Obsessed

I love making these music thingys.
Sometimes GrooveShark goes down.
So there won't be anything here.
Or it takes a few minutes. Poop.


Lyrics for Just What I Meant by Chris Delmhorst

You find me clenched and crumpled like a letter I wrote but never sent
You pull me up and shake me out
And now I can stand here and say just what I meant
This is just what I meant, this is just

September rolling like a hurricane and I'm leaning over the rail
I dance a turn with a thunder cloud and I'm surprised when I find I'm still
Alive and telling the tale
I am telling the tale

I am telling you like I always do
I am telling you

June bugs bump into the ceiling and the headlights are sweeping the wall
You take my breath so far away that I have to say that I don't miss it at all
I don't miss it at all
I don't miss it at all

Songs

Waitin' for my baby to come home.
Listenin' to music, thinkin' bout her.
Her hopeless romantic.

Madly

"Power without guilt. Love without doubt."
From the movie Wolf

So in this love I seem to have lost my ability to reframe particular situations to my emotional advantage. She's gone, you see. It's only 6 days and it doesn't matter. One day is bullshit. She would laugh to hear me say it. She'll laugh when she reads it. And it makes me smile to realize that. I've tried the spiritual reframing. I've tried philosophy. I've even tried drowning myself in too much food and t.v. and nada. And so it goes. And so this is how it will be because my longing for her eyes, her touch, her light, her grace, cannot be assuaged. ok. I get it. This longing thing thrives no matter what anyway, even if she's across the room. ok. I get it.

Jean-Michel Basquiat

Just watched a movie on this beautiful man. This painting was one he did for his last show. Prophetic. He was 28 and the movie is called Radiant Child. Inspiration is an understatement. We all have our moments, I think. Some are more public than others, as they are meant to be. I love his work. I watched it "instantly" on Netflix.
Click HE RE if you'd like to go there.

Ah Choo

:::sniffle, aaaah choooo, sniffle, blow, sniffle, drip, blow::: 

Really?

What the heck is a baby possum doing on a lawn in a neighborhood in the cold harsh days of almost winter?? Out on a walk and this little toothy cherub was spotted by my usually eat first ask questions later big dog but this time he sniffed the trying to look vicious thing and walked away. I'm like wtf? So we moved it off the lawn and onto a plant close to the opening to under the porch and wished it well hoping it's traveling "hang on baby cakes mom is gonna take you for a litte ride" mother will show up soon and take him/her to safety. Good luck little one.

Flowers of Kiss

"Flowers and Hat: Patchen Place, c. 1950, ee cummings"

in the rain-

darkness,     the sunset

being sheathed i sit and 

think of you

the holy

city which is your face

your little cheeks the streets

of smiles

your eyes half-thrush

half-angel and your drowsy

lips where float flowers of kiss

and there is the sweet shy pirouette

your hair

and then

your dancesong

soul.     rarely-beloved 

a single star is uttered, and i

think

              of you

Mad Love

We are the mirror as well as the face in it.
We are tasting the taste this minute
of eternity. We are pain
and what cures pain, both. We are
the sweet, cold water and the jar that pours.


Rumi


And the snow poured down in a Seattle
blizzard. Imagine that. But the phone lines
didn't go down so there was connection
aplenty that trickled across the line from ocean
to ocean, word to word, heart to heart, body 
to longing body. Now to sleep with the voice of
mad love ringing in my ears with the perpetual 
sweetness of it's song.

Laughter

Last night I heard the most beautiful laughter. The kind of laughter that lights up the entire Universe and makes it smile from ear to ear. The sound of dew coming to rest on a rose petal, the barking of happy greeting dogs, the sweet melody of lovers meeting anywhere. Now that I've heard it, I have no doubt that I'll ever be able to live without it's possibility. Reminds me of one of the stories in Wind in the Willows. The baby animals were lost in the forest and Pan came to help them. First he played his pan pipe so that each one would feel peaceful and content, then fall asleep. Then he brought the animals looking for them to where they were safe and sound. But before he left, he put a spell on the children to forget the music of the pipes, for if they remembered it, they would spend the rest of their days searching for it. At least that's how I remember the story. And that's how I know, there will be no forgetting that laughter, ever.

Progress

And again my inmost life rushes louder,

as if it moved now between steeper banks.
Objects become ever more related to me,
and all pictures ever more perused.
I feel myself more trusting in the nameless:
with my senses, as with birds, I reach
into the windy heavens from the oak,
and into the small ponds' broken-off day
my feeling sinks, as if it stood on fishes.

Rainier Maria Rilke

Misty Morning

Path. Turn a corner and what will you see? Last night was a spectrum. At one end of the grid, a terror. A nail biting, make you spin crazy, stupefying, insidious, monster terror. At the other end, love. Well, of course. So it's like taking the grid and making the ends meet. Introduce the fear to the love and watch what happens. I think it's peace, which naturally, is the same as love, only different.                        ( Courage.  "of the heart". )                                And then the opening. And then the awareness of the crevices where the pain once lived. The pain that I didn't even really know existed, like a splinter that I got used to and would just occasionally administer some kind of unconscious first aid. And then the breath that reached into them and quietly, sweetly, filled them up with love, and hope, and tranquility.

I wonder where the next steps on this beautiful journey will take me. What will happen next? ok. I'm outta here to go find out.

Lies

LIES 1:   There is only the present and nothing to remember.

LIES 2:   Time is a straight line.

LIES 3:   The difference between the past and the future is that one has happened while the other has not.

LIES 4:   We can only be in one place at a time.

LIES 5:   Any proposition that contains the word 'finite' (the world, the universe, experience, ourselves...)

LIES 6:   Reality as something which can be agreed upon.

LIES 7:   Reality as truth.

Jeanette Winterson - Sexing the Cherry

My Guy

I love it when I get to spend time with my guy. We hung out and talked a bit, watched Dexter (wrapping duct tape around my head in the vicinity of my mouth to not give it away to those that lag behind a bit), then went and looked at web ready cell phones with cheap internet access. I was gung ho, he was pragmatic, and chilled my impulsiveness. When did he get so grown up???? But he's always been beautiful. Such love. We're gonna go again soon, when the right phone is here. Yay!!

Snow Geese

I didn't see these this morning, but I wanted to. I remembered you telling me about the sound overhead and I could feel you feeling it. But what I did see was my sweatshirt being polka dotted by the tiniest rain. What I felt was Autumn chill brushing up against each droplet on my face, on my smile, on my eyelids because my eyes were closed to bring in closer the sweetness of the moments. I am so grateful.

Within

See through beauty. Arms that can wrap around and hold and let go. Eyes alert and focused and haunting. Today I am that. Pulsing through this sea, searching and content and alive. The sound in my ears is that sound I imagine, embrionically, as the swoosh of heartbeat, the sensation of nurture passed cell to cell, the cradled joy of floating in some kind of watery world of  love and joy. And yes, there is an "I could stay here forever" smile across my lips. But my divine knows that birth will follow, again and again. So with great anticipation and courage and desire, I welcome the next... and the next.

Light

This morning there is so much light. Even the shadows have smiles and the air tastes alive and a little bit like some kind of knowing that has been sprinkled with cinnamon. Deep breathing of this is in order, I'm thinkin'.

Rain

Ah, walk to the Lighthouse. Then back, americano in hand, wet happy dog on the leash ahead, stacked stones repaired, stared at with tenderness, marveling at the colors and textures beneath the tears of the sky. Today I'm imagining them tears of joy, although, I'm sure there's some salty sadness in a few. The world here on earth can do that to anything, probably even the sky.

A day off. Methinks it's a day for a fire in the fireplace. Warmed by it. Taught by the contemplations on the flames. Rememberings, forgettings, imaginings. And just plain resting. There's been Catalystic Alchemy, Cataclysmic Journeying, and Profound Catechism. Today is a day of playing the tongue drum intermittently, doing the laundry and the dishes, brushing the dog, sitting quietly and listening to the sound of my own breath.

Because

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More readable that way, most likely.