Phoenix

She dove into the sea

Expecting gentle waves and sea mist

But was met with fire

beautiful

heartbreaking

and alone

she tred the water searching

Echoes called from the shore

and yet the only way out

was through

and so she dove deeper

Until she was reborn

and she no longer waited

but reveled in the swell

Expectation

You made your home in me

40 weeks I was the nest

Roundness

Home

Giving and Taking

Warmth and Life

That was our dance

until we were apart

and in our oneness- the singularity of me and you

that is when I met this stranger that was me

and yet not

and was never really a stranger at all

Hello, little one.

White Walls, Gold Handles

It is for death I am called there

To bear witness to this place

A cold beauty and smooth sadness

Like a riverstone

It coats the people here–

Strong frames decayed, by time

They hint at what was — and in this moment is

I am not one but other

And yet I journey here- because the mountains are a part of me

My cells are coated with dust and soot–

Of the girl I was- and the woman that I am

The mountains played their part

Their hands forming me in shapes and gentle ways

And so I return

A final pilgrimage

Calling me–

Remember

Regenerate

I am not gone. I am.

An old acquaintance emerging from the shadows

Worn by time but still alive

Breathing as always

I stand in solemn greeting.

Hot summer nights

Sticky hands and hugs

Arrivals and departures

Waiting until I return

Smoother stones–

Sadness and hope

Maybe. Someday.

Blue peaks become green

Then brown

Half empty bottles on streets

Moonshine in cabinets

Ivy on walls that were — and are.

Books and piles of papers

Instruments– and broken piano keys

Worn beauty

Formica tables

Laughter

Church pews and candy cakes

It is a picture in my pocket

Always

Those moments-

The unsaid things and the said things

To say hello again- hello friend from there

I will welcome them when I come to the mountain

When I breathe in the air, coal and soot

The girl that was

That stood and watched

That sang above

She is gone but in her place

A woman

Stands

And she will be there

To say

Hello.

We remember the mountains.

Revisionist History

The day that I chose

We gorged ourselves

On snow and sun

On delicious pauses–the uncomfortable chill

On red cheeks and smiles

Moments of uncertainty

Painful and real—

Letting us know in this moment

We were

You and I

Retreating from milk and honey

Inwardly turning

Amidst the ferns and possibilities

That was the day

I was

I am Working Towards More

I’ve realized that there are a lot of things in this world that I involuntarily participate in. I allow my fear to be weaponized against me into buying, consuming, disposing of things I never really wanted in the first place because I want to fit in. I watch screens and digest their stories instead of creating my own. And then I sleep- fitfully with a glowing screen next to me. There’s a certain dissatisfied comfort in this. It’s not good for me, but I know it.

I am slowly waking up to this. To confronting my own insecurities and how I disassociate from life when things are uncomfortable for me. I rewrite words that I think will be more favorable- instead of the ones that feel truest to me. I can’t help but feel a small thrill when I get that like or follow. I think that to deny this completely would be to deny a part of myself. I have to remind myself not to go from on extreme to the next, but to accept instead and focus on growing the things that I want to thrive in my garden of life.

This month I am focusing on my consumption of media, especially television and phone. I am trying to minimize the amount of time sitting and consuming. I am putting my phone in drawers on do not disturb even though I am scared to death I will miss that important phone call. I have contemplated getting a locking cooking jar with a timer to put my phone in. That is how deep my dependency goes. It has been more difficult for me than quitting soda, sugar anything else. But still- I’m happiest in those moments where I’m trying and failing- because it feels authentic to me.

Instead of immediately turning on the TV I am sitting with a book or simply doing nothing and sitting with myself. Because really- the addiction that I’m trying to break is one of feeling like I’m always “on”. Like if I’m not doing something I’m doing nothing and not having value. This in itself is an act of rebellion. Of stating “I am valuable beyond my works”. I bear good fruit all on my own.

Growth

The man looks at his roses and says

I want more-

To me every seed will be sacred.

I will never throw out another drop of water.

I will punish those that tend to their own.

It will all be mine.

I will command the roots to grow for me.

I will command the water to flow-

If I control- it will be.

I will make it so.

Days turn into months.

Still nothing grows.

Sprouts spring from the ground but wither and die

Water becomes brown.

Barrenness and dust remains.

Left with nothing but his own anger-

He shouts at the sky- curses the Mother of Life.

She looks down and smiles

Silly man- don’t you know.

It is not enough to buy the seed, to own the land

You need to create an environment where even the smallest plants-

Not just sprout but thrive

You need good soil and good works.

A gardener- to love and tend to those that they can tend to.

And that is not something that lives within you-

So hands off and back up.

#handsoffmybody #idissent

A thought on Blueberries and Creation

We all want to be heard

But is anyone listening?

Life is such a dash- to be. To win.

Moreso even now. We lack connection. We run on hamster wheels and say what now?

What have we won in those moments?

Who will be there, at the end of the day?

To close the book. To turn the page and say, the story was done.

These moments are important too.

The moments of absorption- of appreciation.

Today I picked from a blueberry bush. I saw the intense blues. The pigments sticking to my skin. The sweetness there- without any interference from me. It was bluer than anything I could paint. Better than anything I could put into words.

It wasn’t my job to make anything of it. It was already there. That moment- I watched the rolling hills and felt the sun.

In that moment I thought, “there is God”.

It just isn’t found on my LinkedIN page.

We all want to be the creators- to place our stake on the world and say I am more.

I am better.

But in the end- we all fade away. That is the reality of it.

Beauty lies not in the best of it. Not in what we create. But what already is.

The interpretation of it.

The appreciating ones have a talent all their own.

And there’s no shame in settling in and enjoying the splendor when it presents itself to you.

I hope to be there too.

There

Wooden boards are here.

Small and unstable

I stand

It is not a place of permanence. We know this even now.

And yet here we are- and here I am.

You may never know me.

But I stood and took breaths- many of them here.

In this place.

I watched.

Sunsets and sunrises occurred.

I thought many times.

Here I am.

The pathway provided me spaces to occupy.

Maybe I will be one of the nameless.

An asterisk in a history book.

My voice one of many.

But who knows where I’ll be.

Sandstorm

We cannot all be famous–

To lead lives that live on others tongues

But that is ok.

It is a good and just thing to do

To live a life where you sit and listen–

and write it down for others to see

Morning at the Lake

I take breaths

Sitting, stretching tendons

Nurturing Self

Staring at leaves

Red, then yellow then green

A fireworks show– not for me alone

But one that I get to witness and partake in

Thinking to think

Laughing– asking questions

Not to produce

But to reflect

Not to achieve

But to be

Pauses are a part of the dance

These are the moments

They cannot be represented in coins or bills

Not faces made and printed

They extend beyond myself

A life touching others

The true value of living

Invaluable