Silent Strings

On Children

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

-Kahlil Gibran

Let's Call the Whole Thing Off

You say tomato

I say tomahto.

Bye Bye Birdie

Last week I was getting ready for bed. Actually, I was lying on the ground. I felt this sudden burst of energy fly through the small crack in my window and then pass hurriedly over my body. My first thought was that a ghost entered the room. My eyes darted to the string of lights above my bed because I felt something breathing there.

A small sparrow had come for a late night visit.

I became very excited. A messenger!

"hiiiiii!" I greeted him.

He was scared. His small body inhaled and exhaled quickly. He didn't know where he was. I tried to shoo him out of the room but he kept running into the walls, flying into the glass window, and falling to the ground. At one point he was under my bed. At another he was in my closet burrowed somewhere in my clothes.

If someone were to fast-forward the chase scene, it might be hard to tell who was the flustered animal. I'd say it was about equal.

I couldn't stand the fact that this little creature thought I was trying to kill him. I was stressing him out. Telling him I was trying to help him be free didn't work. He would not listen to me. I decided I needed to improve my ability to speak to animals.

Three hours later, a blanket was successfully thrown on top of the little fellow and I flung him out into the open world beyond my porch.

I have this feeling the bird would have found his way out if I had just waited a little bit. I was impatient. I am impatient. When I'm uncomfortable, when someone's uncomfortable, I want it gone. Free. I can't stand to watch a heart beat faster than it should and I forget that

this.

too.

shall.

pass.

it always does.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

~ Rumi ~

My Mail comes on Sunday

I feel as if I have been broken open. I feel like I am beginning something totally beyond this world that I thought I knew, and part of me wants to turn back and return to what I know. Surround myself with the type of people I can decode quickly. It's a blueprint I can read. It's easier that way.

I'm sitting in the library and there's a thunder storm. The library's entirety is masked with giant windows, so you can really feel the whole open scene of where you sit. Kind of like a giant exhale.

All of the trees are swaying side to side, brushing eachother's leaves and exchanging small talk. Chattering. It is their tete a tete. And now the path near the creek is changing shades slowly, and now more quickly from the rainfall. Soon it will be sunny again.

It's quiet in here and I can feel change inside my body. In a way, it feels slow, because of the amount of hours in-between each new person, new sound, new thought I absorb. That time, the waiting time, feels so slow. Almost painful. But then something moves beneath my feet, a sort of storm, and these changes feel momentous. As if I shift completely, or at least recognize some new magic piece that I never knew was really alive. And now it's real, because I felt it myself. I feel as if I am about to learn clay secrets, and it's scary. It could be exhilarating. It will be.

But now, I just feel cracked open, as if something will pour out of me and I hope it's not sadness. I don't think it is. Not this time.

I am, for now, a mailbox waiting to be opened and closed, wishing for letters, wondering who will write to me, what I'll send away, what animals will crawl on my frame, leave their tiny footprints beneath my pale petals, my skin.

A Ripening

Usually when I move somewhere, or enter a new sort of organized thing, I drop whatever I brought with me, whoever I knew. I give myself up completely to the new place I'm in. I used to think this would be the best and fastest way of adjusting, but really it was not an adjustment. Rather, it was just like being thrown into the deep end and treading until you become so exhausted, your head goes under. Some part of my brain still tells me that this would be the best solution. The fastest way to make new friends, settle into this new life. Cut off the past. Don't think about it. Like somehow talking to people back at home would be taking away from being completely available to my new surroundings. It would prove I'm weak, unable to be where I am.

Well, I'm doing an experiment. I'm trying something new. Soaking up the sun patiently, holding on to the roots I came with until I'm ripe enough to land on the ground. Picked up and eaten with a juicy grin.

Caw Caw Crow.

Do you see this crow? On top of the building?? That is my school.

Crows have a funny way of coming into my life. They are there at the strangest times. There's something very weird about them and I can't figure it out, so if you know their secret, please, I beg you, tell me.

They appear in my stories, they caw like crystal and make my mind alert, they fly over my head when I'm thinking or not thinking and in peculiar situations. I always feel like something magical is about to happen! I'm not explaining this very well.

Well this crow has the worst attitude. That, or he REALLY wants to be heard. He's got a message for us humans. I mean, the first day I was walking around campus, I had my camera and this fat feathered guy just sat on the tip top of the roof and CAWed at me for like ... sixteen minutes. Finally I took his picture and he shutup. At least for a minute.

Well, this same crow ( I swear it's the same one) just sits there and caws all during my classes. Finally, today (day three of class) I was like for god's sake crow, whaaaat is your deal and I just couldn't stop laughing. I mean, really, he was being ridiculous. I tried to look around to see if anyone noticed. No one! Finally I couldn't stand it. I looked over at the guy next to me and whispered, "whaaaat is up with that crow!?"

Apparently if you say this, you are an alien. At least that's what his uncomfortable smile and shifting position screamed. I guess maybe you shouldn't try and make friends talking about crusty birds no one likes, or whisper your secrets thoughts to strangers on the first day of school.

sigh...

well, cheers to you crow, you are weird and ugly and i like you.

Rusty Bucket

I am a rusty bucket. With an elephant sticker. Seriously. Today I was sitting in the library and it took me an hour and a half to read sixteen pages! WOW. Come on.

Academic reading is a whole different language and I forgot about that. I felt like I was weed whacking blackberry bushes, pulling out horsetails, and then rolling down a dusty hill while trying to stand up in the middle of my decline. My brain felt awkward. I guess that makes sense. It is a muscle and right now it is quite mushy. Poor mush mush.

School is actually starting, and I think fall is really coming. Like right around the corner. This evening I went on a "hike" along the foothills of the mountains. It was beautiful and when I got to the top, well as far as I was going to ascend my lazy butt, I sat on a rock and was quite excited at the prospect of autumn. There was a warm breeze, pink skies, and a big fat giant mountain with a little city all laid out for my blue eyes to see. I also saw four deer. They are definitely on my top five animals.

When I was looking out over the view and sitting amongst the tall blowing grass, I felt like I should hum out an offering to the mountain. I had an idea of some Native American spin off sounds I would make but then I felt a little ridiculous so I just ended up swearing at the crickets who kept jumping six feet up in the air and darting right at my frickin EYEBALL! Way to ruin the moment wannabe Jimminies.

Until next time,

The Rusty Mush

Dancing Strings

Sometimes I just want to be done. Like, I remember when I got on the plane to go to Spain on New Year's Eve in 2006. I remember sitting down in my seat, buckling my seat belt, accepting a glass of celebratory champagne from the flight attendant, and thinking, "Oh, shit."

I knew in my gut and heart that I had to go to Spain, get out of my school, get out of the country, learn a language, explore different ways of living, but I didn't want to do it. I just wanted to own it. I was panicking on the plane, now that I think of it. All I could think was, "please go quick, please let's just get this horrible romantic adventure and novel story that I'll get to tell out of the way." I didn't want to be in it because I had no idea what to expect and no idea that I would actually enjoy myself.

It's like we have this idea that once we finish this ONE step, project, whatever we're doing, our life is going to be so much more complete. And it never is. After about five minutes, give or take. It keeps going and going and going and we just have to keep playing. When we're in it, it's sweet. And we feel alive. We've all been there until we start thinking about it. Then that oh shit feeling comes back and it's time to start planning again.

For me, I think I need tools. Ways to remind myself to dive back in and say it's okay. I need an invitation. Cameras are good, sometimes music, dancing if I'm not self-conscious. Story telling, make believe, art, things like this. But what about those times when we really do just have to do things, like collect a bunch of books and papers for class, or find addresses and go to the post office. I have a hard time leaning into these sort of chores. I can't seem to fit them into my idea of what I should be doing. How is this going to get me anywhere? Let's skip it. This part is STUPID! I want to scream and throw things on the pavement and call someone up and say PLEASE! do the work because I HATE it! Sometimes they do...

oops !

Well, I guess if this is my biggest problem right now I should just shutup, but oh, well, this is my BLOG and I can complain if I want to.

This saying comes to mind:

"Start by doing what is necessary; then do what is possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible."

-St. Francis of Assisi

Some part of me really believes I should be immune from this first part, but alas I am not.

String the strings.. play the strings.... dance strings, dance.

Wishes and Ribbons

There's an odd place

Between Wishes and Ribbons

where we Wonder

Who to pick, to blow away

which parts, people, places

to Tie up. Keep like a Ring,

an old String, knotted tight.

There's an odd place

where Wind travels, sings quiet

Hands clap, Hearts meet

Mind Forgets. Moving feet.

There's a place

a Moment before Melting

I'll wait there.

Fighting the Flamingo

My friend sent me this article in the NY Times called "Understanding the Anxious Mind." It's a major longitudinal study of temperament and its effects. Basically, it follows babies along the single dimension of whether they are easily upset when exposed to new things.

Now, I have read several articles and books around this topic, especially having studied Psychology in Undergrad. With this focus, and having suffered from a lot of anxiety in my own existence, it has always been an area of interest. Usually, I dive in with the question, "why?"

Why me? What made me this way? What is it in my brain? What happened when I was a baby? What didn't happen? How can I solve this?

But really, where does this get me?? NO WHERE!

Today, in my first class, Mind and It's World, the Tibetan Lama (in his broken English) said to us,

"In this class, no ask why! Not allowed!"

In which immediately someone inquired, "why can't we ask why?"

He said, " when someone is late, and never shows up all day and all night, then next day you see him and you say,' why did you not come?' But really you are not asking why, you are just saying you are angry they did not show up. You do not really listen to why they did not come."

Same approach.

When I opened this article, I really had no intentions when reading it. To be honest, I rarely read articles or video clips my friends send me. However, I'm still in a bit of a vulnerable and open space here in this new place. I'm not in a class routine, I don't know many people here, and time seems kind of... undefinable right now. So, I read it. "Why not?" was my only real why.

Something about this surrender opened me to a different sort of understanding. Of course, I can comprehend logically that most of my insane insecurities and preoccupations are actually entirely untrue and not really happening. Not everyone in the city is looking at me; not everyone knows what I'm thinking all the time; not everyone can see when I'm irritated or uncomfortable. I know this but I don't know this with my body. When I am the Flamingo- the awkward, pink, one legged bird who is flapping it's wings inside it's stomach, putting it's head upside down underwater to find substance, I do not know this. I'm utterly lost in my own Pink.

When I read this article, something in me opened up. Like a rushing cleanse that sweeps the debris away with it's awe some force. Some part of me actually understood that yes, it's all made up. It's not real. I could feel this, if only for a second.

I think this is good, even if it was quick. I want to get back to that place where my heart and head are fully open to newness, curiosity, and the joy of being alive. I think this is how it's supposed to be here. A place where babies meet puppies and it's all OK.

ME VOY ! Don't forget your Shoes love !

A message from the Center:

So there's no avoiding it now. I'll have to introduce myself to the imaginary people that are not reading my blog. Or at least to my poor blog who I impolitely scribbled all over without a proper greeting. Okay, let me be upfront:

I have a really hard time writing/talking about myself. ME. What's goiiiiing ON. The story. I'd rather sprinkle stardust around and have us all watch the moon, listen to someone else's song. I'll set the tone, but don't make me talk about my stuff.

Maybe it's a fear that mine will sound boring or cliche or you won't really get it. Someone might think I'm dumb. Something like this.

Well, time to step it up sister. Time to just DO IT, for lack of a better expression. Guess Nike didn't go too wrong with that one.

Well, here I am living in Boulder, Colorado now. I moved from Portland (my real home) and didn't know a single person here. I was just becoming comfortable and somewhat ..happy??... in Oregon with everything I was doing.

Now I'm starting a graduate program at Naropa University in Religious Studies. Orientation started yesterday(thankgod) and classes will start on Monday. For the past two weeks, I've been drinking beers with my hometown visitors, wandering around this new city, collecting knick knacks (sp?) for my room, exploring the cafes I'll be living in for the next two years, running along the creek trail, meeting some interesting folks with interesting names, and for the most part, trying to console the little lonely voice inside of my stomach that is shaking and squealing. I really hate the word squealing but, really, it's been squealing. It's scared, it doesn't know this land; it doesn't know these people and worse yet, these people don't know me. That little voice wants to be known so bad. I've been telling it not to worry. I understand, I say. Be patient dear one.

Well, today I was walking to campus to register for my courses and I noticed that I hadn't heard the little voice too much for about a day or so. I thought I'd check in.

"How are you doing?" I asked it.

I say "it" because I'm not really sure of it's gender.

And ya know what? It told me it was snug. Snug as a bug and then flashed me a picture of a small smiling head tucked safely inside a mother's kangaroo pouch, at which I became quite excited at the thought that I might be a very good mother.

So here I am. Me and my snug bug, ready to go. Finally. Ready to consume this new plot of earth, new school, life of mine, journey, stage, brain, heart, and pie-rich story that I'm cooking cooking. Yeah bakers, I'm cooking a pie.

xo

The Heart. It is a lonely Hunter.

"Caress the divine details."

-Nabokov

I'm sitting on the back patio of a cafe. The fence posts are painted sticky fingerpaint blue, except for the section in the corner. Green. Almost pukey but not offensive. And there's also a deer/ sort of camel looking creature painted on that part too. All of the chairs have a different color. Blue, yellow, red, grey,white. They are a perfectly clashing zoo. There are two ladies sitting by me now. I chose the table with the umbrella. There's an entire patio. Like.. maybe seven or eight tables but they chose the one right next to me. I think it's because of the umbrella. Or maybe just the fact that humans like to be in clusters. The woman sitting closest to me has been cats-cradling her cigarette for at least eighteen minutes. More often than not, drifty smoke like that irritates me. But because I'm in the shade and because today is a hot, August, dry day, the curling tail rolling my direction doesn't bother me . I like watching it. It slows me down like a lazy caterpillar.

The other lady has been on her phone the entire time. Except for when her friend brought her an iced coffee at the beginning. I think she's from Chicago. She's talking about "the damn kids" and she's telling this guy, I'm pretty sure he's a guy, that Steve's got the biggest beefiest hands of anyone she's ever known. She just got back. Buried her brother in Turkey and she's pissed, PISSED, that she only got two general admissions to the Mile High Concert. After doing all that PR, that was it. For fuck sake. She's probably going to fly to Italy this month, but she's back to last Wednesday now. She was in the middle of a "fucking Woody Allen movie." She spent the whole day sobbing because someone lost her brother's ashes. But they got through it. Her and her mom. She really misses this guy. I'm sure his name is Jet or something like... Clay or Jay maybe. Heavy. But moldable. He's from Taos. It's beautiful down there.

I've never been.

She's ganna send him the name of the guy that plays the bass. YO-zel. She swears by him. Ooooo, she swears by HIM. It's that kind where you hear ONE note. You're there. Ya know? One note. I just peaked and she's wearing bright yellow sandals. They match her voice brilliantly. For some reason I'm reminded that J.D. Salinger died this year.

She works for the Outlook. It's a paper here? She's ganna put her foot down. GIVE ME A MONDAY OR TUESDAY. Her name is Honey. Perfect.

Well yeah, she tells him. This is the worst weekend of the year. All the parents are in town getting rid of their happy drunk kids. No hotels.

Love you sweetie. She loves him. Bye Jimmie.

A "J". I was close.

Settling

Sometimes you go fishing

and you're standing there

Not even knowing what swims where you're standing

And then if you're really still

You, the You, will remember you are an Animal

And your Liver smiles

and Runs. Free

Until Everything becomes Gold

Sun gold. Like eyes with fire

Back to how you started

Originally

But fishing is just for fishing. No fish.

A few things from Home.

     On Moving

      Keep weaving your webs my dear

My darling, spider lady

There is sunlight today and tomorrow rain

There is comfort in design

In the Unknown, thinking Pain

     Speak to the eggs. The blue ones she laid

    Don't wake them yet. I beg you not

    Please, let me sit with them for one more season  

                           
     It's too late Robin

    The time. It's here

    Going.

   Place down your Petals

   The Fresh and Forgotten

   Pack up