Sobriety of Knowing

It’s not about judging the self, but answering the call to action. It is action that transforms, action that heals. So listen to music. Fill the world with what you are most moved to create, what arises from beyond the mind but is an answer to the necessity of your soul. What have you been deprived of?

            Love?

            Understanding?

            Acceptance?

            Drive?

            Patience?

Then be those things. To yourself FIRST. UNCONDITIONALLY. See how it transforms you. Be a beacon  Be a beacon for your lower self, when it creates drama and challenges. Leave breadcrumbs so you may always find your way back into alignment with your higher self.

Remember – when you remove “I”, the ego, and “want”, the desire, you are left with happiness.

So. What calls to you? What calls you to action? What reaches out, what latches on when you reach out? What are the details of beauty that strike you? Move you? Bring you to your knees?

You are allowed to be here. To occupy this space.

After so much perspective, cant you see and feel this is so?

Let go of the tension

            Embrace the sobriety of knowing

We seek truth

            But we are not truth

                        We just are.

                                    We just are.

Let the moment come from within

                                            and without. And just be.

Until you made her one

For him, it was 10 minutes

A ten minute victory

over a person too drugged to use her Judo against him

or the knife

that was clipped into her back pocket

For me, it was 10 hours

Ten hours of jokes, of deep, centered breathing

Of being strong

Of being there

Of holding her hand

For her, it was 10 days

Ten days of waiting to find out if she was clean

That all traces of him were gone from her flesh

That she had healed

Though,

In reality

Time stopped for her in those ten minutes

Her lifeclock was reset

And instead of measuring time in years since birth

Or years since graduation

She measures time in days

Days that add space between her and him.

Today makes 32

32 days closer to moving from victim

To survivor

And realizing that 'victim' 

doesn’t mean 'fault.'

What Are This

6.27.12.

The kind of magic I do is up close and personal.

Subtle.

If you look away you might miss it

The transformation

The transition

From acquaintence

            To acquired

                        To accessed

You might miss the moment I cross over

Unless you peer deeply into my eyes

Catch the glint of self-assured candor

And catch yourself before you fall.

Seemless transition of expression

Somewhere deeply beyond

What can be seen with the eye

And measured with the mind.

There is a rhythym followed that

Will take you there

Past the sighs

            And into my soul.

I feel you on my breath as I exhale

Like somehow the tiny sighs of butterflies

Escaped into my bloodstream

To float out of my nose

I was afraid to fall.

            Now I am afraid not to

Dancing Feet (and descent into drunken poetry)

 Dancing Feet

When I look at my feet

I think of you.

I think of the feet of the girls you dance with.

I think of their bodies, hardened

Flexible

Capable of much more than mine.

I never thought about my feet much

Before you.

My monkey feet.

I can turn door handles with them.

I can pick things off the ground with them.

When I try to stretch them

They cramp.

I wonder if I’m capable of the perfect extension,

The strength, the grace

I imagine you look at my attempt

And think to yourself

“she’s not really a dancer, she’s just a girl who dances.”

Dancing feet.

I know how to work a crowd

I could win medals

If I had the right feet

If I were more flexible

I could be amazing.

Then you’d love me.

I hear your voice in my head

Like a broken record

Always repeating

“I’m interested in people who are good at things”

And I was

Good at things.

But not the kind of things

That kept you interested.

I was good at keeping us fed.

I was good at listening to you talk about your day

I was good at sharing.

Sharing my life,

My car,

My time.

I was good at touching you.

Loving you.

At least, I thought I was.

Might have been.

I was good at giving.

I gave, I gave, I gave, I gave

And in all my giving

I forgot to be good at things.

All the books

They said

The change had to start with me

“The change”

Like some grand, orchestrated event

Like the sky was going to freaking part

And let the rains of self-discovery drum down on your curly head

And you’d open your eyes

And really see me

As if for the first time

After a long time

And you’d reach out your hand

And you’d move a hair from my face

And you’d say

Wow, I’ve never been so in love.

Because you’d see

You’d finally see

me

Other Songs

I’ve been listening

To that musician

The one who wrote that song

The one we sing together

You know the one

You play it on the guitar

And we sing it

And it is so cute

It makes us barf

He wrote other songs

Some not so cute

And some that give me hope

That someday, someone will love me

Like you couldn’t

Dreams

We built a dream of all time

Grandiose

And I wrapped my future around it

And it pulsed

We gave it life

This dream we crafted, wove

ourselves into it, out of time

And mind

And into a land

Where lovers always win

Where love is always enough

Because love bashes the bad against the wall

And we laugh to see it bleed all down the chipped paint

Maree.

Australia.

Dance.

Our Ridiculous Restaurant.

Now I stare at blank, seafoam walls.

You are nowhere

But in my dreams.

My mother’s breath

It’s what I didn’t know

That trapped me

In the end.

I thought I could understand

And I did

I always did

More than they thought I could

And it killed

To have the smell

Linger.

I once painted in the lines of Grandmother Willow

And you came to say goodnight

And now whenever I smell wine on someone’s

Exhale

I think of Grandmother Willow.

Though, on my own breath,

I think of dirty catboxes.

I thought I had learned from her

She said

Don’t marry someone’s potential.

But, if people change, if they grow with you,

Are you marrying potential?

A vision?

Shouldn’t we all be given the space to change?

To grow?

Extra limbs, a violin arm,

A loving smile

That crinkles my eyes…

Love

I can’t love you back to health.

I gave you the best of me

You were my family

You made me believe in commitment.

I believed you’d never break my heart.

And yet

I am staring at it

Effusive, stinking mess of broken strings and smelly holes.

If it had legs it would kick out viciously

It would, of course, blame me if it could talk

I’m sure I’d get an earful

Might even go deaf

Or blind.

It would lash out, had it arms, it would wring necks

It would rip all my underwear

Because every article

Reeks

Of you.

It would throw shoes

Pee on the rug

It would demand an explanation.

How could you go from Love to Can't?

And something inside

Knew it

That you couldn't forgive me

And that’s why I cried all the way to school.