the moon, the sun, the trees, are all my teachers

Through you, with you, in you, I have found my religion.