It All Sounds Great

My neighbor walking a friend’s dog lost 43 pounds. I used to walk every morning, before not wearing a mask made me a criminal, before getting Covid left its strange symptoms like a dogpile in the front hall…can’t get past the forever smell. Shall I make this my defining event? Someone else can do what I said I would do & did not? Who’s more disappointed – my laboring heart or my shell-shocked brain?

Of course the disappointments I’ve caused myself are the most damning. I pass thru the same sin-detector every day: shoulda, coulda, woulda, if . . . the Four Horsemen of the English Language.

I understand why forgiveness is difficult – of course it is! I have often struck out across the Sahara of blame with no water & a too-short walking stick. I mutter & murmur & remind myself that without masks & lots of cameras on “record” & the fact I’m moving my mouth while talking to myself all remarks can be brought right back to those flapping lips.

I am inordinately fed up with the lack of civility, along with so many other losses in the society of my youth. We may have been brainwashed, narrow-minded, preoccupied with great guilt Catholics, but we said “thanks” when it was due even when grudged. We sat at the kitchen table whining, “Bur what should I say?” when told it was time to write bread & butter notes. Moms were enforcers as well as cooks & Mom’s standards were much higher, even if limited to one ethnic, cultural track. Why? She wanted me to be better than she, have more, define myself by enlarging, allowing standards.

I am an allowing person but I no longer deal with inefficiency, stupidity & downright prejudice. As a senior, I’m accustomed to keeping certain reactions muffled (except when muttering.) My brain is screaming like a siren a block away at times, but I can usually exempt myself from situations before it blows up & leaks out my ears. It used to be a validation to say something did not belong to me as I’d never do that…whatever it was. Now it sounds like a denial of guilt. How does the “innocent before proven guilty” assumption function here? Didn’t that used to be the standard?

I guess I didn’t consider I’d experience such societal devolution – the ability to drone people with accusations & misinterpretations from a world away. I don’t want to be bothered with trying to make the best of the situation – I just want it to be a good situation because it is, as it is.

I never thought to see blatant & rampant stupidity in print: men can get periods! men want to be women! What happened to the ultimate masculine insult: “you act like a girl!” Women, in turn, want to blare their denial of brave mortality on civil rights, wanting to be powerful, wanting to be the guy next door. I’ve no need to assume the lesser, baser qualities of either sex thinking it brings me power. Why can’t it be this simple? That we allow children to be children, babies to be born & beloved, men to open a door for us, ladies to be beautiful just as they are, men to be responsive & considerate. Instead I am looking at pics where I need to read the story just to see the teller – to figure out if they “identify as” man, woman, mineral or vegetable. Or animal.

If a guy came in the ladies room at school when I was a kid, it would have been about as horrifying as a monster movie from the first row… & the nuns would have marched them out to the flogging field behind the convent. But then guys I knew & grew up around would not have been caught on the feminine products aisle unless it was a hazing incident involving being blindfolded. I knew not one fella who’d march proudly down that aisle, snatching the last box of Tampons to brandish at check-out.

Well, I can’t tell you what happens next. I don’t think it will involve keeping my mouth still, so just point the camera somewhere else – maybe at the unicorn in the corner since the impossible is on 24/7 livestream, all news all the time, not so much reporting as attempting justification.

Never thought I’d be the last one in my family tho we were never close before we started dying off, so what’s the difference? Never thought so many things that every day is a journey into the macabre, victimized by spell-check. Guess I won’t be shutting up anytime soon tho selectivity of topics is narrowing more with passing time.

Letting go of victim mentality is something to bang your shoe on the table about.

Doing no harm is a potency to continue to cling to for recharge & new ideas to talk about.

Where’s love today? Time to pick up that journey-staff & go walkabout. I’ll keep you up on what I find, ok?

Foolish Monk

Seems I’ve held this shape forever now, but that’s because I don’t really remember what forever was, just mainly what this shape is. I don’t mean shape as in body only, here.

Even the wind knows boundaries are to fly from & fly over. Change invokes a resounding chord, yet I pluck a single harp string. I am happier when change is gentle, making friends first before taking over completely.

Lately I don’t mind being led down the Garden Path. It gives me time to look around, a change from faithfully watching what my feet are going to land upon. It gives me time to smell the flowers.

While sauntering, I remember all the orders to “Sit up straight!”, “Feet on the floor!” & on. I’m not sure now’s the time to drag this out of the Pensieve to examine, but I’ve been off the mark before. My body has these favorite postures & always has. Lately it’s a longer time preparing to stand up than the act. It feels good & right to take it slow.

Heart is the ultimate Editor in Chief, sometimes her wheels grind very fine indeed.  

You must be honest with love to the point where no fabrications may occupy it. (Tho many haven’t wanted truth for a longish time.)

The cadence to which I marched set early & is now the cadence to which I am at rest.

Itinerant

I feel a bit stranded, the deflating balloon on the corner pole signifying “party’s over.” It went well, this longish gig as a ‘homeowner.’ It is no longer upon me to remain here.

There is a strong parallel resonance going forward on all the other me-lines, too. To you who choose to partake of this reading here, Salut!

It is the best feeling; not to be netted in ego but to find a bit of a better way to squeeze through it into Spiritual Sovereignty, or what I feel that status to be. It’s a glass bridge at best, another showdown with Faith that has us both walking away, slapping at dust & grinning at each other.

It occurs to me that I am following a different & distant directive … that one about when the time comes to Believe, one lets go of perceived security & hearkens on, finding safety in the journey. Faintly I hear the beat of a distant drum in-heart, resonant into fade as I listen, distinctive when I don’t. It is not in my nature to be or become complacent anymore. Recently & just along this path, I’ve deduced that my greatest progress is made reining to a halt to listen.

Unlike many, my heart quickens at the thought of owning nothing & being happy. Wasn’t that at one time the goal of all Pilgrims? All you had to do was get your dream off the ground in your mind.

One of my earliest-recalled poems phrases lines about being at home wherever I land as my lifelong goal, indeed, ‘free as a bird,’ finding sustenance always to hand. Reputations have plummeted over ages, but there were true-thinking  Servitors, true to prayer & dedicated to a set-aside life, a ‘holy’ life. We are Pilgrims, owning only this moment. Often the willing Traveler opens the way in joining the currents of the roads, becomes iconic & of itself, an Avatar.

Walking a Pilgrimage has drifted to the bottom of my bucket list, yet I am having the thought drop in that this life now has been exactly that. I’ve lived & “done” my time. For some reason, I squeaked in past the censors to be born here – an inside-out spirit only now fitting in as all of life turns itself so.

The older I get, the more my life resembles a smudged carbon copy, well-penciled, with many phrases dug out from repetition. So what if I turn out to be an  eccentricity foisted upon a life which started out on track but somewhere jumped the rails.

All I hear is, “Yahoo!”

Revisiting the Cave

REVISITING THE CAVE

When Climbing Through a Sipapu

You do not question handholds.

You accept rain as your due

For the upcoming world expects

You to be moist with dew

When you emerge into

Your blessing for occupying

The Dry Lands.

dry, as in dust-dry,

bone dry.

Little marrow left, whittled

From warrior into Weapon.

Emerging into a where assuming color

As you look, taking shape as you imagine

Ok, so here’s the visual I Got:

and comes with a Warning:

‘Read it as you will,

lullabye or bullroarer,’

But read it for the sake of God!’

The God Who is alive in you

At times as dry for doctrine as you a drink.

Spirit has a shy approach for

All my Faith’s so strong.

She is as silent as sure

No longer needing Proxy

That divine realignment of self to higher-self

To me is Enlightenment.

It taps one shoulder so both tremble

Give a tiny    startle     of attention.

Mine bring a smile: What is coming to me?

Or dare I hope –  one more heartache leaving?

I breathe & am breathed in return.

HAVE YOU CLEANED YOUR CHAKRAS TODAY?

yeah, me neither

guess my New Age belief system has

only adequately prepared me for anything

happening after that.

I have this boatload of beliefs I’ve

been banging along behind me,

this entire she-bang

of opposing opinions.

What I’m saying is I wouldn’t mind

If a cosmos push wanted to

Connect with my tush …

Here what I’m sayin’?

Like move this all into recycle for me

Someone else’ll use it

I guess I need a pretty good break from my mind

Awhile.

That’s what got me into all this.

Sign by Register: “Remove Ears On Check-in”

We’re laying down a soundtrack now.

Are the quarters prepared?

Best we could, Boss, we checked his blueprints twice.

Why don’t you run me through the main menu, please.

OK, Boss, nothing you haven’t heard before

I’ll be the judge of that, sir.

Ok. Just generalities; gotta keep these things fluid

what with the Free Will factors to circumvent.

We’re already skimming the line on that one.

The usual: school, other kids, family alterations,

Physical, if it’s on the plan.

Prob’ly marriage

Career vs. anything else to have a living

Move in with physical again,

Then go for the end, come on, Boss,

You know the rest.

All right, all right. On your way,

Living in Reflection

This morning I sit in the corner of the couch, my legs in a vee, my computer on a lapdesk reaching from knee to knee. I see a flutter on the white front door (open at an angle to me) & glance up to identify a bird winging by. It comes to me that I often use reflective surfaces, facing life indirectly. But this is done automatically now. I think by everyone. as we face our dramas & get reflections back in media.

The point is to ask how much of our reality is reflection? It sure seems real at this level. Yet the poems, the learnings, the subjects of deep and intensive studies urge our return to a reality we are firmly convinced we occupy. There is always a deeper level when we look more closely, though. Most of the time it’s a little farther out from where we & often a bit higher up. Of course, it’s always a Decision. It always requires more work on our part to get there.

But we’re very busy in the Reflection.

While busy causes echo ~ (another reflection.)

The self-help & the selfies reassure us of our presence in a rendition format only. Since they are never pictorials of our true self, of our true self-perfection, they become a log of this reality’s unfoldment for us. If the outside is a reflection of the inside, how do I mete change out to myself?

Later these pics will be looked upon like old Polaroids sepia now with age – with half a memory for when these were the latest tech of all.

We will say, “Look, here’s where I decided I needed to make a change & here’s where I really got to make one.”

Most of our soul hidden by some cloaking device.

Fire

Once upon a time, high up in the Sandias outside of Albuquerque, I sat comfortably in my van, in sunshine, while ten yards in front of me a solid wall of snow slanted down, making the rattling, that sliding sound as when there are so many snowflakes they bump into each other.

Today I prowl indoors, couch to kitchen to couch again. To go outside is to venture into a marshmallow clasp of heat, clingy, smoky, stinging if you are driving with your arm out the car window.  The apartment is sealed up, the swamp cooler refining & wetting the air.

Tonight I walk outside to the grasp of smoke long tired even of itself, yet still pouring upward, the smoke of a forest being transformed from earth to ash. It is an exhaustive fire. It is not going to sleep for the night. It’s an irresistible heat, sustained, defensive & bullying. Smoke nestles down in the bowl of the town, a cloud from a distance, yet seemingly clear from within it.

The breaking mornings are coolest; a shifting night breeze has peeled off the smoke & the air seems moist in the absence of that forged heat.

Indelible summer arrives.  

Apotheosis

PRAYERS OF THE TRAVELER

The priest, the postulant, the penitent

Evoke the random ministrations

Of universe, pointing at my sins & laughing

The Pastor said, “don’t follow your heart lest it lead

To falsity…”

But I’m just not that independent; I need heart to

Shine my way, to filter my thoughts, to bring me

To the altar where I will not kneel, but

Reach instead my arms to God

With my heart outstretched, elastic

Ready for the learning, for the leaning

Ready for the love to flow from me for me

So ready for the love, God, the magnification

Of who I am into who You are

Not boasting, but becoming the outpouring

Of all You have shared with me

That I may express You with my life

With actions, speech & understanding

“Know thyself to know God.”

APOTHEOSIS

I play in halcyon days

Ingesting, digesting

Parsing, praying.

Offsets of accomplishment

The truth of divine mind

Made manifest by my actions.

Even this far along in life

Rich with effort, rife with falling short

The paths of life forever circular

Still, I strive like salmon reborn upstream

After flying against persistence

To be recreated

In Your image.

A PRAYER AT 5:15 a.m.

Wholeness in the world

Begins setting myself to rights

Tugging down my shirt

Polishing old shoes with miles of soul

Searching for the heights of spirit

Falling short, then falling in

The flow catches me,

Asks if I’m ready,

Tosses me towards heaven

Telling me to fly it on my own

In a whisper, constant & sure

The Holy Spirit of effort

Builds ladders to the stars

While I stand aground, looking up.

Knowledge smiles upon me

Wisdom takes me by the hand

Aligns me to Spirit

Over & over again

Never losing patience or

Succumbing to anger’s frustration.

Build for me a heaven, Lord

Just for me? You promised

A Holy Land at the end!

Where I become my own nourishment

Healthy & wholly

In service to God.

Mother Nature brooms the landscape

Shaping with wind so generous to share the dust

On my heels back to earth.

While lifting me into Love.

MY PRAYER AT 1:30 P.M.

Never to have the same moment

To be bored or tired of life

But accepting change

As its axis

While I spin in its regard,

The Father’s child, the mother’s girl,

Gathered up in arms to rest my head

(My heavy head)

Upon your shoulder.

My heart to yours, beating in holy synchrony

Inspired with breath, with mirroring You

With shining eyes & windblown hair

A kid You can be proud of

“Watch me, Lord!

I am doing this all for You.

Covid Heart

A short bout with Omicron has left me with heart flutters, a strange appetite for sugar & hotdogs with mustard only, for doughy rolls & canned food. What the hell is this? How could a virus change my organs? I am more timid, less allowing, rigid too. This outcome is definitely not of nature which has never forced itself against me so, obscene in overture, slippery smiles & tentacles snapping, reaching to snare my unwary parts.

I must be more conscious now. I defy these symptoms with salads, with rice crackers. I tell my heart, “Wait a mo'” while I fix a coffee to test the boundaries of its beats. I defy this new normal & create yet another unmoved by terror of failure. My past is already satiated & complacent. It is only the present with which I struggle.

I surge forward & upward, escaping the snaky holds. I will not cower before another man’s creation. I will not surrender if there is aught in me to continue the fight. Nothing not of God will enter me, control me, devour me.

COVID HEART

The fear in my heart pulls in the edges, isolates me

Protects itself, its waves recede;

The open beach left exposed is flat, empty,

Bubbles sink & dry, harden, their

Moisture drained. The winds begin a wail

Whip up frenzy

Heart cowers more, sinking deeper into self

Crusts over so little more can enter

Stung by sand whipped

Almost mooing, my heart remains bovine.

One morning, the winds will still

thinking me cowed…

The tides return; the memory retreats, That moment

I leap, anticipating its return, I leap

To an understanding – that knowledge that I have

Shown fear my future

& frightened it away.

Begone, Fear! You have no power here!

The vast engines of energy gear up with a roar

Stunned, my little self finds a vision larger to inhabit

Hastens there, slamming doors behind

That fear may not follow.

In the new light of being unafraid

Emerged from fear’s long shadow

I create again

I move again forward

I gather all about me

In triumph

Heart emerges in fanfare, confetti, parade!

I am healed. Unblemished. Ready.

Who’s to tell me what’s possible?

I don’t think I know anyone who’s in charge anymore. This is now mine but I’ve disowned it before, effectively, too. It’s too clearly defining to try to pass along this one now.

What if I’ve had a bucket list going since the beginning, I just didn’t know it then? If everything has happened to me in the right place at the right time eliciting the right emotional ringtone and I answered? What? Did I do something wrong?

I wonder where I’d be if the word ‘better’ had been erased from my life. I was always compared to that. It made life longer somehow. It’s a can’t-win word. Likely not the first of its kind I encountered.

I do feel the groundswell of a major change oncoming. If tech has been kept a hundred years out from us – a generous idea – how far behind am I anyway? If my generation has iPhones, they have telepathy for sure. But theirs isn’t to be considered mine anymore.  

Forging the next path is all i can see now. There’s absolutely no time to look behind me, not for followers, not for the ones who didn’t – like parents & siblings who led the way, leaving me on my own. They think of me now – like it was 100 years ago they were here.

And I still don’t care. I’m still the same stubborn child with crossed eyes & chewed fingers, the same electric-strange hair & attitude. Just because I’ll never catch up, I am not stopped from moving on. Just because I don’t even know where or when I’m going … I am not stopped from moving on.

It’s all trivialities. It’s all a moment on the beach, that perfect moment 100 years ago when there was nowhere else to be.

Off the cuff

When I found that ‘fabric’ in a tall pile at the flea market this morning, I knew it to be the so-far elusive “tablecloth” (something with yellow & cheerful) I’d been searching for. In my hands!

(My table has a large chip missing. I like to cover that up. A cloth is so much easier to deal with… but I have to live with it in my kitchen. I want something I can live with. What does that say about my life, that I need to have an in-house relationship with my tablecloth? Put that in your dishwasher & hit soak.)

After scrubbing the table up, I put the pattern on it. I stood back & laughed, my mind flashing on my 9th Grade Home Economics Teacher, Helen Something & how she looked when I chose the most difficult pattern in the box to make for Homecoming. It had gathers in it, stitching across the back, oh my! I could not & if you want to be picky about it, still c a n n o t thread a needle. But the front of that dress was ready to display 4 months later.

I have a karma with patterns. When I was out of teen-hood but barely, my sister decided to show me how to sew. She gave me a pattern & fabric to cut out on her king size bed. Which I did, also making a pattern of her deep green bedspread. And I had not even seen Gone With the Wind at that point.

Well, I just wanted to share that little bit of my afternoon with you. I couldn’t resist the thought of putting a smile on that face!

Love,

Carol

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