Steps

Trembling,
Balancing on the edge

What happens if I fall?

Constant whisper,
Voices create an ongoing noise in my head

What happens if I don’t listen?

I fell,
the voices stopped calling for a while

When will I hit the ground?

Silence
so comfortable,yet I am so afraid

What if I hear something I haven’t noticed before?

Panic
A desperate need to escape

Who am I running from?

Fruity

The tree is big and rich of fruit

I take one apple down

The color persuades the taste

not yet is it ready to give. 

I pick one apple off the ground 

become the one

I never hoped for, myself.

account

The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.

Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness,
Like the flight of a moth which, had it known,
Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle's flame.

Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety,
The little whisper which, though it is a warning, is ignored.

I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride,
The time when I was among their adherents
Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting.

But all of them would have one subject, desire,
If only my own -- but no, not at all; alas,
I was driven because I wanted to be like others.
I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.

The history of my stupidity will not be written.
For one thing, it's late. And the truth is laborious.


Czeslaw Milosz

healing dimensions

Un-named

Might life be fuller, better, even great, if I looked different

Like a bruised fruit only part of me is good to eat

Spoiled parts of me to be transformed

Into sweet jams with which to fill summer fair pies

Compost from which I can grow whole again

I can’t tattoo myself whole

I can’t work myself whole

I can’t smoke myself whole

There is a hole in my wholeness

If I embrace it, love it, dance with it

The nebulas of uncertainty and self-disdain can rest easy

I fill the hole instead of sitting in its safe container

Of perfect floral air

a moss cushion my bed

Pop culture distractions fence me from my essence.

Will I ever embrace my imperfections

or forever a rotten plum

Insurmountable

Its grey

The color of my skin has changed
My body feels old
I am moving slowly
Yet vibrating restlessness is moving inside


Its grey
A shadow covers what I see
You look different too
I need to look away,
yet desperate to grab hold of your heart


Its grey
Imagining the future
Helplessness makes me heavy
This body is not my own
A stranger has settled down,
and I am about to drown


Its turning black
I judge before I feel
My face is frozen
The stranger has won,
control is gone


Its black
an overwhelming disgust
the darkest hate
to disappear is all I want to do
I guess the stranger becomes a friend,
and I am wearing the mask of a victim again

Unknown path

Desperatly attempting to mold
close the doors and keep my path narrow

Staring at the ground
afraid to raise my head
Repeating the possible outcomes I have been fed

What if all of a sudden you look different?
What if the feeling of you would change?

Do I look different from where I have arrived?
For sure its not my common space
I wonder, have you also found your place?

Desperatly attempting to mold

the attempt is starting to fail

Mountains of ice are melting
the running rivers are crystal clear

yet I wonder, will I run past,
or find you somewhere?

It's time

It’s time! It’s time she hollered with almost 100% conviction.

It has become a race

Searching for her love offering

She tires and she cries

Her belly swells with unexpressed creativity

Anxious, tight chest

She is trapped in someone else’s paradigms

Outdated contexts are not useful to her

Others don’t always know what is best

Capricious fancy makes her appear weak

But she is a dreamer

and there is so much possibility

Putting it our there is purely part of the manifestation process

A new flower is budding

From the golden chrysalis she emerges

Sweet and innocent

Pure and curious

Possessed by divine potential

It is time to come into her own.

dialogues

dialogues are beautiful
a dialogue means
there is a you there is a me
a thou and an i
in a dialogue i does not come before
you after
we appear together
in a seamless presence
that contains and transcends us

dialogues give me the reassurance
that it is all right for me to be here
in this forsaken universe
because you too are here
it somehow makes it feel safe
your presence makes it homely
adds some light to the dark
without taking the dark away

why would we want to be rid of the dark anyway?
why not take them together, see them together?
are they separate?
can’t we see that by refusing the dark that is within
we are adding to the world’s opacity?

there is this big brown butterfly in the house
it has gorgeous orange strips at the inner lining of its wings
it has chosen to rest on my table
where it is slowly dying
gently yielding to stillness

August 26, 2011

Siem Reap

the breeze

among a thing or two
I could listen to birds chirping in the trees
to chants drumming from the temple loudspeakers
to the neighbor’s laughter from the house next door
to the endless barking of dogs in the street
or could sense the breeze blowing through the window grills
illuming the body before the heat starts to smolder
I could also request renewal
but am not sure now how to request
what there is to renew

as long as I can trust the breeze
trust the birds
trust the loudspeakers
the laughter the neighbors
the life that’s in the barking of the dogs
yes simply as long as

as long as you can trust
there is openness to the day