it’s that moment…it’s like I’m in a wrinkle in time. I got the keys and have no idea where these hallways and doors lead, but it feels so free and I know it’s right. when the moment begins and doesnt end…..
i just wrote you this beautiful poem about me crying more in the gentle rain, though my phone deleted it and i felt so angry that it was lost. i titled it “unlearning” because my sadness changed to joy when i examined my feelings in deeper meditation.
do you know what the poem said? (not verbatim….it is now lost in cyberspace, hoping you heard it or felt it at least)
i love you even though it hurts
im glad it hurts because the feeling is a gift
i would rather feel love passionately, and scream about it with gladness in my heart.
beats the hell out of the apathetic and subtle tears rolling down my face during a gentle rain.
lets see if my phone agrees to publish this one.
and now ….its pouring.
waiting on some doors to open
and it’s taking forever.
it’s like i’m staring at the hinges,
listening intently for the little squeeeeeak,
hoping to hear the door knob click as it turns,
and the only sound i hear is my ticking time clock heart.
i give up waiting on external change.
Did you hear the Invisibilia podcast at NPR?
Every 7 years our cells cycle rebirth.
So, I guess it’s about that time.
in this *mean*time,
I’m done waiting for doors and windows to open.
I’m building my own mother fucking building.
I feel so strong.
I feel so ready.
It’s not surprising that my foundation
is going to be invincible because it’s made of my own
blood, sweat, tears, and flesh.
I’m doing all the daily practices that I should be.
I’m breathing and networking.
I’m feeling my real feelings.
I’m finding the best in the moments,
despite the hurt and chaos
of the demolition work that needs to happen
in order to rebuild a foundation.
My hands are juggling sledge hammers, mortar, levels….
i’m like a construction junction juggernaut.
this is my own self medicating prescription:
i need to keep my rose colored glasses as far away from my face as possible.
i’m only 5’3″ …so my own arms are kinda short.
it’s hard with those spectacles; they are like a magnet.
hello, readers from India and Australia….
may I mail them to you?
not that i recommend they be worn regularly….
look for a package without a return address.
today i heard the 3 note whistle bird while drinking my joe…
the early bird gets the worm.
and after a long night of crying my eyes out over so many lost dreams,
mostly that are my own fault for idealization, wistful patterns,
and dreamy eyed faith,
i sat up a little taller and thought what i felt.
i am strong.
i am strong.
i am strong.
my mind and body are on the same page.
i don’t know if they ever were.
the same place.
the same plane.
temporally and geographically.
time space continuum.
i’ve spent enough time worming around with wormholes.
i don’t want to be a flipping, squirming worm anyway.
i want to be a mother fucking hawk.
it’s been a weird life.
you weren’t on my mind this morning.
i think it’s been a few weeks since i could say that.
i had to consciously think of you.
though the sand is sifting through the hour glass slowly, it IS moving.
change always seems slow, doesn’t it?
i prefer to think of you, it seems.
i like watching you move.
my rainbow sand clock.