Have you yet…?

Have you given thanks yet today?
for the miracle of breath that fills your belly?
for the pulse of life in your veins,
the inner drumming of your heart that sets 
the grounding tempo of your physical fibre?
for the amazing resilience and strength
of this unassuming body
without which you would not 
have form in this world?
for the limbs and hands
you were given
that allow you
to move,
to shape,
to create,
to give?

Have you given thanks
for the bright sun rising
and the new day ahead
that is not yesterday again,
that has brought you one more step 
out of the dark past 
and into the future,
that is tomorrow, now, here today?
for the morsel of food that has made it’s way to your mouth,
the pleasing 
shape and texture and taste of it?
for the very sip of water you drink,
the life-fuel upon which our bodies depend,
these gifts of the earth
that we cannot function without?

Have you discovered gratitude yet
for this strange time we are experiencing?
for the slowing rumble of traffic?
for the clearing skies?
for the opportunity to hear unimpeded 
the birdsongs
and how it is now possible to notice
that they fill the whole day?
to see, perhaps, our wild cousins
venture forth into their old lands 
unafraid?
for the gift of time to admire 
the sun moving across the sky
to watch the world outside your window
and witness
the minute pleasures 
of it’s everyday dance?

Have you given yourself the space
of a moment?
of even a full breath?
of even two breaths together?
to notice the constant shriek and threat 
of the old-life’s stresses
and constricting shapes
fall away from this new present?
to breathe deeply,
expanding
all the way,
into the back and sides
and belly
of this fresh now?

Have you let yourself
*sink*
bottom-deep
into this profound reminder
of the importance of human connection?
of the priceless value of friends 
and family
and kindness
towards others?

Have you given yourself
permission yet
to welcome
the sadness,
anger,
grief,
bewilderment,
discomfort,
the fear,
to sit with it,
to let yourself feel it,
to name it,
to acknowledge that it
is also 
a part of your life
and that it
also
has something
valuable
to teach you?

Have you leaned yet
into
this irrefutable mirror
of the picture of your life
as you thought it
and recognized
what is essential 
and what was
pure indulgence?
that, yes, 
actually, yes,
you CAN
throw out that old furniture
of ingrained habit?

Have you realized yet
in this time
of forced isolation
that our humanity
is defined
by our relationships,
and that we
*can*not*
exist
without 
others?
that our existence
itself
would be
meaningless
without
the presence
of all these
animals
plants
insects
and elements
that make
this world
so alive?

Have you accepted yet
that what makes
our hearts
so sick
is the adherence 
to that ancient
and terrible
idea
that you are 
separate
from everything else?
that idea
which denies
the very
foundational
connectedness
of life
as it is?
that if you
turn away
from that blind
and crippling
worldview
you will finally
see
how you are 
never
alone?

Have you considered yet,
the idea
that you chose
to be alive
during
these times
for
a reason?
That you
have something
more worthy
to add
to this existence
than merely
the profit
of your
productivity?

Have you appreciated yet
the power
of this pregnant
void 
between the
worlds-ending
and world’s-beginning again?
this momentous
opportunity
we have been given
to re-draw the road
ahead?
to take
a collective breath
together
and leave behind
that selfish soundtrack
that has encouraged us
in repeating
such damaging mistakes?
to not only
dream
a better dream
for the entire
planet,
but to unite
our powers
together
and make it
happen?

because
why
should we go back
to what
was clearly
doing more
harm
than good?

on the body

I acknowledge that the idea of death and/or dead bodies is something that can be very upsetting for some people, so if this is something you feel strongly, please CONSIDER NOT READING PAST THE BREAK.
I had an amazing experience last weekend in the cadaver class that was offered as a continuing education opportunity through my massage school and I’d like to share the beauty I found in it and also the extreme gratitude I feel for this experience. Personally I feel that there is a grace and a tremendous learning that we can gain by becoming more familiar with death and that our culture’s avoidance and estrangement around this stage of life has been very detrimental in keeping us from fully connecting to and understanding our experience in the greater scope of existence.
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I have held two hearts in my hands, one twice as big as the other, and marveled at the shape of them, the rigid strength of the artery walls that are still, somehow, flexible, considered how unknowable it is how this structure physically enthrones the soul, I have held the complex corals of two brains, one whole, one bisected, amazed at the smallness this density of crenellations and ridges contains in contrast with the vast grandeur and self-importance we constantly inflate it with it, have wondered at the delicate squid of a spinal cord, the strips of it’s sheath shiny and clear as masking tape, so wraith-like without that wise fluid that pulses the deepest breath in the body, have felt curiously the greyish lobes of the lungs, the deep smooth surface of the liver and it’s surprisingly sharp (in death) edges, the startling splash of the gallbladder’s viridian signature, have considered the empty cavern of abdomen where many of these organs lived wrapped tightly in the silk-like swaddle of the diaphragm that snugged it to the ribs, have been astounded to feel between my fingers the trapezius and latissimus muscles, the strength of those broad wings impossibly belied by their apparent thinness, have grasped the thick rope of levator scapulae and the cordage of the scalenes, normally hidden by the dangerously thin layers of skin and artery and vein in our regal necks, have stared in awe at the unexpected beauty that is the mother-of-pearl shine of the tendons as they race through the body like luminous strands of moonlight anchoring earthly muscles to bone, have been even more awed to fully grok the expanse of the fascia, how it lovingly wraps each muscle and separate part in swathes of shining stardust networking connection to the whole, have been so humbled to witness the bright dash of nail polish, the soft curl of the toes intact, the texture of the skin around the elbow and see in their clues the whispers of life lived by this person who granted us the great gift of their body, so that it could keep giving another year after their soul’s passage from this world, have been so deeply moved by this opportunity to glimpse a deeper understanding of these our human bodies, have welcomed this expanded sense of wonder at how so many myriad parts could possibly collaborate together to give me/us the divine and endlessly fascinating experience of this physical being in this physical world, have wondered still how we do not constantly just stop overwhelmed and absorbed at it’s functioning…
Would that we all witness in ourselves this great gift of physicality, this unique embodiment we are granted in this world through the supporting dance of blood and tissue and bones, would that we all feed this form with the manna of deepest gratitude for the existence it allows us here and the shape it lends us to express our personality in time.
#gratitude #learning #ourbodies #gifts #perspectives #death #life

the sun and the moon

Sometimes I feel like we are the sun and the moon,
chasing each other around the curve of the earth,
occupying the same sky for only short moments as one fades into slumber as the other gathers strength to rise,
always separated by long hours and the turning distance of the world…

Am I the moon? waxing and waning, quiet and feminine?
And you the sun? with your impressive brilliance, untamed energy and masculinity?
Though, other times, it could be the opposite…
your desire to hide your face and ability to sit in the darkness…
and me, who does not know how to sleep, or how to hold back…

Perhaps it is impossible to know who is who until we are able to gaze at each other, face to face, in the same sky…

Perhaps we are merely fixed points, cycling through different costumes and roles as we whirl across the heavens…

Perhaps there is nothing more separating us than the hesitation to reach across the distance and open fully to the other…

Perhaps it is only a dream…

waking or sleeping…

a fantasy of desire…

ceremony

I am watching the blue cat
stretch and furl in sensuous sleep
against the turquoise blanket,

and I am watching the delicate snowflakes
dance on the wind
from the peaceful house’s
wide windows,

and I am feeling still
the rhythm of the book’s song
the beat of it’s magic
continuing far beyond
the turning of the last page,

and I am feeling still
the waves of the story’s pattern
as it remakes the world
around me
calling out the strength
of the earth’s beauty
in every movement and breath.

It is a great story
that can make you feel
the power and responsibility
of your weight in this world,
that can show you
how your pattern and presence
are woven into this living web.

It is a great truth
we all need to remember,
the importance of
our role in this
great ceremony called life.

the audience chamber

I was blessed to be able to use my skills in a wonderful healing session this evening and afterward as I knelt to pray my thanks to my helpers it happened as it sometimes does where the room and everything around me fell away and faded out and yet this time I felt myself in the middle of a large audience chamber with God as it hasn’t happened before (and I say God here not as an aspect of any particular religion, but as Great Spirit, as all faces of god, all the presence of the divine) and as I knelt in the middle of that other room and sang my thank yous over and over in my small voice with my small words I felt all of the different spirits all of Spirit tuning in to listen and receive my song of gratitude and in response I felt myself surrounded and held with so much love and gratitude God listened they all listened and were so happy to hear my thanks and in return I was bathed in warmth and love and light the same way it is when I sit with Grandfather but multiplied by however many multitudes of spirits were tuning in and I am crying with so much relief and happiness now again trying to put this experience into words to feel so undeniably listened to and heard and knowing that I am never ignored but who really wants to encourage or even listen to the rest of that crap I am thinking(??) but when I sing deep gratitude from the heart with no holding back it is returned to me a thousand times over like the warmth of the sun.This.

Ever more this.

You are listened to.

You are heard.

Make it something worth hearing.

Make it what you would want reflected back at you a thousand times over.

As it will be.

patience

patience was the message given
the telling of which made me laugh
out loud
in the middle of ceremony!
– me –
– patience –
what a warrior gauntlet thrown!
I did not suspect this place
would be the master of it
though,
the city fastness and hustle
cannot hold long in
the grip of
this inexorable
forest languor
slowly
steadily
incrementally
I ease
into this pocket
of natural rhythm
of tree-edged sky
of inter-woven overlapping webs
of deep round breaths
of oscillations unwinding
the enduring dance
quiet
quieting
quieter still
I will need to
become
to master this teaching,
oh!
a good long lesson
this will be!

babbling

everything feels bottled up inside and I don’t know how to get it out appropriately anymore
the poetry is turned off somewhere so I can’t make it beautiful and if I try and let it flow out it just lumps up all painfully awkward and grossly vain like some throbbing cystic acne sore right on your nose you can’t even avoid looking at
everything says wait
everything says you have to stop wanting the thing you want more than anything for it to come to you
everything says it will be even more years of standing by watching everyone else with it
and right now it feels like forever
and it makes me so sad that feeling
and I don’t want any of your damn platitudes right now
I just want to be able to express myself gracefully again
and not feel like I’m vomiting on a stage when I do it
but like I’m in a circle of my fellows like it used to happen where you could express things out in the nethersphere and it felt like a safe corner of the room and not like a damn billboard in the spotlights at the side of a highway
all this thumbs-up shit has amputated our brains atrociously and I know because I used to be able to paint pictures with words so easily all the time like riding a bike down the street and now I’m a two-year-old in the corner trying to convey meaning by babbling and wailing
it is so very frustrating
this

Syrian reflections

A year ago at this time I was experiencing the last day of my too-short live-in affair with Berlin. Spring was finally gaining ground over winter’s tight hold, the light was accumulating subtly more each day, impetuous buds were breaking forth on the trees, people were beginning to flock to the parks to laze about and absorb the increasing warmth and the rising sap in blood and bone was beginning to awaken and shake off winter’s sleep.

Today is calling me back to my time in Berlin very specifically. Today that ridiculous puppet that is currently named President made the deplorable decision to rain more suffering down upon the people of Syria, who have had twenty times more than enough of it for any lifetime. Today I am remembering the German class I took during my time in Berlin in an arduous attempt to reawaken the buried and slumbering bits of language in my brain, and today I am specifically remembering the Syrian man who was part of my class.
It was a month-long course and at the end of it we all had to give a 5-minute presentation in German about a topic of our choosing. Mahmoud and I were the two quietest people in the class and, at least in my experience, we seemed to be the two who struggled the most, though, to be fair, everyone else in class had a huge lead on me because they all knew English in addition to their mother tongue whereas I pretty much only knew American and a random smattering of bits from a few other languages.

I don’t remember all of the presentations, but I will never forget Mahmoud’s. This gentle, reserved man put together an unexpectedly beautiful slideshow and presentation about his home of Damascus. I sat through his halting words and growing emotion and thought how beautiful a place it was and felt a bit sad that I would most likely never get to visit it….and then quickly upon that thought dawned the realization that he might never get to see it again either.
And here he was, exiled from his home that he loved so much, living in a strange foreign country trying to learn the language to be able to get a job and build a life there, probably with family members still living in war-torn Damascus and possibly not knowing how they were or if they were all still alive, to be separated from them in such a time of need and not be able to help, to battle the knowledge that such earth-shattering events in your life and the lives of others were happening in the world and were also being blindly ignored by so many other people, people who had the power to help and possibly stop such things happening. And there I was, about to return home to America and what would it be like if war suddenly broke out and I was stranded in this foreign country, unable to return home, unable to account for my family and friends’ well-beings, to not know if they were safe or suffering, to not be able to help from such a vast distance away, to contemplate the possibility of not ever being able to return home to the place that I loved, to have such devastation hang on my heart and wonder how other people could not care that it was happening. To try and imagine, just for a minute, what the reality of that experience would be like.

By the end of his presentation Mahmoud was practically vibrating with a deep welling of emotion for his home and had run out of things easy to express. The intensity of it filled the room and I could see the effect on everyone else’s faces and how none of us quite knew what to say to honor it without being too heavy or too light.
Still, to this day, I remember that, the intensity of emotion that gripped him as he talked of his home.
Still, I think of that day, I think of Mahmoud, every one of the too few times I see some news about Syria.

I do not know how we are to do it, but we need to bring the fire of humanity back to our leaders, to open their hearts to compassion for their fellows and to all the suffering that they are perpetuating in this world. This is madness to not care. This is pure madness to know of terrible things being done and do nothing but make them worse.
My crying is nothing compared to theirs.

May our leaders all wake up to their mortality, to their humanity and connection with every other living being on this planet. May our leaders wake up with hearts overflowing with love and compassion for all others and with minds sharply focused and motivated to use their power to move mountains to end the suffering of so many peoples on this earth.
May we all wake up. May we all be free from suffering. May we all share peace in this lifetime.