the muse forgotten

somedays you will remember
somedays you will forget
that rainy day you were full of truth
while I was dripping wet

Life spread out like maps
or scraps
of paper on the floor
he calls himself an artist
so we call him that too
she calls herself a dreamer
but then, so do you

ten thousand miles
of road stretching so far
If I look real close
I can see exactly who you are
Traveling down this road
Coming ever closer to you
always remembering
until I forget what I simply knew

We are temporary beings
destined for the grave
all you know turns to dust
with only your soul to save
but clearly we are stars
manifest in earthly form
training for the heavens
seeking shelter from the storm

You change with what you define

"Life promises you only change. Only impermanence.
She is only wild and her compassion is exquisitely precise"
-Spring Washam

I am forgetting parts of self that were once held so tightly
these transformations lead to an evolving self

all the subtext become more obvious
subtleties are thrown out
replaced by the more obvious clearly spoken articulated
themes and dreams
what is the dream telling you now? and now?

why do we stop and stare when nobody can even see what is there?

happiness was always the goal
yet definitions seem to change
so you change with what you define
to fit yourself into the places the definition will reach
so then what will you teach?

what will you learn?
at the end of it what will you take away?
you know, what will you take with you?
you cannot know yet
telling yourself you have plenty of time means nothing
if you are stuck in patterns
that limit you and keep you in pain
or keep you numb, locked away from the best that life gives
so much to discover just under the surface
and nothing is ever perfect
for perfect is a state of mind
or an illusion
or an elusive trick
played by circumstances you think
you have comprehended
no guarantee you will find what you are seeking

transfer emotions from page to page, you do not escape
take me to the river
there is nowhere else to go now
maybe the message I have gathered inside me
could be the true reflection
of what is right
this time
I wish to make all my mistakes at the start so
when we get going
I can protect your heart
nowhere to go from here but inward
around down up within without
for all that I work to manifest
will eventually be manifested
but all that arises passes away
always stay close to that truth

and always we will be tested
as the alignment of the stars and planets
make some sense so you lean into telling yourself
the ways in which life is good
and forget relentlessly
where it was you
just stood.

"Toy people make their way through today, unhurried by Time"

Note:
Here is my attempt to archive some of the writing I did in 1996, I was 15 and then 16 that year. I include some of these pieces because if they resonate with a young person or if you are older and they strike a chord, or if you want to share them with anyone for any reason, I will be grateful for that.

made such a mess of this

(dedicated to the muse)

I feel way too exposed, an open blossom
raw and vulnerable
so frantically young
the smoke went through my eyes
impairing vision, judgment
unlawfully allowed by me
entered through my skin
in the veins
takes hold of my bloodstream

I am now writing my cause of death
my autopsy performed while alive
secretly
but you wouldn't know it
it is in my body
more than that it is in all that I am
I become the words I am writing
ink to paper I am born once more
living through the motions
it takes, whatever it takes
so I wonder about the force from
this empty source
but what does any of this matter to you?
If you turn away, I could disappear forever
what if  I already have?

I want to try somehow
a puzzle piece into the wrong space
I fit so snug and out of place
still I am one who can mold the solid,
make shapes from thin air
move the immoveable
and your eyes spread their seething disapproval
I inch closer
to away from you
we are from different worlds
I grow more certain
the final curtain
will fall
before we go any further
all seems a bit forced, I could say
but it might hurt, so I won't
you could leave now, you would
but you don't
Intermission has lasted far too long
we are getting restless
I know I have made such a mess of this


Decision Weather

(dedicated to Maja and Morgan)

she lights upon edges, anywhere high up
with a dove's beauty in her movements
stealing hearts for food
scavenger ravishing mad
scared
it is raining
when she forgets to murder her father
she haunts doorways, anywhere cold
cloud hanging above her head
storms incessant
never dry, always high
straw hands
bend to break
fingers like ice
she melts and disappears
filling cracks swimming
up to the surface again

did you know?

I am without you
on this shallow night swirling
inside a clear plastic bubble
and did you know
we are food for those higher up?
the entertainment value of our lives is priceless
our confusion is candy for the gods.
they sit in their clouds, laughing into the waves
gold eyes shining

my skull hurts
aching for nothing more
than a free moment
on a pure planet
wholes in the unbreakable patterns
the huge sickness
wants to infest my bloodstream
my lifeline has a bad connection
did you know
this is what the children are inheriting?

I am without you on this shallow night
swirling in a clear plastic bubble

what will you do when she speaks?

What will you tell Maha Devi when you reach her?
when you get there
when you pay the toll
and cross the bridge from living to dead?
when you wake up after this life?
what will you tell her?

will you have only questions?
will you stare at her directly until your eyes bleed?
will you pour your tears into her hands,
 will you wonder what to say
will your tongue be dry and your throat parched
and your voice higher than the clouds
will you laugh?

will you ask her about that freedom you wasted
that day you decided to give up
that language you learned in your sleep and then forgot
as your eyelids moved up and down
and then
will you ask her for another chance?

will you ask for more time on earth after those 94 years, or the three days you had?
the moments of exhilarated pain and loss you cherished, the lessons you scrawled on your limbs with tattoo ink? will you fall silent for a century, just like the statues they built from fleeting notions of what deities look like, what appearances arrive on the wind into the minds of the visual artists whose hands paint, sculpt, mold and draw the formations and outlines of those who are most elusive
yet closest to us, the entities of compassion and forgiveness, the deep abyss of knowing that science has not yet grasped, the place we turn to when all else fails, when we fail, when we fear falling, when we fall?

will you write her a list, will you ask Maha Devi for a second chance?
Will your family meet you there with her,
will you align yourself with a new lineage for next time?
will you finally release the hold you have on your illusions, will you illustrate your knowledge
with your fingertips and your heartfelt quietest whisper
will the longing finally cease in her presence? will she hold your hand as you turn to ashes
will she lift you up?

what will maha devi say to you, my friend, what will you do when she speaks,
the horrible glistening of her face, the numbers that follow the letters,
the incessant truth spilling from her, always spilling?

samsara--reprise 2014

healthy distrust
has become a must
beyond that
beautiful practices cultivated
dedication to the moment
embrace all as illusion
wherein one may manifest a life
most deeply desired
learning how to stay inspired
and the gift
blessing burden
that is this way
of being blasted open
my heart dripping laughter from my sleeve
I know now
when to leave
when I am not wanted
when the crowded room is
haunted

walk in the room. 3 parts.

Part 1.

and you know i have something to prove

when i walk in the room like i want you to see how i move

and making moves is left up to you and the way we create these moments is precious

and we have no idea how to make it work until we start to try and there is no reason

to abandon hope-- we must always keep hope alive, in every area of our lives

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Part 2.

I love to love. she thinks. she pauses, considering speaking,
she leaves space open.

he is quiet, he pauses, considering speaking,
the waiting is killing her
dying, she waits a bit more
what, oh what is she really expecting?

oh yes, he has been nothing if not honest

Part 3.---------------------------------------------------------------------


"Start over, gently. " the thought is almost a gravitational singularity. How is that possible?

She hums a quiet tune. she whispers. she wills herself into a more comfortable position, feeling so many things all at once. she attempts to distinguish one feeling from another but they bleed together and she stares at each color around her in the threads of the pillows and blankets, the patterns of the sheets on her mattress, the patterns in the hardwood floor beneath her mattress and bed, she stares at the colors and patterns and makes a deal with herself, that each emotion and perception will become as clear as all that she can see.

What we see starts with what it is front of us, the light, the mechanism of our physical vision keeps us aligned with what we want to perceive. If her mind strays from the desired view of the object then she creates a whole new perception of what she wants to see. the power from that desire over rides what is really there so she cannot perceive what may be the one most concentrated reality. One dose of that could make her almost high just due to her already heightened sense of what it means to be a part of reality. This hits at different moments, walking down the path touching the branches as she wanders by noticing the blossoms, hearing the question answer call and response of the songbirds.

Each day she gets stronger until she flashes back to the fetal position feeling so much she cannot sort through what is most real most important and what she should do about all the problems that are so impossible but so hard to believe in at times because she creates such distance between what she chooses to take in and what is actually there. love pulses in her veins and that much she knows and yet she can control how much this love is expressed and shown, revealed to those whose gazes penetrate her very being, convinced she is made of the very essence and fabric of truth, love, kindness, affection, hope.

She is so blessed with this ability to convey these precious ingredients that make up her composition, that make up her conceivable form. the form she takes is one that she makes, but the mystery behind that creation remains elusive to those whose gazes penetrate her very being and she finds the blessings and good fortune apparent in these turn of events, she finds the indicators of very good luck that she can perceive in her current paradigm and she knows that without this kind of knowledge she would just have to go find more somehow to justify her existence. She cannot justify her existence easily the way she saw some people do when she moved through the world as though they could just accept outer appearances.

from January 1996-- happy that way

slick pavement underfoot
makes for risky walking
and dangerous drives
the moon filters thin winter light
through naked branches
sub zero beauty
when I brave the cold
I think of those who live or die in it
when I see my breath
exhale into a grey stream
I shiver at the thought of never
being in your arms again
I blow into my cupped palms
to thaw my face
snow falls
resembling us
papery thin and temporary
ignorant of what it all means
and happy that way
take me away
from anymore unnecessary knowledge
protect me from the bitter temperatures
of loneliness
all the shades of solitude reflected
in breath we can see
they mingle into one stream
and I am comforted half way
the rest uncovered might
freeze from exposure