thoughts of grace

Epiphany

2012-01-22T11:09:00.001-05:00

At night, the angel-spirit rested on man's pillow and took him on as Giver of dreams.

"Joseph..."

the night-angel flew before his eyes a prism of glass-shattering caverns and mighty fortresses surrounded by hilltops. vast caves of shimmering color and melting ice, of light and cool-scented darkness. a chasm with loud,rushing River powering below. a mist of wind and fire. a field of flowers and warmth. a clean, soft snow-covered kingdom. swords and draped fabric in endless yards. a Lion.

"Joseph. do not be afraid to take..." the angel-Dreamer whispered into his face. lit a candle, wiped his brow and departed.

BOOM.

_________
left alone in the emptiness of pre-dawn, man's lids flit open and softness melted into his eyes. as he walked through that day bidding hello-good-byes to the strangers in passing and in his sides, the fear died into his heart-soil and a shoot sprang up out of the rock.

for HH

2012-01-18T08:37:00.006-05:00

ROAR in Reds
and Cobalt blues.

Your pastels are
    Fire for no one.
Do not run from my
    Skin.

Run with Wolves
       with me.

Smeared chocolate Cake
     and fluttering monies like
     escaped Prisoners from his pockets.
Handprint sears its
     memory into my leg.

I would probably try
     Anything.

Pelvis. Move
                     from here.

I should not be so
     easily discarded.

fantasies. Hormones.
     Who needs instruction
     regarding Woman?

Connect. Read.
     Banish illiteracy or speak
     not at all.

just Silence
     touch, exchange.

2012-01-17T11:56:00.000-05:00

i am not sure what kind of deal the Universe wants from me. or if that's how it works. when does the happy chapter start? i want one.

jump over                               the wall you cannot
                          see.

___________________________________________

flowers are heart-Labyrinths that

bleed

                    &

                                     cry.

2012-01-14T22:53:00.000-05:00

some days, i really miss Jackson. the intersection of those people at that time and place. or who i was and what i believed while i was there.

2012-01-09T22:52:00.000-05:00

to be confronted with another person is shattering. terrifying. captivating.

___________

it's like spinning around with your eyes closed. whirling
                                                                                      whirling
                                                                         spinning
   and
stop.
side by side. face to back. now back to face. face to face.
all the while
the little string
is attached, creating the entanglement that is
relationship.

2012-01-04T10:20:00.000-05:00

We have felt the emptiness of our own existence and so we must long our Creation(s) into being in order to prove the reality of our inner life, to validate its wishes and honour its passion. To give expression to what we are unable to find while we must breathe and be subject to the bonds of gravity and temporal circumstances. We have to live in the world and context we are given but we may Live in what we are obliged to create since our souls will neither die nor be silent.

prayer for the new year

2011-12-30T21:51:00.001-05:00

restore our life to us, O God. give us new. reveal the horizon of our destiny. glimmer our souls with hopefulness and purpose. lay out a pathway before us. inspire us. feed us. win us. chase us. woo us. give us Love to overflow so that we may run and never cease to ask for more.

thank you for establishing the tunnel beneath our hearts that connect us one to the other with or without us sharing speech, laughter, or tears.

for the path that is lit for us in someone else's eyes.

_______

i gave Everything and hated You for it. forgive me.

   have Mercy.

__________________________

       i want to deepen, carve out the
       inner well of my soul so that
        i breathe the same air, so
   that the fingertips of my
   being
        graze, grasp, whisper,
caress the roots of the

Tree of Life.

2011-12-27T12:23:00.002-05:00

there comes a time when one must choose to stay. if you want life to grow and deepen, to be planted in the garden that is your life.

i can see it unfolding before me, a life that is sweet in its simplicity and beauty.

i've let it go. it still

makes me scared that it will runaway and never

come back. though i know

that's impossible. we

exist now side-by-side.

occasionally holding hands,

mostly just moving together

/apart/separate/same.

patience....

2011-12-09T13:08:00.000-05:00

I often think of waiting like it's a child sent to his room after he gets into trouble.

but, what if waiting is really like foreplay--

              kissing, teasing, grazing, touching, here
                                                                             and then gone.

each moment that passes makes the consummation more inevitable,
   more desirable.

burning waiting.

the more I want him/Him, the more he/He wants me

and the more we both want it.

What if He is burning for the release just as much as I am? teasing to make Want.

he's right there. within plain sight-- tease, graze, stroke. wait.

make out in the kitchen.

wait.

in passing,

see me in the shower. wait.

dress. pants. hair. neck.

lips. shoulder. hands. arms.

wait.

i can feel

you against me.

wait.

release. climax. union. intimacy.

fulfillment. arrives...it must.

2011-12-08T11:50:00.000-05:00

Need, disciplined,
becomes the most exquisite Desire.

______________________

Patience, learned...

2011-12-05T12:52:00.000-05:00

drinking lots of coffee.    wearing ridiculous outfits to continually convey warmth to my toes.

catching glimpses of the beautiful, winter night sky.

the wind blows clarity into my cheekbones.

                                                                     "feel this," it says. "this is who you want to be."

2011-11-28T16:48:00.003-05:00

Your voice is swallowing my soul, soul, soul
Your voice is swallowing my soul, soul, soul

Your voice is swallowing my soul, soul, soul
Your voice is swallowing my soul, soul, soul

Soul, soul, soul, soul, soul, soul, soul

- The National

2011-11-09T10:58:00.004-05:00

I am currently undergoing training to become a Pilates instructor which has supplied much information and experiences and thoughts to fuel my life-long obsession with embodiment.

________________________________

to reform our body is to
Reform who we are_______ to release, stretch,
strengthen our body is to do so to our entire being-
our flesh, which is the outer limit of our human experience.

"When you learn to roll up from the correct muscles you won't have to grip with your toes so much."

"You haven't been using your core at all--recruiting the leg muscles to do the work of the center."

I have been strong.
now I will BE strong.

What if 'sin' is like the flaws, tightnesses in our body? When corrected, we have freedom of movement and mutual support, strength and flexibility in our person.

Balance-->learning to inwardly rotate strengthens and beautiful eases deeper outward rotation.

Release the sheaths.

Engage the inner and outer.

Lengthen. Grow.

Pull the joint into its own socket to Allow more range of motion.

Rotate in so that you can rotate out.

extension balanced/in use of flexion

initiate from the core. center of your being and Live from there.

the Truth of Movement--a gift from the gods, Gods, God, GOD.

2011-08-17T23:00:00.000-04:00

i miss you

and

what we used to be

and

what we could have been.

2011-08-06T09:41:00.006-04:00

waiting-- the great work of our soul. for, if we are not waiting, the current inside of us has dried. we are stagnant, cracked earth. but when we enter our hearts into the bravery of the smallest hint of expectation, we enter once again into waiting and its tide. the ache of desiring, of being alive. of hoping that one day while we live on the earth we will see the goodness of our longing. to wait is our journey with islands of fulfillment along the way.

"grief becomes a brick in your pocket. something you can carry around with you..."

some days it's a brick, some days a mountain, a cliff, sea of needles. when will it be enough? we are mistaken if we think that by waiting and stretching we are paying the cost of desire. we have earned nothing by being here. we have only changed; and our hearts, stretched taut by the pain of yearning, are now bigger.

2011-07-25T13:48:00.002-04:00

There is a stillness that comes

when we are dull, empty matter

nothingness embodied by nothing.

No wind; movement of any kind lives

on the other shore.

No shadows, for there is no light.

Here is only hush

and quiet deliverance.

2011-07-15T14:11:00.000-04:00

being good has so little to do with anything...

being free is everything.

2011-05-23T09:02:00.002-04:00

What is this? gleaming into the Forest of my eyes---sunlight. Hope.

a door has opened somewhere and a breeze tickles my hair. i have been starving of air and the fire had gone out long ago. cold. stale. now the gentle wind encircles my ashes and awakens the grey death with her pale kisses. soft and light. here for a moment, then gone. but she was here.

she came. she knew about me, the pile of ashes, of dust, lying just underneath the window.

dead. a non-thing without a voice.

and she came and breathed on me.

now, i take my first breath...as the particles of my dust float through the wispy air to form what will be my flesh
my sweat
my blood
my eyes
my heart.

God, make us gentle waves of silence, splashing up against the doors of Hope.

2011-05-09T10:37:00.017-04:00

if you lose your life, you will find it
... or it will find you

in between the blank spaces, paragraphs
periods. words l e t t e r s

line break suggests hesitation. we hold
our breath as we walk across the
water blindfolded. and even after we feel
the grasses underneath our toes we are
too scared to open our eyes again. what does it mean
to have crossed the sea, to have
landed without any knowledge of where you
are? do we build here or keep
searching?
or maybe the choices are the same
thing, when you are Lost.

2011-04-05T13:29:00.001-04:00

we have to come to terms with who we really are,

being unafraid to becoming nothing.

time passes, and

we love.

2011-02-20T09:42:00.006-05:00

i'm finding it hard to believe in destiny these days...
is this it? is this really it?

we have dreams so they can make

us cry
so we can go to work to half-okay
jobs so we can get paid so we
can survive to keep on doing it ?
the only excitement one has to look
forward to, the only life, is
someone to Love you. but even
that fades, dims
we just are.

where are the unicorns?
where is the ocean?
where is Love?

where does it all go?
down some imaginary drain of Life that gets flushed every Monday morning so that every
sunset makes us feel all of the bankruptcy inside, the nakedness we only recognize because it
once was full ?

2011-02-03T09:41:00.002-05:00

There is freedom in letting go of what you have always wanted,
seeing it for what it really is.

Something dies, the part that only lived while wanting and having;
but something else comes to life--the part that has been waiting
for you to rest.

2011-01-11T12:57:00.004-05:00

Comes a new day with hope abiding like a waning candle and the cup of coffee attached like an appendage. She walks outside in the cold.

A pine straw dangles in mid-air.

'Is that what he said? How do I know? Go for it? No.'

Step after step on the gravel road. Stray rocks find their way between her soles and her shoes. Sip after sip of the increasingly tasteless beverage. It grows lukewarm.

"We could hold hands." he said.

'But I don't think that is what I want. Perhaps it is what I should want.'

Joggers huff on by, their breath steaming in the frost of morning air. Her nose turns to deeper shades of pink as fingers retract into the shelter of their pockets in search for heat. Up the hill and down. Glimpses of sunlight peer through the naked trees, illuminated in the brighting grey of winter. The air is alive with silence.

Water runs downhill beneath the ice.

"Silence develops relationship."

'Yes, but he can't know my silence. It's a secret.'

The blank space of a familiar path stretches before her. If one must end the journey at home, all alternate routes lead to the same place. Crackly leaves swirl about in the wind, going nowhere and everywhere.

...

Inside, she melts into the chair in the back of the room. Dripping onto the floor, she becomes a flood beneath a crowd of feet through which she can sense their presence and steep.

2010-12-31T22:23:00.001-05:00

The new years walk, restoring
Through a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring
With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem
The time. Redeem
The unread vision in the higher dream.

_T.S. Eliot

2010-12-29T09:21:00.005-05:00

screens. virtual reality. 3D. concrete. endless computer. fake plastic. youtube. 'have you seen this?' radio. television. ipod. ipad. 3G. smartphone. internet. dvd. mp3. satellite. lol. comcast. directv. remote control. buttons everywhere. haha. food in a box. books in a computer. sports. movies. shows. spectators multiply. stuff everywhere. full of clothes. must buy. on sale now. before we lose our jobs. before we die. or become like everyone else.

at night, i look up at the stars to remind myself of God. the cold breeze pricks my face which turns pink at its touch. it seems, for the first time each day, i can see. i can feel.

2010-11-20T23:20:00.004-05:00

so there's this house...

it's a beautiful house. cozy rooms, warm blankets, airy windows, clean kitchen, soft beds, and bedrooms with sofas. libraries and fireplaces. filled with the colors of the sea. every passers-by notices and publishes both its mystery (for none of them have been inside) and its beauty. they cannot enter inside because it has been blueprinted for someone else- for something else. so it sits there, with empty rooms and vacant beds...waiting.

2010-11-14T11:06:00.003-05:00

It's like a ballet without the stage. Everything dressed and interchanging its places, entrances and exits avant the lack of misplaced scenery and props from another act. What shoes to wear? The door is locked. Will have to wait for him to come open the door. Lights are off. The cold absence of a once-filled auditorium, the dark stage where feet have sown and reaped the flowers of breath.

There is such a stage. There is a place to belong. In a city of a hidden name and a floor of a different kind...

Come and find me. I know not where to look any more and I am weary with seeking. Hope drained into the sink, washed down with empty eggshells and leftover debris of a last-minute meal. Where is the taste of life? Reveal yourself. And I might forgive you for not feeling as much as I do.

2010-10-20T10:22:00.002-04:00

Contentment is the stone wall around the garden of

Longing.

in memoriam

2010-10-08T14:47:00.000-04:00

happy birthday, little one.

2010-09-27T10:43:00.003-04:00

The daily walk has changed her colors, the ground now crunchy with layered tones of pumpkin and ginger. Sun sets right after dinner and the air becomes an ambiguous mixture of summer and autumn, murky haze of swirling seasons. Leaves are a perpetual lemony rainfall against their backdrop of green remainders. Increasing bareness--tap tap tap, all the way down. The season when we atoned. Release the past into the water with a heave and start again. The season when we remembered dwelling in the wilderness, manna, confusion, lost, stuck. Just enough to get through the day. No more, no less. No saving or trying to get ahead. Existing, day in and day out. Surviving to earn one's daily bread, casting the surplus upon the waters as a soggy sacrifice, into the sea of Xibalba. Forgetfulness: one used to be enslaved, and now one is nowhere.

and she will sing there...

2010-09-13T13:33:00.007-04:00

In a way, it's like being a ghost, as if one were never here at all. Silently observing that which has proceeded in someone's life, seeing all the effects but absent from the causes.

NewOld--comparative relativity

The places no longer knows you, but you know it. Wrote you no letters but you have spoken to its current, carried the dirt in your lungs on your shoes.

same function different name. unexpected but it shouldn't have been. life repeats itself.

"the marigolds are molten."

--------------------he waded into the water mercilessly guiling for those goddesses floating atop in the shape of Lilies. Pagodas hung in his memory. Kisses danced on his skin. I must have its petals graze against my lips.

No, I must drown.

deep breath, drown the water into my lungs.

2010-09-07T19:11:00.002-04:00

You took my heart
and
You broke it from me.
now
I have none.
I am heartless.

______________________________________________

"What is it to be God's elect? It is to be denied in youth the wishes of youth, so as with great pains to get them fulfilled in old age." - Soren K.

2010-08-17T08:47:00.004-04:00

there are those who architect our heart

building rooms for themselves that no one else can occupy.

Vacancy when they are gone

leaving the lights dim or off we feel the empty space.

we go with our wandering fingertips into the cavernous space area of every corner

tracing edges of every lamp couch bed shower table and chair.

it is a place of its own rules and physics, its own gravity and projections
real because it is ours and no one else's.

we can patch holes in the wall or leave it to rot.
water the plants, leave the mail on the porch.

it remains.

2010-08-16T08:29:00.002-04:00

I dug a well to satisfy my soul
deeper and deeper it called to me

the well became dry and I will have to
dig again

find it. find it.

i had it once.
i must find it again.

he feels marah

2010-08-08T19:11:00.003-04:00

A chrysalis forms in the snowy darkness, a shell burrows deep under the ocean’s desert sand. Hard. Calloused. A protective covering which may promise glowing softness forming underneath. Will God indeed be silent? How could He? Why was He not willing? So has asked every mother of a dead child, a neglected wife, a leprous beggar, a starving and battered man.

How could He?

Why would He not?

My questions are no different though their plights be infinitely more heartbreaking and their faith perhaps greater.

Feeling less and less. Weak. Hard. Foolish.

Abraham, the man of faith, slept with his wife’s handmaid in order to bring God’s promise to pass, the granting of his life’s sole desire, his heart’s only longing. He forsook his own flesh in desperation of God’s silence. I cannot and do not judge him. I feel a twinge of understanding, pangs of compassion. I confess that I too feel the inclination to betray, to run away, to sleep with certainty instead of barrenness.

Life is not fair. Is God, then, unjust?
We do not always get what He made us to want. Is He, then, cruel?

Intentionally create one so that dreams would not happen and yet he will long for it more than anything? Devise systems to keep him out, yet leave just enough spark and mystery to keep him wondering? Lay out a path, destine a plan and then shroud it with unspeakable darkness? How long must his flesh cry “barren!” and his life slowly eek away? Withholding fulfillment and resurrection for the sake of death, for the sake of weeping outside the tomb.

Why would he create one merely to yearn? Design him to feel alive doing the one thing that eludes him? Create him to desire excellence at that which is held to be the most beautiful, then to disable him? Has he not cried enough? Has he not died enough? Has he not bled? What has he withheld from You that you refuse him again and again? Nothing.

How can I say to You,
‘make me some other way?’

How can I find fault with God!

Was I there when the earth was formed? Was I awake when you bespoke the heavens, present at the birth of the sea? Can I be credited for the earth’s provision and the creatures of fear?

No. I was not. No. I cannot. So how can one understand? He has nothing but questions.

A garden of barren dirt and frugality. Rubbish hidden in his treasure chest, hoping that passersby will neglect the obvious and forget to ask. Apparent failure, overlooked. Evade the question, sitting in the pile of ashes on the doorstep.

right now

2010-08-01T08:52:00.002-04:00

right now i can hear the peaceful repetition of the ocean
at home in its gentle and violent crashing of water against water

wave upon sand.

i exist in its sound. i become its crash.

2010-05-20T12:38:00.004-04:00

take apart of me and hold it for yourself

i am mine

and

i am yours.

as i take the morning

song through my window,

i am lush.
i am sound.

my voice bleeds into the nighting air,

and my wealth i found in the riches of poverty,

of emptiness, it sings.

of fearless.

of an ache to remember and
to find.

my heart is gone.
i released it into the wind.
like a dove once set upon a cage.
she now flies free and away into some far distant land.
a land where i will one day be.

2010-05-15T22:05:00.000-04:00

sometimes, when i'm dancing, i feel like i can fly...

i just destroyed something beautiful

2010-05-07T14:47:00.003-04:00

since you currently have not the pleasure of sharing in my daily activities, i thought i would enlighten and entertain you with a brief episode. imagine, if you will, a beautiful and glorious pizza. not yet in its complete and idealistic form, but it's basic components lying patiently in one's refrigerator for the past week in all of their pre-meditated glory. continue to imagine the sheer anticipation and glee i felt as the moment finally came when i was to consult these ingredients and put them together in their expected form atop of my miniature, plastic counter. as the process begins, i realize that i do not really have the appropriate equipment with which to bake it. "nothing too difficult. easily smashed onto a 'lightly oiled' cookie sheet." with delight i continue to smooth the vodka sauce to the outer edges, sprinkle with delicate wisps of white cheese, gently place with care each orb of pepperoni. only to realize moments later, that i actually have no way of getting this from said plastic (and now, sticky) countertop onto the inadequately sized baking metal....

let's just say that it ended badly. pepperonis on the floor. pizza in half, cheese on bottom, top, and falling off. sauce on me. sauce on the counter. sauce on the pan. it bears nothing now of the resemblance owed to its name and will likely result in a burnt cookie casserole of melted cheese and dirty meat saucers. we will see with what relish i pull it from the inferno to consume its once brilliant and lusty pleasure.

2010-05-06T15:47:00.003-04:00

so coming sweetly

how is your name?

it drips lightly on my tongue. and i feel it.

softly like the morning mist

tenderness melts in my eyes

and all i can see are the stars and the moon

into the depths of the earth

where is the well of my existence and all that matters.

waves

2010-04-25T08:02:00.003-04:00

The stars are my ocean, and I melt into them like the wax of a candle in a Catholic church, lighting the way for the saints who await the blessing of the dead. A dragonfly flits by my face. I flicker. 'What does it mean?' The wind blows through my tresses. 'What did he say?' Here, in my ocean, the night and light are intermingled; they are the same. Happens quickly, and yet drags on and on. The awaited change steps from behind the veil of one's eyes and is ready to be.

2010-04-17T20:52:00.002-04:00

God comes for us...because He must.

He eludes us, waiting, waiting, until it's gone, past, dead, over.

Then He waits.

______________________________________________

I cried into the Silence, and it heard me.

2010-03-31T09:11:00.002-04:00

to make sense out of jumping off a cliff...

to be alone in mid-air...

feasting on wildness and solitude
grows strength. mighty men are born here.

in mid-air

they call me...

2010-03-22T10:45:00.001-04:00

i AM the wild man who lives in the DESERT.

2010-03-10T22:46:00.002-05:00

a mere trifle can spark the adventure that makes up one's life, the inner fire of our soul.

"Why must he cross the wall?" because he must.

destiny is Convergence. the adventure drops its pebble into our ocean and the waters begin to stir...

____________

Convergence: when it all comes together for no other reason except that it is time.

the gift of kings

2010-02-04T09:21:00.005-05:00

It is walking up to a wood to say hello.

One says 'hello.' And that is all. He moves on, walks a way, telling his friends that he has found the wood, he has known her, seen her trees and felt her gaze. He may write a story about it, well-remembered and well-praised for its courage and ingenuity. 'How creative!' they will say. 'How daring! I wish I had seen a wood.' They will ask him questions for which he will tell the shallow truth with beautiful language for the average man, such a memorable testament to the deeper experiences of mediocrity.

Another walks up to the wood. One says 'hello.' He shivers alone outside her borders, waiting, listening, adjusting to the temperature of her cool nights and swarthy days. Weeks go by, months even; still he remains outside, expecting, present, breathing slowly in and slowly out. Finally, he hears the wind blow; today it sweeps by in a new way. Today, it caresses his face instead of passing by his cold form. Today, she calls to him that he may enter.

Under the shadow of her trees he learns the light, and in the darkness of her day he sits and learns to pray. The rain falls on his head from her leaves, and he becomes the solitude of her quiet order, the portents of her rustling leaves and the holler of the young heartbeats she sustains. The wrinkles of her heritage become his as he traces the bark of her vertical pathways. His hands behold her wisdom and he fears the darkness no more. He is safe in her her open covering, alive in her aloof embrace.

One could call it wandering or seeking, only it is not so ambitious as that. Being. Learning to behold that which is, that which is Life--the wonder of every breath, the miracle of each drop he drinks. He will go on in his learned silence, unremembered, fulfilled. He is whole because he has become what before he only felt. The knowledge too deep to uncover with mere words, he is a mystery to his present company while the fountain of his gestalt will go on unutterable, sacred. Forever in her shadows, his soul will sit under the wood through all his journeys to follow, and she the only witness to the music he will create.

2010-01-18T09:56:00.001-05:00

all it takes is one person to believe in you.

then, suddenly (or so it seems)

the boxes magically lift their jeweled heads and begin to show you the

patterns of their starry sky.

2010-01-02T18:38:00.003-05:00

i can feel the change. something broke. a switch flipped.

it's open.

what was closed is now open.

something's different. i'm different.

apertura.

'see, i make all things new' he said.

2009-12-10T22:12:00.003-05:00

God and his mysterious way of bringing things back around--
makes me feel like I am in a continual circle
and yet each time a different one, the same one.

There are things which are too hidden for me to understand,
too wonderful for my comprehension.
Yet I believe their existence. I will search them out
with my Rest and Solitude. I will find them.
They will reveal themselves to me.

Behind the curtain of Innocence
is a wisdom that reaches beyond a thousand years.
It waits to be taken, an inheritance.
There is such a thing as a Purist who is
unafraid to get dirty, to be buried.

To know that I will bloom Again.

2009-12-03T22:32:00.002-05:00

"Ah, do not mourn," he said
That we are tired, for other loves await us;
Hate on and love through unrepining hours.
Before us lies eternity; our souls
Are love, and a continual farewell."
~ W.B. Yeats

lessons at barre

2009-11-18T22:20:00.004-05:00

Last night I was explaining fondu to my girls and it seemed like such the perfect description of my body and my heart at this present moment--a continual and simultaneous melting and extending, soft and supple plie with strong and delicate rotation. Unfold your leg like you are revealing something beautiful underneath. Show me the hidden part, the soft part which is a secret until you stretch it out. Like an elephant unfurls his trunk, show me your foot as if it's the most important revelation in the world.

and then, bring it back in again. melt again. be soft again. bend again. return.

the echo is calling, "come back to me. return to me. reach for me." it's here. right now.
___________________________________________
There are stories and loves that are bigger than time itself. those are the ones that i want...

_____________________

2009-11-10T22:12:00.002-05:00

sometimes, we just need someone else to say what we already know

2009-11-09T10:05:00.001-05:00

i miss who i remember you to be...

underground

2009-11-05T08:31:00.005-05:00

i can feel my heart carving out the space around me with big sweeping movements
small, invisible steps
flutters of my fingertips

the tears of my feet
and the smiles of my eyes.

life is something that is built, and building is work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

coffee is a revelation of the goodness of God.

coffee is stability.

his delight

2009-10-29T09:26:00.003-04:00

if you love Me,
you will do what I say
because that means
you Trust me,
you know that
I only want
good for
you.

2009-10-18T08:22:00.003-04:00

happy new year.

wilting and rising

2009-10-11T22:57:00.003-04:00

like plants, we people require so much in order to flourish, to grow and produce, to be lovely. everything has to be just right for our particular breed, color, climate, season.

at times, i dislike this; it is difficult to live a life that costs something, especially when you are unable to pay it. but i am learning to live with the empty space that i am unable to fill; i am learning to let it be filled, unexpectedly, perfectly, graciously. unable to give anything in return.

a beautiful life is costly...but i have seen that compromise is not worth the speckled ugliness that it brings. a beautiful life is worth building, from the ground up, digging deeply into the dark, damp soil until you are still, quiet, attached--ready to be covered and take root.

creation is costly; it requires the death of oneself, the birth of oneself.

he said, "to receive is a superior form of generosity." for me, right now, this is true.

my song is playing

2009-09-30T08:54:00.003-04:00

and so...

life carries on, and we cannot forget. no, we cannot forget

the things which are too beautiful to describe. we can't even say them lest our hearts should burst, or cry.

we just see it over and over and hear its music waltzing us in the background.

phoenix

2009-09-24T13:50:00.002-04:00

"Then I said, I shall die in my nest, and I shall multiply my days as the sand.."

"Live simply that others may simply live." ~Gandhi

2009-09-12T15:58:00.003-04:00

life seems to be dripping with opportunities to create. to mesh. taste. drape. color. move.

aesthetics matter because life is an art.

it is exciting to pioneer one's path--things that only you will do, colors that only you would put together, combinations that no one else will do, know or see. meals that only you will cook. flowers that will only grow in your yard.

we think that we must constantly do, be, intend; but really, we just have to live...and live well. where is that skill that no one talks about or qualifies? where are those who are good at life? they are the ones who really seem to enjoy it simply because it is theirs and no one else's; an accomplishment we can all perform, no...inhabit.

zero

2009-08-27T10:40:00.002-04:00

a lesson of being completely dependent and nothing is actually mine

"He who is full loathes honey,
but to the hungry even what is bitter tastes sweet." Prov. 27:7

a good day

2009-08-21T21:19:00.004-04:00

life makes more sense when i have done my plies. today, i could turn. she said "good, mary grace." the pianist played my song for rond de jambes. it was a good day.

a wise woman told me today, "just do it because it's what you do, because it's as natural as breathing."

my siblings are some of the most creative and intelligent people that i will ever meet. i hope you are honored to know them. they are my best friends. what a comfort to know people who are just as weird as you are. my mother is an amazing woman. she taught us not to live by the system.

two cups of coffee instead of one. drinking milk out of the carton and chocolate chips with a spoon.

clothes don't really matter. people can tell whether or not you're beautiful.

a thunderstorm is the most blessed shower. i feel clean.

2009-08-20T13:55:00.002-04:00

How do I begin? Ah, but I have already begun. I just cannot see it. I am learning to sink deeply down into His swells and melt at the whispers of His voice. There is such a long way to go. How will I ever become her? But God has promised that He will bring every work unto completion. Everything He has begun will see its end, even in me. Who am I? Everything is mine because nothing is.

"...Who knows but that you have been brought to the kingdom for such a time as this."

2009-08-16T15:09:00.000-04:00

the effect of compassion is movement...

love is justice and justice is love.

revenge is no longer valid. turn your other cheek in grace and release all you have to anyone who asks and those who don't.

it's all the same all over the world.

moving, moving, moving...

generosity will change the world. love love lovelovelovelovelove

open...no, still more.

small, displaced, compassionate one who will strive and suffer, who will reap abundantly

at peace again

2009-08-08T20:58:00.000-04:00

The ocean calls forth the weariness from one's body and commands it to dissolve into the dream of peace. "What do you ask of me, humble stranger, that you come to find me again?"

Can you show me the future? Answer my questions of uncertainty? Will you teach me who I am?

"No," she says. "But I can teach you how to rest, how to say good-bye and return once again."

And that is the song she sings to me:

goodbye and return good bye and return good bye & return, rest... goodbye, return...

redemption

2009-08-06T17:27:00.000-04:00

"...for you a thousand times over."

my own

2009-08-02T20:52:00.000-04:00

i am water.

who am i hidden in your little box?

...in a dry and weary land where there is no water.

destiny becomes me.

who said that? are you sure?
irrelevant.

our destiny is the journey of searching

of going

of being found.

i don't remember what i wanted before.

i thirst...i thirst for you.

"will you?"

yes, of course. i don't remember what i wanted before.

destiny

2009-07-21T19:31:00.001-04:00

when we are who we were made to be, we are powerful.

2009-07-14T20:13:00.000-04:00

surrender. surrender.
sahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

unfolding my hands into the
warmth of Your breath. Your
face touches my skin and I am
alone, forsaken in the midst
of your gaze. it caresses me.
i am soft. you are soft to me.
hold my hand and ache my
heart away. smooth over my
distresses. your kisses are a
hint, a gateway to the path
of my secrets...to rest in a
place where the wind blows,
violently, gently

____________________________________________________

some days cry

Now, When You Awaken, Remember

2009-07-14T20:09:00.000-04:00

Now, when you awaken, remember the swan's last
dance. Did you dance with cherubs while you were dreaming? Did the butterfly illuminate you
when it burned with the eternal light of the rose? Did
the phoenix appear to you clearly...and did it call you
by name? Did you see the dawn rise
out of your beloved's fingers? And did you touch the dream
by hand, or did you let the dream alone,
when you became aware of your absence suddenly?
This isn't how the dreamers vacate their sleep,
they become incandescent,
and complete their lives in the dream...
Tell me how you lived your dream
in some place, and I'll tell you who you are

And now, when you awaken remember:
did you mistreat your sleep?
If you did, then remember
the swan's last dance!

-Mahmoud Darwish

2009-06-27T19:05:00.001-04:00

i can feel the poverty of my soul when i dance.

metamorphoses

2009-06-27T19:00:00.000-04:00

there is a place where your dreams become removed from you and become more like the Idea of the dream. This is after one has agreed to its union. It's as if it runs away and hides in order to become something else while one works into the demands of its identity.

dream does not run away to abandon but to be born.

liquid vision

2009-06-16T12:01:00.000-04:00

healing time is beginning anew to rest its weary head on the gifts of the flowers of time and to work in a different way and give more than ever before and renew life in the hungry soul that asks for nothing except everything that is or is not as it should be can be taken as reward and blessing with extravagant love coming from the poor who have nothing to give give everything to make space for expanse and time to unveil themselves and unfold into existence and bloom into a season where tasting is the most real.

first arrival, then to continue

2009-06-10T16:29:00.000-04:00

look different, act differently, smile differently, cry differently. becoming something entirely above anything you thought you could ever be, existing beautifully in a world that was once the face of a closed door. watching as the inadequacies fade away in significance. all one can see is how it shines.

work, work, work and then...rest. struggle, wrestle, cry and then...peace. focus, run, push and then...change. it is the exhale--it has been inside the whole time, waiting, changing, converting, expanding.

i think i will forever be surprised by the irony of life. the people who accept you are the ones you least expected. to see the character of God and feel His heart so acutely through someone who cares to know Him not at all.

it is such a delight to be able to do what you love to do. even when it bleeds all over you.

today, this is true

2009-06-07T20:16:00.001-04:00

"In life as in dance: Grace glides on blistered feet." _Alice Abrams

heartdance

2009-06-02T22:16:00.000-04:00

there is something so beautiful about that which demands more of one than one has to give. it demands creation.

it's as if one day i woke up and there were wings.

unfold me into your Face

2009-05-25T11:28:00.000-04:00

this is the year we start over. start over.

the breaking point converges upon us. change is no longer held by our barriers of existence.

start over--as if nothing ever happened, except that it did.

the crossroads of mortification and individuation. they have intersected one another and become complete.

clean slate. no more old. new faces, new ideas, new places, new colors, movement, music, tongues, eyes, skin, soft, heart. breaks wide open into the doorway of...

absorption

2009-05-24T15:13:00.000-04:00

the color is black.

invisible reflection.

more eloquently said

2009-05-23T09:11:00.000-04:00

But oh! How far have I to go to find You in Whom I have already arrived! For now, oh my God, it is to You alone that I can talk, because nobody else will understand. I cannot bring any other on this earth into the cloud where I dwell in Your light, that is, Your darkness, where I am lost and abashed. I cannot explain to any other the anguish which is Your joy nor the loss which is the Possession of You, nor the distance from all things which is the arrival in You, nor the death which is the birth in You because I do not know anything about it myself and all I know is that I wish it were over--I wish it were begun.

You have contradicted everything. You have left me in no-man's land.

~Thomas Merton

to receive

2009-05-17T11:58:00.000-04:00

what if emptiness and openness are actually the same thing?

the rain is my sunshine.

maktub

2009-05-15T14:09:00.000-04:00

genuine Beauty is not something that can be enhanced, only revealed.

"where is your faith in time?" asked the wind. "what is will be."

"trust the current," the ocean said to me. "it will speak."

it is written.

mine. the land that is

2009-05-12T22:32:00.000-04:00

bones, bones--with my bare bones
I will stir up the desert,
and the sands will weep.

I will stand amongst the four winds and breathe deeply.

I will eat victory and swallow goodness,
and they will be mine.
tasting, tasting, tasting.

Give me my hair and I will ROAR over you.

I will take my fire and I will ROAR.

tabula rasa----there's no such thing

2009-05-11T15:15:00.001-04:00

Theresa-- "one who reaps"

God does not forget.

poor man's honey

2009-05-06T13:59:00.000-04:00

"The world is teeming: anything can happen."
-John Cage

some flowers were made to bloom in the desert

what is open

2009-05-02T09:16:00.000-04:00

Alive with indwelling caves
which no one inhabits.
drip, drip, drip--
the sound of water coming down,
ice melting, perhaps.
the smell of secret air, dark,
dormant, old.
stirring it up, stirring it up.

"Can't we just leave the door closed?"

it's easier that way.

____________________________________________________________________

we each have our patterns, our recurring themes to life. they are not the rules and they are not the god. but they are real, true. the same, but different every time.

they abstract our essence from us. they reveal to us what our dreams are, what our names mean. we don't like them because they confront us with ourself once again, as if they could ever be something separate.

what happens is our life and no one else's...

closeness

2009-04-29T15:22:00.000-04:00

communion. to ache for. to long for. each. new. word. that. comes. from. your. breath. mouth. presence. hand. touch. mine. come. and. sit with me.

the paradox of unity

2009-04-21T14:28:00.000-04:00

the distance whispers that closeness is near. its absence promises of intimacy's coming presence. a single thread links a life that comes together all at once in the silence of its own noise, and the speechless air that accompanies genius is sure to follow. gasps of fulfilled expectancy, an inhaled sigh.

ephratah. ephratah. sssshhhh...you might miss it. don't stop. sssshhhhh...say nothing. don't damage the silence.

hello & good-bye

2009-04-12T16:26:00.000-04:00

the wind doesn't know where it is going either. an invisible force at the mercy of the more invisible. it greets the trees on its passing. they rustle, converse. always on the move, always going.

"don't worry about me. I'm going somewhere."

i imagine it enjoys its transitory acquaintances and passing affairs.

"hello. life is sweet. I'm going somewhere."

to move. to stop. to breathe. winded.

"thanks for the dance. I'm going somewhere."

to be unsure. to be okay. to wonder. in the cave. out of the cave.

"no. maybe not that one. I'm going somewhere."

one can't follow the breeze.

"good-bye. i'm going somewhere."

bared beach

2009-03-26T18:29:00.000-04:00

i will take the bare bones that lay by the sea and carry them down to the water. i will use the biggest to dig a well in the rough, wet sand. there i will bury the bones. they are alive, you know. water washes over it. love is like water. endless refreshing, inhale and exhale, day in and day out. waves will gradually smooth over their rough surface and make them a pile of eloquent shells. my shells that i buried.

death is the road to awe.

fools of us all

2009-03-19T06:07:00.000-04:00

Love is the eternal optimism, the last drop of hope when nothing is left. A hint of its ash sends the heart surging like a full river.

"This one? This time?"

Suddenly, it is irrelevant that the last flame dissolved into ice and the past carries crumbs of our heart on its breeze. Suddenly, we have forgotten those things; for Love seeks to make a new world of itself. Love--the ultimate creative act, our final humility.

blossom

2009-03-15T15:20:00.000-04:00

i lay my body down on
the cool green earth
and listen as my body fragments
into the essential marrow
flowers begin to grow from
my surrendered form
releasing the scent of
death's ripe love.

spring is the time of awakening.

regarding springtime

2009-03-09T22:06:00.001-04:00

we like to gravitate towards the change we can see, popcorns of life that spring up right in front of our ears. but there are those things that grow so slowly, naturally, seasonally that we hardly take notice of them until we catch the faint scent of a blossom opening up in our hearts.

a lone gift

2009-03-04T06:08:00.001-05:00

when one is walking through
the time holding hands or
dancing with someone else,

the energy is decided.

alone, one pays more tax
to the passing sands. see
how they blow across my desert.
can you feel the brushing across
the skin as they are carried

on the way to nowhere,
laying curtains atop treasure.

ah, you cannot feel it; for
i am the only one here.
perhaps i am the sand.
i am the desert, too.
what if i were a curtain,

draped across the jewels of time?

coffee brings people together

2009-02-15T18:27:00.001-05:00

a man at starbucks gave this to me this morning. i thought i'd share.

Trust

by Thomas R. Smith

It's like so many other things in life

to which you must say no or yes.

So you take your car to the new mechanic.

Sometimes the best thing to do is trust.

The package left with the disreputable-looking

clerk, the check gulped by the night deposit,

the envelope passed by the dozens of strangers--

all show up at their intended destinations.

The theft that could have happened doesn't.

Wind finally gets where it was going

through the snowy trees, and the river, even

when frozen, arrives at the right place.

And sometimes you sense how faithfully your life

is delivered, even though you can't read the address.

life's continuum

2009-02-01T15:12:00.000-05:00

dance is so much like life that it is simultaneously (and equally) frustrating and exhilarating. Everyday marks something new. Everday greets the body's daily ritual. Everyday trying a little more, tweaking this, fighting that, lifting, loving, enjoying, kicking, crying. Everday showing up to expect and give, fail and receive. We never quite have it; you will never do it perfectly. It cannot be conquered, only entered...and loved.

cryptic

2009-01-14T21:10:00.000-05:00

There seems to be a hint of Jo March in all of us. "Why can't things just stay as they are?"

Why do you have to love me? Can't we just stay friends?

Why do you have to go get married? I want you to live with me.

Why do you have to be sick? die?

So resistant to change, yet growth thrives on it. We stick our flag in the mud to claim our unmovable piece of transience. Slowly, or quickly, the claims slip away to build another province elsewhere. Jo learns to relinquish her flags. She went to go find happiness instead of waiting for the next mourning to occur.

The mourning will find you; there is no sense in waiting around for it. To find one's bliss--that is part of life, too.

"Though it linger, wait for it."

No need to cut and run, running for fear of sameness. There is enough sacred and change in the sameness to remain and search. It takes courage to allow for transition, the in-between, the undefined reality of not quite belonging anywhere. Half-way between real and Not. The same but different. Make room for it, it will come. (the heart seems to remind itself). The bliss you find will stay, even if you are the only one who remembers.

thank you, mr. button

2009-01-03T19:46:00.000-05:00

Time is in a box and love lasts forever.

for new

2008-12-25T02:16:00.000-05:00

sometimes there is an incredible urge to just run away.

run away

run away

like an echo that will not return

or an imaginary kiss blown by the wind

question.

2008-12-03T10:36:00.000-05:00

why is it that we do not fill our life with that which we love?

rainy day

2008-11-29T10:41:00.000-05:00

time, time, time...

passes slowly, passes quickly

it passes

good morning, alarm clock. yes, i know.

i'm probably late. time is running out.

hurry, hurry, time is running out.

you're getting old. life has moved on.

hurry, hurry, time is running out.

can't be angry for that which is no one's fault.

sshhh...you hear that? they're leaving now.

hide. they won't find us now. let's sit in here and pretend

that nothing has gone away.