For Want

I had to buy a needle today. The last time I saw a needle was, umm, while in Nashville (2010.) The pins n needles display hung, like an afterthought, off the narrow end of the remnant rack. I chose a package in a cool circular blue – which was made of inseparable cardboard/plastic symbiotes. I was relieved the needles were in another plastic container within. This one was obviously approved & child-safe; for the life of me it would not open. Of course, just as I thought, “but when it does,” the plastic case parted by about two needles’ worth of space & two needles flew out like projectiles. I have found one so far.

Here’s my latest Weirds:

I bought a pair of beautiful “crazy jasper” earrings at the flea market. Thrilled with the great price & beautiful stones, I lovingly placed the little black bag with them deeply inside my carryall. I went off to less frivolous tables. Arriving home, I felt the two earrings in that bag, yet unpacked one earring from it. I checked: the car, my purse, all pockets, the floor between in/out/up (with a flashlight) to sad avail. I surrendered & made a pendant out of the one I with a simple twist of wire. I found the earring within 27 hours. It was inside the washer, lying bright & clean after the “cottons, warm” cycle.

I decided not to think about it. Too hard. However, two days later, the other pair of earrings purchased at the Flea separated themselves between wearing them into the house & upstairs. I went to hands & knees to check under the bureau (under which I had just recently found a “missing” ring of at least a year’s absence.) I pulled out a brother to the little flashlight of downstairs. Four hours later, long after the search ended, I found the earring in front of the dryer.

(I now know where the vortex tunnels to in the house. The laundry room. If any galactics portal into my home, they will likely present in my laundry room, which is not an impressive first impression.)

Pre-dating the above by a week: I bought a set of tires, but just two, & immediately one of the remaining two objected to being put up front…begetting a feeling of “the front of the car feels like a washing machine” (is anyone else catching a meme here?) Well, I hadn’t intended to buy two more new tires quite yet, but considering the alternative could be a spectacular newspaper write-up of bits of car strewn over a canyon off-road, I figured who can lose? Especially since the ones scraping me off the rocks would be former neighbors & friends. Nix that. Filling the set of four tires for me covers a lot of other people, it turns out.

I feel like I should be leaving little treats for my angels who have been punching in & out on a quasi-military beat to watch over me & they are pretty aware what happens when they’re late to work. There are times they can’t quite get much more than a feather or two between myself & the “Fates”, but damn, they show up every time!

(I picked up a loose nail which led to the first tire set. Looking back, that nail saved my life. It brought to mind an old poem which I now read with brand-new respect.)

My angels have some other offerings: I hear “diet” & “walk more” & “yoga” & “qigong”, something about tye-dying their wings…I’m getting some hair with SpIKes in it tomorrow, my best response cuz I just got settled again. And I have to keep an eye on the laundry room for after-hours arrivals.

For want of a nail, the shoe was lost;
For want of the shoe, the horse was lost;
For want of the horse, the rider was lost;
For want of the rider, the battle was lost;
For want of the battle, the kingdom was lost;
And all from the want of a horseshoe nail.

you are here

The forgiveness of morning is a cloak I wear every day. Indeed, I live on a prairie where night holds invisibility so I am always relieved with another morning in which to find a day to fill with loving acts, the blessing of words, the entirety of existence stretching out in front of me today.

The lists are prepared already (all ready), I do exist in a dance of preparedness & accomplishment. I feel the beam of Sourcelight fingering my crown. In this will I live & move & indulge my being this day.

The world is changing rapidly now. Even as the birds awaken Nature, I stretch into the potential of accomplishing all the worldly tasks to which I conspicuously bring my energetic potential. My friends are out there somewhere: some traveling or readying to travel; some laboring with the monotony of dull routine; some flipping anxiously through the Tarot deck of possibility. Me? I’m getting two new tires this morning, helping a good-hearted man organize his new phone system, recycling another’s cast-off computer, buying groceries in anticipation of a visitor returning to her home state. The list would be dull for you to read, but for me it is the tithe I pay in this 24-hour cycle allotted to the limit of its hours.

In background to my little life is a panoply of desire, hunger, satisfaction, blessing, growing…

I have been a traveler. I have reorganized my life to face each direction on the compass. I have tarried in sunlight, searched for meanings, permitted myself pleasures & I laughed with glee at the chance to stir the pots once again, picking & choosing the tenderest bits to enjoy.

The morning is chilly; a countering point to the summer of approaching days of which more than a few will reach triple digit temps. I am happy to be once more in woolly pajamas before clothing becomes a choice of the lightest fabrics & the least covering available. I am happy I left a couple of items out of the winter-put-away to see me through a New Mexico Spring which liberally mixes cool & hot – a sundae of many colors & flavors…strawberries & salad, stew & bread…a diet of days which leave me replete within these few hours as I adjust to all incoming stimulation.

Does this sound a bit patronizing? Impossible? Routine? It does not to me, but I claim this day for the impossibility of being my best self in it & the inevitability of tomorrow’s lists already looming on a clear white page.

Bring me into the mix of life with fervor & forgiveness, with practicality & purpose, with benefit & blessing. I live in a net of many strands. Some are ones I use to climb into completion while others I weave into the needs of others to alleviate & remedy.

I am already choosing the flowers which will provide the bouquet of experiences. I feel ready for challenges & chuckles at the acceleration of light bringing me forward. How lucky can I be to live the life I desire & had no idea how to accomplish – except it’s here, now.

Lords of light & air, friends of home & heart, benefits of health & realization surround me. Ladies of fulfillment, fruition, friendship to offer & enjoy put hands into mine & this May day becomes a pearl I nourish deeply inside.

There is nothing left but to love the each & every: music, food, breath, color, flavor, exchange. I’m diving into it whole-heartedly, lists in hand. It doesn’t get better than this. Good fortune is all ’round me & I intend to appropriate it with accomplishment, endeavor, search & reward.

How about you?

Moonrise: 2:30 a.m.

WalMart Entertainment Section for Seniors

I woke at 1:30 a.m. I often wake during the middle of the night if I’ve not had enough physical activity during the day, but more if I have something pending, when Mind wants to work out that event, that idea, that problem. I try not to wake up to worry, tho that happens occasionally.

In this instance, I woke because I am giving a talk soon on public speaking. It was Time to design the workshop, scribe my thoughts on how to handle this exchange with others. I anticipate my audience will be friends, acquaintances & strangers – some will know my style of storytelling; others will be unfamiliar to my ways.

I first learned I love to speak in front of others in the fire circle at Girl Scout Camp. My co-leader & I brought the troop to summer camp – the culminating reason of our cookie-selling success. The highlight of a weekend campout was always the Fire Ring, during which we sang songs, acted out skits, practiced fire safety & prepared s’mores. The minute the Song Leader opened the circle & the silly songs began, I was entranced. I remember turning to my co-leader & breathing, “I want to be that person!” So I set about learning every ditty I could, all their complicated motions & how to laugh at myself & with others. It was wonderful for me!

And now I continue to teach the topic of speaking in front of groups, leaving behind most of the silliness, but none of the humor.

After designing the workshop’s talking points, which will become the handout for the class, I walked outside to enjoy the total stillness.

The sun rises over our beloved Caballo Mountains with a slow flourish, illuminating every growing plant, every sentient rock, awakening the songs of birds as it spreads life & warmth to the desert. Although I’d never really thought about the moon in this way, of course it rises in the same way & amazingly, in the same place where the sun will later replace it.

I leaned my back on my car to watch…my first thought, “Oh, this’ll take too long to stand out here for this.” But I’d no sooner finished thinking this than the horn of the half-moon glowed above the familiar mountain crest. The rest followed within a minute – what I thought would take too long was accomplished in three long breaths. I felt dizzy; the earth was turning I knew, but this fast? I felt it a good thing I had the car to support me. I felt the night air, cool but welcoming, through thin silk pajamas. I know sunlight on my skin (I still love to be recipient to its rays, to tan with oils as I sit, eyes closed, feeling Vitamin D coursing into me. I am a sun-worshipper to no small degree, almost welcoming the wrinkles & the dryness accompanying this habit.)

The moon knew its path, had obviously climbed this particular mountain many times before. I could feel the sleepy wakefulness shared among all the life out there as it made a way to that starring position overhead. Even knowing all I know about the moon from more esoteric fascinations, there is nothing like being “out in it” to appreciate how an entire planet can so lightly make itself known so swiftly, silently, thoroughly.

The workshop will be a success. I’ve no worries on that score. Later in the morning I will prepare a handout from my notes poured out, accompanied by honeyed coffee. I wrote these notes quickly & carefully – I’m famous for profound & totally unreadable midnight thoughts – so I erred on the side of penmanship.

When I give my talk, the moon will rise again, outside & behind my eyes. I will watch faces light in understanding, smile back at the learning, enjoy the idea that one day they will be in front of a group delivering their knowledge to waiting ears.

So do the macro & microcosms entwine & blend. So does a little dream of one day holding many minds in mine develop & manifest. I no longer fear holding the attention of many who may be looking for flaws in me – I surely have plenty to share among them. But tho grounded from silliness to strategic information, that thread of humor runs through it all, lightening  & lighting both.

I am calling the talk “Making Yourself Comfortable.” The thoughts will continue to arise; may they be as smooth & homey & as mystical as the moon finding a place to shine the sky.

And, if the audience wants a follow-up to this introduction, I still know all the moves to “The Donut Song”

Well, I walked around the corner & I walked around the block, And I walked right into a donut shop, And I picked up a donut fresh from the grease, And I handed the lady a five-cent piece.Well, she looked at the nickel & she looked at me, And she said “This isn’t gonna work, you see, There’s a hole in the nickel & it goes right through. So I said, “there’s a hole in the donut, too!” Thanks for the donut, so long! (Sing to tune of “Turkey In the Straw)


These places made of hunger deep within:

I’ll touch them with my heart to open wide,

That never shall you hunger there again

Starvation will not find there to reside.

My hands are made of light, thus darkness fails.

This whimper that discovers its own shout

In fear of darkness, never will prevail

With truth of such divinity about.

We shall not starve together but shall serve.

Eliminate the vacuum in our souls

Abhorred by nature’s blessing, shall observe

A flame all coaxed from darkness in the coals

I cannot help but see you as the light

I dare not hold the darkness near so close,

You bring me to the edges of my sight

To places where the limits only pose.

We far extend these, turning one to two

And two to one, we join in sheerest grace,

We knit our worlds in blessing, me & you

I touch you with my soul wearing your face.

Happy Easter, World

To my sister, Teri. I love you, dear.

Come, sit awhile in my stony yard, remember with me. Here, in New Mexico, where grass is a rare commodity, one dares not venture outdoors barefoot. But I don’t worry about my feet when my face craves the sunshine. I look up & close my eyes to its caress. I feel my mouth curving into a smile, even as my heart expands under its rays.

I have read in some blogs that the sun is actually an entity named “Ed.” Well, Ed & I have had a lifelong affair. I treasure sunshine like I treasure love. I crave it in the same way, with a similar longing & a powerful responsive opening of every cell to take it in. The sunshine here is like oranges, clearing the palate, a breath of gold, a blessing of warmth in which to sit &, in simplicity, To Be.

When I was little, when church was the biggest commitment of this day, I woke to an Easter basket of plastic-color straw & chocolate. Ah! Chocolate for breakfast! In a household where treats were always fruit, chocolate for breakfast was an unheard-of peak experience.

We dressed in our best for Easter… white gloves, hats, black patent leather shoes. We were given a dollar for the collection plate (the usual Sunday contribution being 50 cents, at least 25 of which went for a sugar cookie at the bakery en route.) I was in choir, we sang in clear-child voices, singing the glory of God, powered by Hershey’s Kisses.

(I lived in Hershey, PA at one time, The 6 a.m. exercise class smelled of hot chocolate, the afternoons of Reese’s Peanut Butter Bars, the nights of syrup. But that was later, far beyond childhood by the sea.)

I still believe in resurrection after years of insurrection, misdirection & sporadic, sometimes unsteady, affection…

I still believe!

We walked to church, unless it was one of those lingering winters when there was still bits of snow on the ground, I recall my first pair of heels – little bump-buds far unlike the shoes I’d wear later in life. And if the shoes were new & there was snow, I had to fight to wear them (Mom throwing up her arms over her head, (Pazienza!), but New Shoes! even with bobby-sox holding them on – looking a bit patched together, all dressed-up for the Lord. I was shivering, but set for Spring underneath the heavy coat, the ear-flapped hat. The church would be warm in the rafters of the choir box – we were songbirds coaxing in a season of change.

Years moved along, crisp & uncompromising. When I was a child, my Mom prepared huge dinners that started with salad (ensalada), that coursed through soup, buttered Italian bread, pasta & turkey. Sometimes ham appeared on the table, of which I was less fond than a turkey drumstick. Sometimes relatives drove the long distance from up near Philadelphia to the seashore. Relatives were a kind of blessing – they meant crisp dollar bills to buy ice cream with or hoard in tiniest slot of the rolltop desk. They also meant pinched cheeks (Que Bella!) hugs from folks with hearty garlicked breath or smelling of cigarettes, in scratchy woolens & practical footwear. They meant much chattering in Italian, waving of arms & hands in conversation which could take out water glasses on the table or Easter decorations walking to it. They were filled with chesty laughter, family reunion, exclamations, questions, (How old are you now? What grade are you in? Look at how much you’ve grown – this a nuanced, side-eyed comment since I never made it into quite fitting the clothes I was wearing, always pushing my glasses back on my nose with a finger I’ve learned not to use in traffic.)

My Mom had us living at the seashore – a commonplace to us – but a rare & wonderful ride for the others. Ah! Salt Air! Names morphed into exotic pronunciations (Carol drew into Carrrro-lena) as the jokes & comments around the table flowed from language to language.

The adults would make knowing remarks, heads nodding, all gossip & glamor. At some point the oft-repeated “Go out & play!” would herald the talk’s real beginning into the state of the world, the old neighbors, who had died & who still lived – names I heard only on holidays, only in the context of the visits; people I would never meet or know. I would hear the conversations on my way out the door, the voices lowering only to rise again in loud laughter. A jug of wine would be on the table when I got back from my bike ride or climbing the tree in Mrs. Cannon’s yard, or the hideout behind the yew bush clutching a handful of candy to be devoured in sticky bliss.

However, I have never, ever, liked jellybeans, so all mine were roughly pawed out of my basket by my brother, as I watched ferociously to assure he took none of the hollow-core bunnies. And those marshmallow chicks were challenging to nibble all the sugar off of without devouring any of their white fluff.

My hair, done in sausage curls for face-time with God, would straggle & eventually be pulled (with much force) into braids that made my eyes Chinese. Still, I would come home sandy, or with twigs & greenery tangled into it, the rubber bands of control loosening or lost…for all of my good-girl ways, I was a fierce, feral child who favored trotting over walking, who wore a clothesline belt tied tightly around my narrow waist.

I would never change my childhood, although it was fraught with fear & what is now called stress (Catholic School & nuns), My part-time mother – the ocean – never changed, never gave up on me, smiling her waves every time she touched my toes. My bike never wobbled once I was up to speed, pedaling madly. I sailed the bumps of the boardwalk like a mobile Queen, thin legs churning, braids streaming behind. I explored for shells, I stole candybars from the corner store, I saved pennies, cherished new sneakers. devoured books about horses (The Black Stallion!), wrote poems & stories generously plagiarized from these.

I grew up in the sun: I so love it still. I climbed dunes, scratched from sawgrass, sported mosquito bites all over, danced on beaches, suffered unholy disciplines from “holy” women…

I am the me I am because of it all. I did pretty okay, yeh?

So I thank the universe for Ed, for sand, for the kind of bubbling energy stoked by a sugared childhood. I thank my Mother & my family, I thank my distant, divorced-with-a-new-family Dad, for pinching Aunts, for tobacco’d Uncles with Aqua-Velva cheeks, waving crisp dollars – “Here, honey, go buy some ice cream!” I thank my comfort of home-made pasta, for the sweat my mother wiped from her hot-kitchen brows with the dishtowel plugged into her apron.

I am alive: I am Spring: I am holy. I am still a Carol, singing the glory of God!

Wearing PJ’s

“If grass can grow through cement, love can find me.”

My heart has learned to keep many secrets
too many I am told, from the other parts of me…
my hands can make all known to another
of love, of regard, of comfort & blessing-touch
my head can wrap around a thought & express it
in one of many ways
my mouth can encompass your kisses
an orbicularis orbis stargate…
My skin is made of tiny cells calling “more”
my eyes may be closed, but you are behind them
& I am not quite embarrassed, but more focused in giving
I exist in the present of your presence
in a way I am not in any other –
a being made of space-time, infinite, encompassing,
allowed to be a child-woman, to sing & dance & show
you paper cut-outs; I am permitted to be shy & bold &
all that occurs in between
My whole life flashes before us in a safe space.
Allow me to share me; allow me to gift you;
Permit me to offer all I have in the moment
of all you are.

That’s a Plan, Yeh?

It’s ok to be just little me with a big dream, isn’t it? Okay to find my way one footstep at a time across a dark room where light shines from my heart & my eyes to bring along anyone who wants to accompany me to my “here,” right? I hope so, cuz that’s how I’m handling it now.

The palette of emotions drips from the wood; even Michelangelo would be hard-put to create from these colors. The beauty of what is out there is contrasted by the harshness of what is in there – from the macrocosm to the microcosm. And yet only by revealing the ugly can we persevere through the creation of a new world a-borning, bearing us along with it into a dimension where sound is color & senses reel at the promise being created before our very eyes.

I take in one world through all my outer senses while my inner senses vibrate to another. My reality is not real estate, but an imaginary realm of the real that forms up around me like an invisible filter through which I perceive.

Friends fall away if their motives do not bear scrutiny. I wave them off & turn to continue my way. Sometimes I will wonder what happened to them, where they went & why. Sometimes it will seem I did not have to give them up, but somehow, they gave themselves away. Sometimes my heart will open to a glimpse of them “through a glass darkly” … will they miss me?

I am finding out who & what truth is, what it means to me, how to perceive it from best presentation. I discover what I can afford in terms of being a friend. Being in service brings the most return…friendship assumes, with concomitant outcome. Friendship impinges, at times, costs me phone minutes, hours on the clock better used for self-development, little stings to my heart of which I once took no notice. Now, not only aware but sensitized, I understand the difference between the ley lines & the lay of the land. What do bells & whistles serve but to make noise? What do I crave but the silence of my own thoughts happening inside my own head?

I do crave the thoughts you think about me – but only if they’re good ones. Bullshit on constructive criticism: take me as I am or take yourself away. I have grown from a cuddly kitten (tho there are at least two husbands out there to argue that point, the third being dead.) Anyway, from a cuddly kitten to a scaly armadillo, a spiky porcupine, a blowfish thrilled to puff into a terrifying sight, but still vulnerable to protective custody.

Does that mean more than it says? Why do you think I’d know? I am doing a consciousness stream here, a flow of brainwaves washed up on your beach…a glisten of bubbles soon popped by sandpiper feet.  And as some drop away, others rise up cuz that vacuum thing just can’t happen here. Even when I’m sitting still there is something happening inside. My heart beats, my liver thinks, my kidneys filter … all in what I might perceive as silence, but which is actually a storm of perfect precision & hum.

In the mineral water hotbaths, I like putting my ears underwater where I can hear the swish-lub-dub of my heart. In this one organ, clamoring over all the others, I find an existence, a proof of life unavailable in the quiet buzz of adrenal gland, the static revisioning of the colon, the lost movement of muscles in stillness.

An ambiance of spacetime surrounds me. I am spackled with creative clay, which is fun to play with, but which, in my hands, shapes no masterpieces.  I am both starred & tarred with the brush of God’s love – pushing me into sure adventure in His name & tickling the belly of exactly where I am this moment.

Ok. I confess, I have no idea what I’m doing here. I live day to day & work it out as I go. I’ll never lead a country to a promised land, unless others want to follow me around on the off chance I’ll discover one. I intend to live it my way, try hard not to be a target, continue to improve my verbal & written skills, wind my way into your psyche & love all I can.

That’s a plan, yeh?