Dream On, It’s My Dime

One of the ways I handle current tensions & strife is through laughter. You might say I’ve had a lot of titters in my life lately, if not outright guffaws. Fortunately, I have a lilting little chuckle which engages others into at least a smile.

Once again, I dreamed of being outdoors naked. From the waist up, this time. I was carrying an open paperback in front of me, so I didn’t immediately notice. A paperback didn’t quite cover this, tho – I needed a big ole “Look” Magazine (too obvious?) or a classic edition of “Life” – not that abbreviated, shrunken offering now available.

Sadly or strangely or whatever, the man I was walking alongside of didn’t notice either. But glancing down, I realized my situation, lilted a chuckle & turned around, heading back toward the upstairs apartment where I was staying with total strangers. I did mull over, along the way, if anyone was noticing my bare-naked, be-moled back & thinking: “that woman has nothing on from the waist up.” No one tapped me on the shoulder or leered an “O Miss!” or “O Ma’am” at me. I was just bemused & wondering why no one had said anything when I exited that apartment – after all, the residents were friendly, not relatives & had surely noticed my déshabillé. Non? I felt a bit better when I spotted a cyclist who also seemed naked from the waist up, until I saw she had large flesh-covered straps criss-crossing her back. Ok, so I was the only one on this street in this state (undressed, not of the union.)

I find the older I get the more focused I am on looking young. This oxymoron can rule a life  if not taken firmly in hand – since nothing else is affixed to one place anymore, at least I can allow my beliefs to be so. When a friend treated me to a cupping demonstration which delineated how to firm up the face once again by the use of an extremely small traffic-cone-shaped item, (which resembles a thimble for a giant who cannot get the hang of sewing) plus varied accessories made appropriately of smooth stone, I was eager & embarrassed to attend. It’s unexpectedly effective in a reverse kind of way, & I find that I now have a few more wrinkles under development than before. Perhaps I’m not using it correctly? This is one where I thought I didn’t need to read the instructions but maybe I’d better find the booklet before I become a historic road marker. Although I could achieve THAT anytime I just made my dream come true…

On the 19th this month, I have a hairdresser appointment. Which leads me to wonder at the vagaries of a language where we strip our clothes but dress our hair. Before the dream of walking downtown topless, I was dreaming of my hair & woke to a call of nature picturing a great add-on I need to share with my tolerant stylist. Since I plan to have the sides clipped in closely, I may get lightning bolts shaved out over my ears. This would refute the girlfriends who are dismayed by my idea of a perm at my age. Perhaps they are picturing a senior perm – wispy gray strands over a pink scalp, unevenly curled & wavering. This is not my hair, folks. My hair has an aspect of “OMG, is that a toupee?” about it. One could upend me & mop the floor with the growth I have. It’s not a complaint, but rather a brag that I say this. However, lifelong growth patterns dictate that my hair grows only out the top of my head in any comb-able fashion. The sides tend to bush out, so it looks like I’m wearing earmuffs, but not so nicely as Leia affected in “Star Wars.” I’m serious when I say earmuffs. Recall the fuzzy kind Mom used to buy in winter? Where your entire scalp froze painfully to the wire connector, but your ears stayed warm?

I am a firm contender in the argument that VANITY, not hearing, is the last sense to depart the body. If you dispute this unscientific finding, I remind you that one of the activities of the undertaker, after gluing your mouth shut, is to apply makeup. You’re dead! What need here? It might be the only opportunity you had in your life to be out in front of friends without a big fuss on how you look. Really, what do you care? You’re supposed to be signing up for harp lessons, or getting the folds in your robe right, or learning how to artfully arrange your wings upon sitting on small gold throne-stools. But, sigh, what do I know? For me, it may be my last chance to float in out of people’s heads, trying to understand them better than I do now.

Because if age has taught me anything, it is that I will never understand people no matter how much they & I agree or nod together, or tsk-tsk together about the neighbors.

So, let’s wander out of this delightful little ramble through my head & maybe rummage in the fridge for a breakfast egg, or a bacon slice to cook up. I’m supposed to be taking my walk right now, but I have a mysteriously sore foot. And it might be chilly out there to start, so that by the time I get home, (almost) all the layers I started out with will be tied around my waist with the pocket my keys are in dragging along the ground.

I wonder if I have any cheese left for an omelet.

 

 

For A Fool Too Wise To Be Foolish

O foolish man

Who cannot accept

The hands of a woman

Looking to heal you

O holy man

Set apart from the rest

Singled out by the surprise

Of unexpected Love.

Were I you, I would find the strength

To mount the dream

Galloping so insistently through

Your benumbed psyche.

I would hold to the pommel of

My hand offered in friendship

And admiration

Even beyond their physical application

Bound only by eternal spirit…

O man in my missing dreams

Glimpsed from the corners of

Tearing eyes

What could have been

Or might have been –

Kept asunder by circumstance

By timing

By opportunities unpresented

Unprecedented,

By promises of another lifetime

Extending into these our now-lives.

I would uncross your arms

Set so firmly over your heart

I would face my face

Shining with blessing for you

Accept what is offered

Although it can never be an all from nothing.

 

O dearest man I touched with all my being

I brushed with my beating/beaten heart

O king of my wondering servitude

I would render with tendresse & laughing joy

Were you only to accept

To the limits we must draw

Within the abilities I have to offer,

For these would delimit you also.

 

O wisest man

To back away from my incendiary

Lust for life lived well

In utter expansion &

Manifest truth

It is to your bald being

A covering so soft

It is to your naked skin

A balm upending the

Hardening of your limbs

In resistance.

 

Choose your boundary lines

Implant them well, that nothing

Can reach you

For this seems what attends you best.

 

I fade outside the vision in your eyes

 

Yet I remain, as said before

A good woman looking for a good man

Who seeks a good woman.

And Fate & Faith will not leave me upended

Fallen from the blessing of your regard.

I will not resume invisibility

As my starting place

I am far too exposed to so many surfaces

To step into any background

You may fashion.

I have seared your closing heart

Too well.

 

You may choose to retreat

To cover that which thrives in lightness

But I will never again

Be who I was

For having known the potential of your love.

 

 

 

The Nevers

GOD NEVER BLINKS

I live in grace & wonder

Beneath the wheeling stars

I follow His pointing finger

Into Life unbounded by Humanity

Imperfect & sometimes off-course…

He lights my way with darkness, but grants wings

My Being: Blessed & Present.

GODDESS NEVER LOSES ME

Tho I fret about midnight awakenings

Spun from misremembering

Her love & gifting in my life

Choosing popcorn for dinner

Coffee at wee hours

This glorious chill of a deepening Fall night

Giving way to opening eyes

Casting off misperceptions of being alone

LOVE NEVER STUMBLES

As I do, sore-footed

Worn by silliness, thinking myself lost

At sea or drowned in sorrow.

MUSE WAITS FOREVER

Burning brightly her torch of perceptions

Sparks are all about me – words of

Wonder & dismay in equal measure.

WONDER NEVER CEASES

Tho I pull on shawls against the chill

And nudge the holy heater of true love

With a poke & a push until it hums on

Tho I think I’m feeling my way, alone & grasping

For all I think I do not have

Shown in this life, I have All.

LIFE NEVER DOUBTS

But expresses thru me as joy, or friendship

As lovingkindness

After despairs of my own manufacture

THANKS-GIVING NEVER FALTERS

When tingling all with its Holy Effervescence

Pushing me to love each life I have encountered

BLESSING NEVER SURRENDERS

Tho I pat it down for weapons

Before allowing entry

Into my muddy little heart

HOLINESS NEVER FAILS

To bring me to my knees

I wonder at its myriad

Expressions in my life

As food or friends or bad-hair days

When I resemble not so much of beauty

As a well-used broom, stood in a corner

With the spokes every whichway

Done with dust, observing only the shining

LIFE NEVER DIES

No matter all the evidence au contraire

FRIENDS NEVER HATE

Tho they may turn away

From the disgrace of my unbelief

Till I come ‘round again

In starkest blessing of naked need.

PRAYER NEVER HESITATES

To place powerful hands under my arms

Hauling me up to face all of this once again.

For Those Who Called in Concern

My Dear Guardian Angel,”R”

Well? What’s up with all the despair stuff?

Here’s this, Miss: Others cannot bear your pain, but you can. You always resurface, bobbing up like a cork with a smiley face. (Ok, sorry for that.)

But you know what I mean.

It is not their life – when they experience a slam-dunk of emotion, they have their own words. You manage to put it out there &, as you said, to share & show your care. Your plea for help will not go unnoticed & it will say for others what they cannot.

Others may witness, but they may not take the wheel of the boat to steer you into harbor, nor push you to do so. They can point, like the Ghost of Christmas Future, but only that.

If your vision is locked down in emotion, you’ll not perceive this at all. That’s perfectly okay. The words are given to you in their order & for their reasons. It is intent, one of the ways you bring about Change.

Yesterday was about letting go. The hotbath, the talk, the feelings, the scouring of Rose’s shop which yielded little to nothing. One small disappointment followed another – losing all your emails…unanswered questions…a crazy day for you, my anal-retentive Child.

Now you can work out that comedy routine you need to polish off for Open Mic this last Friday. Roads are clear & paths opened of obstacles Put up the fliers, hand out the broadsheets, laugh & beat the dream of the Future with a big stick, for it has brightened with the wash of your pain.

For those who console you, give thanks. They will smile to hear of your returned good cheer. This cloud has passed over your sun. you made it sound like the storm of the ages, but all that’s left is shining.

Soon the world changes: it will no longer be edged in darkness. The light will be brighter than you’ve ever seen, for the Father has taken up the polish & the Mother has surrendered her apron to dance.

Think of it as expressing the Community Angst. Give thanks the job of Sin-Eater has changed to writing words!

Don’t limit yourself to one kind of music. The blessing of your words is for all. You are the tool we use to focus, & if others catch fire, so be it. You have not been burned…blessing enough for this midnight.

Be well, my Little Old Lady. You make a fine wordsmith & your craft is sharp with unexpected Light, that all who wish to, see.

“Write on,” to coin the phrase yet again, stamping a new face upon the currency – write on.

Love,

R.

So Close To Despair, I …

There are times I am so lonely I can taste it, hear it, smell it.

I see it in my mirror.

I am feeling empty.

Not much looking forward.

So tired of dancing with shadows when I want a real partner to my steps

In my arms, in my bed, in my head

Someone to wind fingers together

To share secrets

To smile at, crooked & crinkly.

I want to grow pale in sleep

Wrapped up in a warm body

Spooned around…

My heart aches

My throat quivers

Unshed tears, unvoiced words

I cannot even see myself anymore

Invisible as the wind whistling through the holes in my head

Where confidence lived & moved & clarified my being.

Where did I go?

Subsumed. Exhausted by my own thoughts.

Hands up in surrender

Numb.

I no longer believe in myself

Or that tomorrow will be better

A tangle around the Mayday pole of my ego.

Help me through this

Versed  in conspiracy, in what might be/might have been

Primary: secondary: tertiary

Me me me

Lost at sea, surrounded by water

Only the sky is visible from here

But the clouds change too quickly

For my hope to hook onto.

I can tell you of investigations, complications,

Recriminations, obligations.

The reasons blur.

I blink them away.

I cannot testify to

Any reasons for this.

I submerge.

There are no exit signs at sea

Only depth

I have no fins, no scales,

No colors to float from here in rescue.

 

Can you lift a hand to bless me?

Lay it upon my forehead, soothe & smooth

Iron these tears to steam

Paint me on a smile?

Reinstate my life to valid?

I am here. I wait.

Lay a wreath atop the water.

Remember me for I was,

That maybe I shall be.

 

NOR MINE TO SLEEP

Once upon a time, I read that insomniacs keep the sleeping world from disincorporating (tho the description was surely more prosaic.) 
I have a clock in my bedroom which does not glow, so when I wake, I’ve no ideas on the time. I flick the button & a blue flash lights, a bolt of pulling me from any thought of sleep; but I must know the hour. Twelve after midnight: time to write.
Recently, I “found” seven grandmothers for my walls – me, who had no grandparents whom I knew. These are women of powerful profile, women of flowing/flown hair from which eagle feathers rise in halo, or drift in unheard winds. I made a Council on my wall, replacing my Vision Board, a grace gathered of wisdom. I put away my nightlight. The silken darkness woke them. Tho  quiet til now, I feel I shall hear more, soft sibilants in a tongue far from my native, but conversation / communication nonetheless. This is the first in the “Messages from My Mothers” Series.

____________________________________________________________________

NOR MINE TO SLEEP WHEN WHISPERS WAKE ME WISE

I rise to midnight

Wakeful & alone

My life unsung, is flaring to a tone

Unwrapped & watchful,

Barefoot & outside

A shawl to cut the chill

Of night alive.

I wait on words

They rise to overfill

To flow away to rivers, all downhill

These are my true love

Ever, thus, my world:

A child’s hand in fist I might uncurl

To find surprises hidden from the day

My heart sees through all blackness in this place,

A gift to share with all, with sky so dark

Around a glowing moon I set my spark

I write an old September, or a June

One day past full, a dimming, tonsured moon…

The pages in the journal start to fill

For sleep eludes creation as I write…

In daylight worlds, a creature of tonight

Lit from within, the certain glow undimmed

I am forgiven every time I’ve sinned

The Muse awakes, she stirs inside my soul

I scattered during sleep; she knits me whole.

These folded-over pages must unfurl

A child’s fist, I open & uncurl

I see you in the distance of my mind

You are not mine, a message so unkind.

Yet knowing you, I never can be blind.

Your eyes see far beyond a simple rhyme.

As words arise, insistent of their way

These messages in darkness filled by day

With chorus/blessing both, I busy out

When nightfall sleeps, I rise to be about

My muse’s business, all there is to say

O’erflows my heart, my mind up & away

I cannot think, for caught up in this flow

Of all but poem, resting in its glow

The world, unfinished, lest I write some more

Insomnia insistent at the door.

My duties crowd around me; I don’t care

For words all dance about me in the air.

I breathe them in & write them in release

My pen, my soul, my ever-loving peace

There are no hours when I sit to scribe

These poems are my fam’ly, art & tribe

So, hear me Moon – before you fade & fly

These words may live beyond the day I die

I shall return, in line & open verse

A value far beyond that in my purse

This ink, my blood, an overlighting world

A child’s fisted hand you have uncurled

This is as much a river to the sea

My heaven at our door, these words are me

As others live for love & duty sure

I live to write. The muse is at my door

I bid her enter, take a seat & share

She takes up my most comfortable chair

And makes of it a jeweled & shining throne.

I write, & I am suddenly to home.

My life uncircumcised, creation swells

Where others sleep at midnight, I hear bells:

My seven elders whisper from the wall

Tho no one else can hear them, I am called

For all my lives are brought about by words

My mind defrocked, unfeathered, undeterred

My dreams can wait til daylight in the world

A child’s fist, the words inside, uncurled.

Happy Birthday To Me

Today is important, but only to me. Today I begin to explore my 7th decade on the planet. Today I plan to lay down new trails for more serious exploration, to turn away from old pathways that led me into soul’s harm – imaginary pain, taking offense where none was intended, poor habits of health, seeking not the perfection of the moment in the simple ease of drawing breath.

I might ask what I have learned & jot some notes: wordsmithing is a fine art, worthy of paeans of praise, but only in a literate society. It is a far better art to adjust to where the world lives now & dwell there. Yet in the places I cannot bring myself to gather up & enter – the worlds of Facebook & Twitter & Gab – so much energy surges, pulses, quivers upon itself, turning about & racing free. At times, I like the idea of hive mind; but only when applied to flocks of birds turning as one over the face of sunset. Humans need to unite over more than surface stimulus & unity of heartmind is so much more important than the latest line dance. Although I must admit, one might lead to the other.

Recently, I participated in a play called “Beyond A Reasonable Doubt.” it wore so many attributives: but mostly it was a moment of intense focus wherein all my energy applied. It was triumphant, except where it was not, where I took umbrage at my own mind’s seeming incapacity to remember long passages of mono/dialogue. And at others’ seeming inability to recall these as well. I lost my intensity as I reflected personal frustrations outward.

Recently, I took on an office job, thinking a return to a regular paycheck would remedy some immediate financial needs. Yesterday was my last day there, after six weeks. I simply could not relate to it in the way I once did.

Last night I did a 90-minute massage on a woman with self-diagnosed fibromyalgia. It was a barter that her friend offered to grant her ease from constant discomfort. I observe how the world goes around, kindness touching upon gift.

This morning I awake & seek new habits for myself. Once again free from rigorous scheduling. Momentarily, I scheme upon what I need to acquire, the “this n thats” of a life already out of balance financially. I opt instead for choosing new screen savers. From a wide open, sunny beach, I travel to misty mornings with a far dragon lifting wings upon her hill. This would seem a more fitting approximation of status. Comfort needs to rise above need – & a realization that I already am comfortable precedes acquisition. I offer “so help me, God” not as an affirmation of innocence, but as a softening prayer, for I alone am unable to overcome some ideas which need to be removed from the forefront. I need to turn the kaleidoscope one small twist. I choose to be more giving in the light of other’s gifts. None of us can afford largesse in my circles, yet we all practice it assiduously. Hive mind, indeed.

Lest this all seem too heavy for a promising morning to a day of celebration, I offer up a chuckle at how things turn out. The play was a grand success here in town. Word got out that it was good & we had a great audience turnout – a marvel in this half-horse town. I was lauded at a local restaurant with recognition … both a blush a treat! I’m told our play garnered more than any other offered this year by the local community theatre group. It caused rifts – one stagehand took umbrage at being told not to use her cellphone during performance, sitting in the audience. Obvious? But two people quit over it, while another was castigated by a fourth’s unwarranted accusations. More learning. Here, where a hive mind should have united in pleasure of success lay emotional carnage.

And lest this all be too heavy for a September morning where you live, ponder this: it seems to be a custom that the cast gives each other gifts…so because my character complained loud & long about having to wear manacles during the plea bargain session, our director gifted me with fur-lined handcuffs. Yesterday morning, I hid them in three different places before leaving for work; none safe enough from imagined burglars. I cast mind all day about where to pass these on…I’m not one for holding onto anything I cannot use in the immediate (!) nor intend to use in the near future (!). I dare not bring these to any of our local thrift shops…all goods are brought inside & inspected at these. And “re-gifting” them is far beyond my contact list.

From the sublime to the mundane with the stroke of a pen. Guess I can leave them in the packaging for my heirs to ponder when I’m gone. Guess I’ll continue to live well so as not to have this be soon…I can see me blushing from the afterlife!

Be well upon your days, my friends. Rest easy in your minds & hearts. Bring love to every encounter. Never surrender your ideals for less & always be aware how easy it is to fall in love just a little bit every day.