exit music

You called me at work with a suggestion;
let’s go to the beach. dinner. possibilities
I waited for you at 6 pm
on the stairs of the government building,
Sansome and Sacramento, so
excited to see you that
my book lay open, unread
in my lap.

The buses pulled up and away
at reliable intervals for 20 minutes, and then

You screeched to the curb, smiling through
the passenger window, happy and young,
cigarette dangling expertly, carelessly
between two fingers.

I jumped in to hear Exit Music (For a Film), Radiohead,
listening to the possibilities
Where could we go to watch the ocean from inside,
sip wine in a warm-lit room, sheltered from the looming
grey? Let’s find out.

And we stumbled on a haven high above Ocean Beach,
a place to talk and remember how to be,
together,
in a warm-lit room that seemed to float
in the grey
like the calm center
of a sea storm.

The lights from the tankers on the horizon
looked like a floating Mardi Gras.
The busboy brought us water and
we thanked him profusely and our attention turned toward

Mighty surfers communing with Ocean Beach, below
finding perfection in the cold pummeling waves
they rode occasionally but, more often,
diving through or sailing over,
finding a way.

Nearby a whirlpool formed beside a rock jetty,
churning, juxtaposed to the controlled calm
of the surfers who knew exactly how far away to be.
Who could tell how far down that vortex led?
Shiver, sip of wine, I felt protected,
feasting with you.

And even now as you lie, exquisite,
in the other room
i know i love you.

Even though there seems
a sad end to every night, i know
there is life in us yet.

For Abdul-Rahman Kassig

I imagine there was peace
nestled deep inside your fear
or maybe it was
the other way round
or one eclipsing the other
like the dark figures
hovering above you,
blotting out the blazing sky.

Such sick, sadistic power they brought to bear.

But you had more,
and your power set you free.

This was a moment (don’t we all have them?)

I shiver at the memory. What I thought I was tangential to
turns out was deeply embedded in the heart.
How joyous is the discovery in that look;
the face, softening in the most beautiful way,
allowing the deepest longings of the soul to surface.
the radiance so moving.
I am locked in and swaying,
in the gaze.

in memoriam: the emerald softness

The storytelling was exquisite, the truths immense, and the bullshit just fun. Smoke and mirrors I can navigate. I’m resourceful like that. But that doesn’t mean I’m desensitized to the awe on the other side.

the rest

today a homeless man caught me crying

on the town square

and offered his hand to comfort me.

that’s some serious grace

right there

a gift.

and in the pause of holding hands

with my companion

right there

the gift

the sensation

of moving at different speeds

in the great circle,

some circumferences

a bit more wobbly

than the rest.

It’s difficult to find,

the rest

how does one grope gracefully for

a blissful oblivion right in front of you

but so out of synch you can’t

imagine

how far the distance

to the rest.

for jacqueline

jaqueline taught me how to become a dragonfly

i didn’t imagine
my body could move
like that

my lips and hands form
gratitude
my private goddesss yogini

oh asana, prana
elevate me, then
send me down
to child’s pose

a pause

the waning moon dissolves
into the shape of a C

Come down now

into the quiet

in the pause

solitary voices can be heard as
audial isolation points, dispersed on the landscape
seeking a union that is in the stars
joining together
joyful noise, fierce harmonies
belted out
by a beautiful circle of co-conspirators

and the singing fades to murmur
and I fold back into child’s pose

come down now

in the depths of a pause
the song still caressing my ears

i return to the breath
oh prana,

in the stillness
the song is the air I breathe.

what is left to do with myself tonight?
I’ve medicated myself
with all the goodness, I have
called upon gods, goddesses
heroes and antiheroes, where are you?

all entities are flawed. perfect imperfections.
i could find solace in that, but…my curiosity demands
a simple truth that won’t come.

what do i do with the sins of my father, the sins
of the world, the sins
of my own doing?

this world is too much with me. if i don’t let go
i feel i might explode. my safe cocoon torn to shreds
by sticks and shards and pointy things. but
if i do let go, what will become of me?

tonight, driving home, i let a man cross
the road with his dog and he met my eye
and said thank you. and i wept all the way home.
that he let me know i made his way easier filled my heart
to bursting.

the exquisite simplicity of kindness exchanged:
that is where i find god.

And All of a Sudden, Miracle Birds! (A Dream)

My daughters and I are sitting on the front steps of our bungalow house on Lincoln Street, but not that exact house in the slightly warped way of dreams. We are bathed in daylight. All of a sudden, a shadow passes overhead: a flock of birds. As they fly closer to us, it’s clear they are not of this world. They carry dusk on their scapulars and their underwings flash the silver of moonlight. Time seems to pause as one of the birds separates itself from the flock.  

Then she dives straight for Eva, Shilo, and me, hovering inches above our heads. She is gray, with striking black outlines on her face like a hood and chinstrap. Her head is unusually angular. As we watch in awe, she transforms into a glowing sinewy tangle of electric green, then red, then blue. Then the floating globe separates into three–one of each color. They look like ornaments on fire, and they slowly float over and nestle into the bush next to us.

The girls laugh in delight and I start to cry, greatly humbled by the miraculous secret that was just revealed to us out of nowhere.

unintentionally abandoned

A moment of carelessness,
and I found myself without
my favorite sweater
left behind in a Houston airport, me
30,000 feet above midamerica
helpless to retrieve her.

At first I was cavalier about it,
even giddy with the thought
of finally replacing the well-worn softness
with something new–
an exciting prospect
at first.

Then the sweater
took up a whole new dimension in my thoughts:
this plain mainstay
of my everyday existence
began to take on a life of her own.

I saw her lying, crumpled
in the corner airport chair
next to the window,
forlornly waiting
for familiar hands to grasp
for familiar arms to slip through 
lonely, hollow folds

I felt sadness settle
and the cold, canned air of the plane,
neither of which I could stave off
without my loyal knitted companion. 

 

 

Walking the Labyrinth

This past Friday I was locked in at the Unitarian Universalist church as part of the Coming of Age program that brought adult mentors (me being one) together with their high school youth to be together for an all-night spiritual and communal experience. I have to say it was unforgettable.

We ate dinner together and then moved on into different workshops. The youth I’m mentoring has similar tastes to mine so we had no trouble choosing our workshops: spiritual journaling, then mandala making. Both truly wonderful experiences, but the highlight of my night was walking the labyrinth.

The intent was for mentor and mentee to walk the labyrinth together yet alone. By circumstance, my youth and I made our journey late at night. While everyone else was upstairs getting ready to sleep, we found ourselves alone in the sanctuary. Rain drummed the ceiling of our church and the Earth outside–a rhythmic noise that helped still my mind and slow my pace.

There are 3 parts to the labyrinth: The journey toward the center, the releasing; the time you spend in the center, the receiving; and the journey back to realm outside the labyrinth, the returning.  

I found the labyrinth practice to be soothing and centering. From the beginning of the journey, it gave me comfort to let go and walk the path clearly defined–heading toward a safe destination. It allowed my mind freedom to deeply explore what my intentions could be. 

I didn’t discover what my intentions were until I reached the center and meditated. My mentee arrived there shortly after I did and we sat together in silence. Sacred. As I breathed slowly and deeply to the thrum of heavy rain, I formed my intentions. 1.  Narrow my focus, with love, to the things always present in my heart–family and friends; making music; writing; doing good. 2. Live by the one law of love 3. Do no harm. 

The last part of the journey was the returning–to slowly rise from the center and make my way back to the everyday pace of life. I did this slowly, purposefully holding my intentions like precious gems in my heart and in my folded hands. 

As I walked, I passed the occasional stain on the carpet: some small, some wicked large ones too (what makes that sort of stain in a church sanctuary?). They became symbols of imperfection in the sublime–the imperfections that make whole the sublime.

I reached the end, at peace with my intentions and the release of all I can’t carry with me. I poured a cup of tea and sat, breathing and writing and sipping in turn until I felt ready to reintegrate with the larger world.

What is the relationship between this sacred experience and the regular rhythm of my life? I feel my daily mind often is racing to prepare for the next scheduled commitment. I have to figure out each step along the path, and it’s a complicated dance that includes my partner and 2 young daughters. The majority of the time, I am not intentional or deep with my thoughts like I was during the walk. It’s clear that I need this ritual to help me free my mind to plunge deeper and be more aware of the way of thinking that moves me forward–toward something sublime. And so the journey is sublime too. Stains and all.