Poetry/Prose

Now, Decide

photo credit: mine

photo credit: mine

Right now is a live wire.

You may think only something (maybe boring, maybe not, but limited by what you are exposed to) is happening.

When really everything is, now.

From the outside to sit still may seem pointless–but it is in doing this that we boil ourselves down to nothing and feel everything at once.

A massive speck, sitting there.

You might be in a little room with just yourself yet you know a whale is traversing the sea, a baby is being born, someone is digging through garbage, a businessman is clinking a glass over a million-dollar deal and you sit there and just know.

And on and on and on.

It’s electric, and you have so many options, how to perceive, right now.

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Poetry/Prose

You Would Have Been Lions

photo credit: mine

photo credit: mine


Cubs

What can I say?

When I can’t lick you

I know

You would have been lions

My mind is part of nature herself

All twisted and dressed

In cement

And male ambition

My mind is part of that nature too

And it got made up

Still, I want to lick you

Cubs

Both of you

You are still here

You would have been here

You will be here

And yet

You would have been lions

Cubs

Everywhere

Every moment

Every chance

I think of you

You are still here

You would have been here

You will be here

And when you are

I will never let you out of my life

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Poetry/Prose

Only Natural

Rural Nepal, 2012

Rural Nepal, 2012

Ask yourself

What is natural?

Walk into the forest

Of your sensibilities

Buzzing with life

Action

Reaction

Stillness

Disguises

Realities

Is it poisonous?

Or is it a mimic?

Nature

Mind blowing

Sit there

Go into your nature

Walk slow

Feel the bottom of your feet

Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss

The Earth

Holding you up

Infusing all of you

Always

Ask yourself

What is natural?

When you are walking through doors

Sitting at desks

Driving your car

Fantasizing

Talking on the phone

Imagining

Neurotic about social media

Worrying

Crying about a memory

Pining about the future

Pumped on inspiration

Choosing to be bored

Is it natural?

Is it?

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Poetry/Prose

Fists are for Fighting

hand-tattoo-tnKeep your hands open!

It comes

That thing you want so bad

And all you want to do is curl your fist around it

But then it changes

Gets crushed

Resents the journey it took

To reach you

And all it wants

All anything wants

Is to be free

When it escapes

It has memorized that terror

It will not return

So keep your hands open

Through everything

Keep them open

When it comes

Whatever it is

Whoever it is

Whenever it is

Keep ‘em open

Observe

Don’t shoot it

Don’t trap it

Don’t catch it

Become one with it

Appreciate it

Support it

Wish it well

When it goes

Keep OPEN

Because that’s the only way

Anything good

Will ever get in

And anything past its use

For your living soul

Will escape

The end

Is the beginning

Make it end good

Like Seinfeld

Most of all remember:

The fist begins in the mind

Train the mind

When the bird of love lands

To keep open

Smile so deeply inside

Without disturbing the winged one’s nature

As you support it

In your open wide hand

One day, the bird will land that wants to call your hand home

Before you realize it

Your open hand will be covered in straw

Baby birds warming themselves atop it, chirping

And on that day, you will feel

You never had to make a fist

You never had to do anything

To enjoy the natural splendor

Of love’s most natural flight

And necessary landing

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Poetry/Prose

Who Do You Think You Are?

Image courtesy clashot.com

Image courtesy clashot.com

Let me put it this way

We lose a civilization

With every extinction

Everyone

Has the wisdom of society

Even if we only see

With our narrow minds

Their purpose relative to us

Entertainment

Nuisance

Food

Transportation

Companionship

Lives marked

If survived

By our reactions

To convenience

Or inconvenience

Reckoning

We never will

As everyone collides

Millions and millions of galaxies worth

Of us

Species, families, kingdoms

Come

Call them what you want

Put them in silly categories

The birds would laugh

If they could or would

Pull focus

On the tiny speck

Of humanity’s rationale

It’s absurd

This obsession

Running away

From what we don’t know

By making up stories

Of what we think we do

You will get so much further

Watching, listening, whispering

Submitting

To your territory

Your dharma

And wide amazement

To all others’

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Poetry/Prose, Yoga & Spiritual

All Together Now

472424a-f1.2If there was a checkbox for me, to choose, I would tick undefined. But somehow in this world we must define ourselves. What on Earth kind of paradox is this? How do you define a human being?

Tags, IDs, social security numbers … sounds tidy, as per the usual epic fail.

How then? Writer, lawyer, teacher, occupational therapist, plastic surgeon, engineer, scientist, tour guide, relief worker, programmer, dentist, DJ, circus performer. Really? Is that really who you are? What about yogi? Honestly, it’s time we all got a life.

Yes, I spend time practicing yoga and teaching it–learning just as much each time I do.

What I’m trying to get at here actually, as I sidewind my way into the point, is that just because I do this, doesn’t mean that a lot of other things people glue to these termed-yoga activities are true. Same with any title–they’re all about as misleading and temporarily reassuring as a Klondike at 2 a.m. when you’re trying to lose a few pounds.

So many people look at me as someone who has some answers. Someone who can help them. And to a degree I can, but only to the point that guides and demonstrates how they can help themselves. Because it is through these practices that we “yogis” do just that, for ourselves.

Specifically, we bend, stretch, open and, basically, tenderize ourselves. We aim to explore ourselves and interact with the world from a more raw yet deeply faithful place. It’s like moving into high def about life, yet developing, through, shitloads of practice every day, more wherewithal and strength to detach and realize it’s just a TV and all of these melodramas are inevitable programs.

The challenge is that, with this perspective, we have to get real grounded into the role we play in whatever series we find ourselves. It’s not an escape. There is no escape from what we were born to do.

This, in a very crude nutshell, and in my humble opinion, is the pursuit of someone practicing yoga in a deeper capacity.

And yet!

Expectation hangs in the air–that I have it all together. I get it from guys I date, friends who are just getting to know me, people who just discovered my classes. I’m the lady who has it together and will teach people how to have it together. It’s really interesting. I bet a lot of people, in other healthcare professions, know exactly what I am talking about, too.

This month I hit a new personal record on things I thought I could accomplish. I will spare you. Just imagine James Bond is a woman and she’s in Doha and it was so intense that it could only be handled moment by moment, with the big picture in mind. My gears all but burned out … and my composure let in some light through a few cracks toward the end of it all.

Last night I realized–over a glass of wine at a party–that I don’t feel home anywhere and at times totally rely on the logic and reason of people I have grown, over years, to trust to tether me to the closest idea of home a person can ever truly have–human connection.

Yes, I am a practitioner of yoga. But this month really waved it in my face that this life is not at all about having it all together.

Newsflash: you only think you do–stop thinking that for just a second … before life forces you to do it … to see something important.

This gig gets really good when get a sense of when to be strong and when to be vulnerable. When to take care of ourselves and when to surrender to the love around us, the help of friends.

When to get it together. And when to get it all together.

I looked into quite a few eyes over the past week and was utterly rocked by all of the comfort, understanding, deep perception I saw. The few words spoken in passing to help me along.

The grace and elegance that people demonstrate when they reach out to help you is one of the most incredible displays of magic and beauty I know. I drove through the city–sensing the pulsing clubs and house parties at full throttle yet enjoying the quiet roads–totally baffled by hindsight reflection on the loving tentacles of spirit that reached out to grab me lately, despite my dire need to be a strong, yogi, leader type.

So many people smiled and said: relax, relax, relax … like the cheer lines along a marathon.

We are so much alike. The differences so slight, only made bigger when we think and believe we have it together and always will. Ha! Well, honey, you will see it all for what it is when you don’t. When you’re truly tied to everyone you’ve tended to loving, or the people in the institution paid to love you.

For life, it seems, is designed to teach you what it really means to have it all together.

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LostInTranslation

Art

Lost in Translation (August 2014, Gouache)

Image
Poetry/Prose

Phalaenopsis’ Song

 

photo (3) (1)

Photo/art credit–mine

Sometimes

I know what you feel

More than you

Sometimes

The crushing weight

Of watching you fly

In denial’s wind

Nothing to hold

Here in “me”

In another life

I was once a bee

Smelling perfection

In lover’s projection

Intense grief

The Earth turned her face

Smiled at me

I bowed to witness

Her holy game

Driving each one of us, deeper

Oh nature

When you fall for me

We both die

To who we once were

Six feet under

Reaching roots

My heart

My deepest love

All that I am

From the deep I beg:

Turn away from me

Rule the air around you

These man’s world winds

Only gust more

Never caring

As much as you

Find a flower

Feed

Find a shelter

Feel

The validity

Earth’s fruits

Your banquet since birth

Dearest one

Projections never nourish

Embrace the one

Feeding you

Laughing at your doubts

Easing your mind

Here

We are together

Here

Needing what we know

Knowing what we feel

But sometimes

I can feel what you feel

More than you

When I am the orchid

And you are the bee

Now disappearing

To your confused flight

Only from a distance

You will see who I was

A projection

Your deepest longings

Alive in a mirror

Never one to love

More than yourself

I hold anyone truly

Openly

On sacred command

Silent

Trapped in their longing

Camouflaged pain

Fertilizes my life

Now, now

If anything were spoken

From the deepest Earth

All the root-feeding death

I tell you surely

Be

The self

I’ve known so many times

Through such sacred deception

That lured my deepest love

Back to my own heart

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Image

Dug up from a recent visit home.

Art

Einstein’s Alter Ego (circa 1999)

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Poetry/Prose

Lunchtime

Is there anything quite so intelligent as the dawn?

Pastel hues step aside and bow

The earth, about face

Witness

A star is born

Into a holy free zone

Not war

Nor technology

Nor dictator

Nor saint

Nor god

Nor fantasy

Can stop it

Yesterday’s worries cower

In west-side shadows

It could be a fresh start

But for the rising

Pulling us up

Slipping our grip on sacred time

The orb moves higher, relentlessly

Horizon lost to its spectacle and blare

Any other day touches our shoulders

Whispers

“Like yesterday”

“Like tomorrow, will be”

And, indeed, yesterday returns

Just as tomorrow fades away

Just as the shadows disappear

Lunchtime

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