ripples

I want to write

of a gentle breeze

and sunlight reflecting

on rippling water.

instead...

all I write is you.

your body

walks languidly out of 

my blank spaces.

my eyes,

reflect the memory 

of your flame.

the moment

you lost control,

kissing me with your breath,

instead of your brain. 

your hands grasping

at my possibility. 

I feel that still.

it was only a moment.

I bathe in it's ripples.

where the light gets in...

Suffering is a treasure, for it conceals mercies;

The almond becomes fresh when you peel off the rind.

O my brother, staying in a cold dark place

And bearing patiently the grief, weakness, and pain

is the Source of Life and the cup of Abandon!

The heights are found only in the depths of abasement; 

Spring is hidden in autumn, and autumn pregnant with spring. 

Flee neither; be the friend of Grief, accept desolation,

Hunt for for the life that springs from the death of yourself." 

~ Jalal ud-Din Rumi

I 100% believe the above quote. For those of you who read my writing, you may have been able to tell that I have been in a place of some suffering (some joy) for a little bit of time now. 

I am, in fact, going through a divorce, raising two tiny human beings, getting my masters online, teaching yoga, learning how to date, reconnecting with parts of myself that I have ignored, reexamining what I am going to do with my entire life...and experiencing a very transformational and soul excavating time of my life. 

I have had my fair share of ups and downs since our separation, as I'm sure has my husband/ex-husband to be. Gratefully, we will remain friends. We will co-parent and love our children together. These two facts help me get through the fact that, even though I know it is the right decision for us, the dream of our life together died. 

He is a good man. I am a good woman. And, despite our uncoupling, I see our marriage as a victory. Because we learned so many lessons. And we truly loved each other. And we created two beautiful and amazing children. That is nothing to be ashamed of. I hope that we can hold onto our friendship through the divorce process and afterwards. I believe that we can. 

For anyone going through hard times...may you walk through the fire, babe. The fire is the thing that blesses us. Dig into the ability to be courageous in the face of fear. Have the courage to go after what you want. Own the power of vulnerability, of showing up openhearted, even when you don't know what will happen. The power of love is everything. That's not sentimental bullshit. That's the real deal. The power of love is worth all of it. Honor your boundaries, too. Just because you love doesn't mean you accept the things that are not right for you. May we find all of these things and let them wash over our lives. May we find grace, community, laughter and love through, and on the other side of heartbreak. 

There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. ~ Leonard Cohen

sand.

the sand is fine, beautiful...
an uncomfortable yet delightful world 

exists right here, 

within my hand.

that hand wants to squeeze,
to grasp the sand...

hold it forever.
my mind feels 
the need to release.
so I practice.
palm wide and flat 
like a runway for a jetliner,
or a seashell in which 

sits a pure and precious pearl. 
some of the grains
pick up with the wind
and leave quietly, 
on their own.
some, more attached,
require the wind from my lungs,
who live next to my heart
and don't want to choose sides.
against their will,
they blow.
finally, the last specks,
some shiny, some dull, 
almost embedded in my sun shocked skin,
feel the cold assault
of the briny water 
and understand they too, 
must leave me. 

I know, somewhere,

certain small grains 

have hidden

within my hair,

or the lining of my suit...

places I cannot see

but will feel

at some point I least expect it.

let it be so.

my name means peace.

how fast life moves.

like the second hand 

on your beautiful watch.

on your beautiful wrist.

watch it go... 

or look away...

either way, it moves. 

and yet, right now, how still. 

so much knowing

in stillness.

why we flail about, 

fish out of water. 

not to see,

not to hear,

not to feel,

not to know. 

the heart cries out 

to know... light the flame, 

warm the water.

though not easy, listen. 

on the other side

of this mountain and more

may not be what we cried for.

but, pray, there will be peace.

 

Rest In Peace

I sit and spit 

out the dirt that I swallowed 

when you buried me.
for her. and her. and her. 

so much fucking dirt.
I dust it from my limbs,
I shake it from my hair. 
stock still, staring at this gaping hole.

A hole that my fingers

clawed the edges of to be 

reborn. A hole that I intend to 

bury you in, darling one.

first those stiff legs

that wanted me to stretch,
that needed me to lay 
my hands upon them, as if 

it would save my life 

for you to feel better.

I always wanted you.

wanted you to feel better.

Next your chest, because 

it really didn't do much 

for me anyway.

that place your heart lives

with it's central air, 

so tight and guarded and 

clean. polished, no evidence

allowed to reside.

 
next your beautiful face

because I can no longer 

stand to have those broken brown 

mirrors looking at me, smiling

that sad knowing smile.

looks that say
I can love you from afar
with my bow. and my arrow. 

naturally your love takes cover.
you couldn't love me
like hand to hand combat.

too dirty. too bloody.

lastly, I cover up that pelvis.
the region in which lives

your most well known

attribute. yes, and it is beautiful.

that primary object 

I was in relation with.
me and every other woman, girl, 

and in between you held space for.

I did love that part of you.
mmm, I love it still.

maybe, before this grave is done, 

just...one last hit?

and then, you will finally be
the man you wanted to be 

for me. just another 

faceless fuck. please. don’t take it 

personal. I know you won't.

I wish I didn't. 

goodbye my lover.

I'd like to believe I won't come visit.

Found

I whisper your name
and understand
the language of trees.

words need not 

be spoken

to be heard.

the flower need not
scream out to reach 

the heart of the honeybee.

a conversation
with no sound, yet
both understanding.

no need for clocks

calendars, even speech... 

for a thing to be real. 

sweetest thing

You remind me... (Mary said that in the 90's). 

But you do remind me. Of high school. Of magical nights, football games, possibilities. Remember the days when you first learned about falling in love? And you wanted to make out with your person... all the time...but also had that sweet desire to protect them, hold them safe in a space away from all the rest? They seemed to inhabit their own planet. Really, so sweet. 

You want to do all the things with them. The naked, breathless, alive things. To learn those things with them. But you also want to be at the party amongst all the people that you know, or don't, and have that moment where they grab your hand and...everything else melts away but that connection. That moment. Because what you have is special. That can't be had with just anybody. It can't. 

But THAT exists. 

To find that and show up for it. To keep showing up for it. To honor it and let the meaningless drop away.

One day I will find this again...I will. 

And if not, I suppose I will just write about it. Create a world in black and white where I can navigate with less heartbreak. 

But let's be honest. The heartbreak is worth it if you've been brave enough to truly love. Even with heartbreak, the love is always a gift. 

Muscle, A Poem.

Fist sized little bundle...

of muscle, valves.

Always busy,

not for show, though.

Resting between beats

but laying it down.

Like the sledgehammer

of a great big man

driving the spike 

into the wooden sleeper. 

Boom…boom.

Boom...boom. 

Call & Response. 

How is it 

that this tiny bundle 

of muscle, 

not actually pretty,

wouldn’t stand 

in front of a mirror

reapplying its lipstick, 

(knowing it’s worth 

is beyond the visual.

Visual pretty only touching 

the hem of bliss,

pointing at it…

but not…even…close).

How is it that this

is the center of our feeling?

Of our desires?

Of our…

Love.

Rumi said lovers 

are like two lamps.

Their light blending 

into each other, 

never separate…

never truly one.

This is as it should be. 

How can it pump

blood 60,000 miles, 

beat without a brain,

without a body 

and still manage to 

give everything in this

little world meaning.

Teeth, A Poem.

clock ticks the beat.

let. go. let. go. 

me, and this truth. 

baby bird in the canines of a cat.

you see the legs twitch,

but… hope is gone. 

alone at the dining room table,

I crouch and gnaw the bones.

why bury what you 

already left in the sun to rot?

mouth full of dirt, 

my love for you swallowed.

you forget your body rests here…

a welcome fire burns 

within every room of my soul 

and only wants to shed

it's light on you.

on the man that I honored,

that I knelt down for 

like I never have.

may as well have 

donned the black 

with a splash of white, 

I worshipped so. 

and now she swings before you, 

a fresh bird flying free.

as you crave to be.

your canines shine in her reflection.

I do not swing free.

damaged wings carefully folded,

I sit at this table

and long for teeth.