after the rain, the candles know that the gentle mixing of their wax is necessary. they know that only by pushing their substance over the edge and onto the floor do they truly fulfill their little candle destinies. like a latch, my heart opened and out poured its contents. a mess on the floor, but i pray that i will leave it there. it is here that i am alive.
after the rain, the candles know that their flames may just be a glimmer on the edge of a burnt wick or a tall tower of strong light, but that's why they have one another. flames change, thank god. can we see that this is necessary, this transformation of self and unsureness of self? that through community we can find our footing? i feel my arms grown strong with love. my hands are swelling, palms open and ready to hold more. love the one in front of you, i hear. this is the way to peace.
after the rain, the candles know that perhaps they know nothing. galaxies beyond and is there life out there? and what on earth is a black hole, she asked? but the candles can do only what they can do. painful submission or sought-after freedom? i don't know sometimes. yet, the candles give their light and trust.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Sunday, December 25, 2011
you beneath my christmas tree
you are loved.
foreheads together and lavender filling the room
and what more could i ever want.
what more than a tug from deep within to abandon all notions
of success and how to use this degree
and your expectations.
to abandon my list of to dos and methodical steps for living a life that's full of everything a twenty something year old should accomplish.
what more than this stirring in my abdomen that keeps me up at night
and wakes me in the morning,
that is fear
of failing,
that is exhilaration
of possibility.
do you see me as a small child, still?
if you didn't, then i would imagine you could ask me (me!) the questions you have.
pose the doubt you see and feel.
because perhaps i have answers of my own.
yes, try me, rather than waiting until i leave the room, because i am a woman of intellect.
and faith.
and ask me even if i don't know the answer because i will learn and we will learn together.
so i ask you, please.
see me.
and what more could i want than the outstretched hands of life setting down opportunities of life and energy into my own receptive and sometimes trembling arms?
what more than a growing understanding that all asks for sacrifice.
what more, what more, what more
could i want than you pulling back the covers for me,
and with the gentlest hands,
reminding me again that i am held.
foreheads together and lavender filling the room
and what more could i ever want.
what more than a tug from deep within to abandon all notions
of success and how to use this degree
and your expectations.
to abandon my list of to dos and methodical steps for living a life that's full of everything a twenty something year old should accomplish.
what more than this stirring in my abdomen that keeps me up at night
and wakes me in the morning,
that is fear
of failing,
that is exhilaration
of possibility.
do you see me as a small child, still?
if you didn't, then i would imagine you could ask me (me!) the questions you have.
pose the doubt you see and feel.
because perhaps i have answers of my own.
yes, try me, rather than waiting until i leave the room, because i am a woman of intellect.
and faith.
and ask me even if i don't know the answer because i will learn and we will learn together.
so i ask you, please.
see me.
and what more could i want than the outstretched hands of life setting down opportunities of life and energy into my own receptive and sometimes trembling arms?
what more than a growing understanding that all asks for sacrifice.
what more, what more, what more
could i want than you pulling back the covers for me,
and with the gentlest hands,
reminding me again that i am held.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
about one year ago
i saw the tree with the lights in it.
in fact, i saw the trees with the lights in them.
in all of them.
one by one they lit up in front of me, sun exploding off the ice soaked branches in radiant bursts of orange and yellow and light against the cold blue morning sky.
even as i returned through the stiff snow covered sidewalk, the lights continued.
at the end i turned around, and there at the top, where the large tree lived,
all its branches gleaming loudly,
there the sun itself burst through.
if the tree had a heart, it would have been there,
with the sun piercing through and spilling out everywhere.
the rest of the way home the trees continued their sparkling display.
even the little sapling outside our kitchen window was a light.
in fact, i saw the trees with the lights in them.
in all of them.
one by one they lit up in front of me, sun exploding off the ice soaked branches in radiant bursts of orange and yellow and light against the cold blue morning sky.
even as i returned through the stiff snow covered sidewalk, the lights continued.
at the end i turned around, and there at the top, where the large tree lived,
all its branches gleaming loudly,
there the sun itself burst through.
if the tree had a heart, it would have been there,
with the sun piercing through and spilling out everywhere.
the rest of the way home the trees continued their sparkling display.
even the little sapling outside our kitchen window was a light.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Thursday, December 22, 2011
october
will this rain ever stop?
how can something so peaceful, that makes my sleep sweeter than ever, be so full of rage and destruction?
when i see and hear the rain now, i feel silent despair.
how can something so peaceful, that makes my sleep sweeter than ever, be so full of rage and destruction?
when i see and hear the rain now, i feel silent despair.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
endless flight
when the music starts, i'm watching her dance. slender and long she gently sweeps across the stage. hardwood floors worn soft by the years. a single light softly illuminates the stage. the empty auditorium filled with old seats, their fabric cushions thin and frayed by all the bottoms who've sat on them.
a blink and then i open my eyes, seeing the world through her eyes. i'm dancing, and i'm choosing to dance, but i'm not choosing the motions. the music is. the music fills up my arms, surging through them and expanding them until they must bend and twirl and reach out to the gentle commands of the rhythm. the steady beat is a heartbeat, a pulse of light that will never leave. the dance is no more than a surrender. it has no thought, and it cannot see the future. the only moment is to move. and now the floor is covered with sand, and as my toes swirl through the soft grains, leaving a trail of my presence, i wonder if my dance must leave evidence of its immortality or of its constant renewal.
a blink and then i open my eyes, seeing the world through her eyes. i'm dancing, and i'm choosing to dance, but i'm not choosing the motions. the music is. the music fills up my arms, surging through them and expanding them until they must bend and twirl and reach out to the gentle commands of the rhythm. the steady beat is a heartbeat, a pulse of light that will never leave. the dance is no more than a surrender. it has no thought, and it cannot see the future. the only moment is to move. and now the floor is covered with sand, and as my toes swirl through the soft grains, leaving a trail of my presence, i wonder if my dance must leave evidence of its immortality or of its constant renewal.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
may...
"may the grace of god be with you always, in your heart
may you know the truth inside you from the start
may you find the strength to know that you are a
part of something beautiful..." -alexi murdoch
may we always seek the balance between gentleness and acceptance and the push of challenge.
may we know the power of getting down on all fours and clinging to the earth with our whole being when circumstances or our own selves tell us, in moments of panic and despair, to flee.
may we bravely walk up to the mirror with our partner in hip hop dance class, admit our doubts, dance, and then celebrate vulnerability and freedom.
may we trust lupita when she assures us that we are not babies in this world, unable to engage in the way we want...that by listening alone we can make a difference, that kind words to a child may be the only ones she hears, and that even rockstars like padre luis have cried from feeling incapable.
may you know the truth inside you from the start
may you find the strength to know that you are a
part of something beautiful..." -alexi murdoch
may we always seek the balance between gentleness and acceptance and the push of challenge.
may we know the power of getting down on all fours and clinging to the earth with our whole being when circumstances or our own selves tell us, in moments of panic and despair, to flee.
may we bravely walk up to the mirror with our partner in hip hop dance class, admit our doubts, dance, and then celebrate vulnerability and freedom.
may we trust lupita when she assures us that we are not babies in this world, unable to engage in the way we want...that by listening alone we can make a difference, that kind words to a child may be the only ones she hears, and that even rockstars like padre luis have cried from feeling incapable.
thoughts from a weekend
i want to be the kind of person who carries her breakfast onto the bus in an old paper flour bag. forget ziplock bags that speak of pristine quality and guaranteed no-spill locking action. instead, please give me the real and the flexible life, pre-softened by experience and use, and with the dust of past days left in the corners.
Monday, December 19, 2011
upward over the mountain
as i sit on the hard kitchen floor,
scraping out the intentional remains of devils food cake batter,
i am so at peace.
i am at peace because i could be anywhere,
and i would still feel her.
she doesn't always say much,
but the point is, i believe, she's there.
and what are you, song that stops me with your captivating mystery?
mother don't worry,
i have to claim my own restless heartbeat.
mother trust in this love, it holds more than we see.
and now i'm gripping your handkerchief,
pressing it tightly between my fingers
to savor this gift of time and heart.
you prayed for the dog as you carried its limp body to the side of the road,
placing all faith in the sureness of the moment.
and how is it that moments like these,
where the world is too big to handle and we only know to touch the shoulder in front of us or scoop up the poor animal in our arms, that life seems to make a claim on us?
and if it weren't for the tiredness in my body perhaps i could remember more...
but you said,
tell her you're in el salvador, tell her what a pupusa tastes like, that it's okay and that she doesn't have to fight the war anymore.
sit with her and listen.
and write it down.
invite her.
scraping out the intentional remains of devils food cake batter,
i am so at peace.
i am at peace because i could be anywhere,
and i would still feel her.
she doesn't always say much,
but the point is, i believe, she's there.
and what are you, song that stops me with your captivating mystery?
mother don't worry,
i have to claim my own restless heartbeat.
mother trust in this love, it holds more than we see.
and now i'm gripping your handkerchief,
pressing it tightly between my fingers
to savor this gift of time and heart.
you prayed for the dog as you carried its limp body to the side of the road,
placing all faith in the sureness of the moment.
and how is it that moments like these,
where the world is too big to handle and we only know to touch the shoulder in front of us or scoop up the poor animal in our arms, that life seems to make a claim on us?
and if it weren't for the tiredness in my body perhaps i could remember more...
but you said,
tell her you're in el salvador, tell her what a pupusa tastes like, that it's okay and that she doesn't have to fight the war anymore.
sit with her and listen.
and write it down.
invite her.
José
the tear rolls down your cheek
and my heart surges at the sight of its transparent outline against your tanned skin.
who am i
to receive such a story of love and pain?
and who am i to receive the gift
of your tired body walking all the way down to the Coffee Cup?
a journey you rarely dare to make.
and, if i may ask,
who are you
to have such clarity and faith to know your own soul and tears well enough to share them with me the first time we meet?
and my heart surges at the sight of its transparent outline against your tanned skin.
who am i
to receive such a story of love and pain?
and who am i to receive the gift
of your tired body walking all the way down to the Coffee Cup?
a journey you rarely dare to make.
and, if i may ask,
who are you
to have such clarity and faith to know your own soul and tears well enough to share them with me the first time we meet?
Sunday, December 18, 2011
the beginning
sometimes i wonder...where do we begin when everything is so full?
well, we begin at the beginning.
so this is my humble and earnest beginning. to a movement that started some time ago. to creating home in new places. to el salvador. to stumbling through. to the people who fill my mosaic life. and to every moment, which is where it all begins.
well, we begin at the beginning.
so this is my humble and earnest beginning. to a movement that started some time ago. to creating home in new places. to el salvador. to stumbling through. to the people who fill my mosaic life. and to every moment, which is where it all begins.
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