Wednesday in December

It’s like trying to hold water in my

cupped hands. It’s like trying to capture

sunshine in a bottle or find the end

of a rainbow. As a child, I was con-

vinced it could be done. It’s like owning

an Indian in the Cupboard, or find-

ing gold in the dry riverbed. It feels

like chasing a speeding train or losing

my virginity—something I can not get back—

this feeling of getting older. Growing up

they call it. 

My yoga teacher, Rachel, talks about stabilizing the periphery in any given pose, in order to open up the core of the body. “When our foundation is stable, rooted” she says, “it affords our inner body, our core, our heart more opening.” I take this principle and apply it to my life—I stabilize my periphery, my world, my foundation of who I am in this life, so that I am able to breathe in the suffering of the world, transforming it into light, which I then exhale.

I was at a yoga class the other day—I decided to branch out from my normal routine and chose a different yoga teacher. This was the first mistake. Like any class, the teacher makes it or breaks it. I was seated on a blanket, hands folded in front of my heart when they said, “Now breath in and exhale all of your negativity.” My eyes flew open there was a visceral sense of rejection to this request from the teacher. My mind screamed, “This is wrong! This is all wrong! We should not be breathing out negativity, there is enough of it in the world already!” Luckily I tamed my mind and sat through the class that was very enjoyable and got my blood pumping. However, not all yoga classes are created equal. It’s all subjective , and a matter of personal preference, yet if yoga is the goal, I would like to participate in class which contributes light, not sucks it out of the atmosphere, that’s all I’m saying. And since no one reads my blog anyway, I feel that it is totally okay to go on a bit of a “Shinay rant.” Besides, this is life according to me, not anyone else. Go start your own blog if you have something you’d like to share with the world.

Back to stabilizing the periphery: This goes hand-in-hand with the credo of maintaining balance; in order to do so, one must first “hug in” as Rachel puts it. “Hug the muscle to the bone before we extend out.” In this philosophy we create muscle energy, allowing the muscle to engage before we stretch. This action of engaging our muscles is a support system for our skeletal structure. Again, I love this concept because I can apply it to my daily routine. I think of it as collecting energy my own before extending myself to others. Not mean this in a selfish way, I merely suggest that in order to be of service (which is the main goal in my life) I must first hug in. If I give without replenishing, without attention to self-care, without remembering gratitude, there will eventually be nothing left to give and I won’t be able to stretch any more.

Tonight we practiced handstand (Adho Mukha Vrksasana) and back bend (Urdhva Dhanurasana), two poses that take a lot of muscle energy and focused attention. “To merge our intentions with our actions,” Rachel said, “is the science of consciousness. We must start here, with the way in which we talk to ourselves. It’s in the sequential manifestation of life—” How we choose to take action both an and off my yoga mat. With the practice of yoga, I learn to walk my talk, to move about through the world with cultivated strength, practice at hugging in. I examine the mechanics of my body and of my heart in order to extend, reach out, give back. Ultimately that is what I wish to do—infuse the world with more light. 

We all have them

These slivers of human-

ity

Machines cranking out sim-

ilar responses to circumstanc-

es

Paradox drips from the leaves of shade tree-

s

Because we are all human.

I ran past the strip of bars this morning at 7:30-

am

The stench of stale alcohol and musty, molding bod-

ies

Met my nose and made me want to wretch

Turning the corner, three withered faces stared at me-

Eyes sunken in.

Their dirty exterior barely hanging on wi-

th threads of skin

Around the eyes an-

d mouth

Loose and droop-

Ing.

Baskets of sorrow

Catching salty tears.

I sucked in hard trying no-

t to stare, the cold air burn-

ing my lungs.

A sliver of human-

ity come to save me. 

Another Kind of Love

when clouds come over and sun fails to shine, what else is there?

when my heart yearns and longs for expansion, where do I go?

there is a story to be told, and we each have a task, and to know, is to listen.

often i feel worthless, often i feel inadequate, often i feel as though if i could only change a single thing about myself, then, I would be able.

shadows start to move behind the flicker of a single candle, a single candle is all it takes to light a dark room.

how lucky we are, you and i, to have come to this work so young.

the worth of being able to sit with ourselves for some time each day, is priceless.

in this body, for this life, i must remember to shine.

that’s why i have you, my friend, to remind me of my worth.

that’s why we surround ourselves with others of a similar caliber, to remind ourselves that we are worth it.

why are the ones i love, always so far away from me?

is this my work in this lifetime, to remember and reach out over a distance?

i held my niece yesterday, she’s 8 months old.

to be in the presence of a child, such innocent love, is a prayer in itself.

to spend time around her filled me with expansive joy.

there’s nothing like the laugh of a child, to bring us to our knees in gratitude.

November 14th

And the birthday celebration continues. I walk into a local coffee shop were my friend works, and not knowing she was going to be there today, am delightedly surprised when she calls me to the counter and hands over a decadent coffee drink with whipped cream and chocolate sauce smeared on top. Oh how I love the ones who love!

Dr. Svaboda said, “Prana follows attention,” and in honor of this concept, I spend time, each day, thinking about people. I tune my attention towards individuals whom I love and even those who get on my nerves–but I do so with kindness and respect, thinking about people draws me closer to them, and them to me, making the separation less dualistic.

I also spend time thinking about my breathing. Last year I was in the hospital with pneumonia for eight days, during which I underwent lots of antibiotics, breathing treatments, and pounds and pounds of oxygen piped into my node through clear plastic tubes, and a surgery where the docs went in through my throat with a tiny vacuum and sucked out all the phlegm that had accumulated in my lungs due to lack of oxygen. I was, needless to say, very ill. However, I was determined to ride my bike again, and take in deep gulps of air like a “normal” person. So, I concentrated on my breath. Each inhale, expanding my lungs, clearing out the crap that had lodged itself inside, and exhaling fully until I saw stars in my vision. Never before had I been aware of my breath in such a profound way. One year later, I am still focusing in my breath as a way to channel my attention. It’s a great tool to use when seated, walking, riding my bike, doing yoga, even eating. The breath carries with it, prana–vital living force–the essence of being alive.

I have also been thinking about what I really want lately, and here’s what I came up with:

Inspired by the Poem Famous by Naomi Shehab Nye.

I want to be famous like I want to

be missed.

I want to be missed like a favorite

pair of jeans or a ruby ring—something

he thinks about everyday, something she

wishes she hadn’t misplaced. Sweet remorse

and tender longing. I want to be missed

like the end of a sentence–

cut off, leaving the reader with itching

anticipation wandering “what’s next?”

I want to be missed like a lover or

a grandparent or childhood. I want

to be missed like that down vest in winter,

where if you had it, you know you’d be just that

much warmer. I want to be a craving

that gets triggered every time you see the

sunshine. 

Here’s the thing:

 The Italians say, “Per dare alla luce,” to give birth, literally, “to give to the light.”

Today is my birthday, and a time to celebrate life, which includes the cycle of death. A celebration of both giving to the light, and leaving one’s material body. A time for reflection, and at essence, a reality check. I woke up with the light this morning, laying, curled under the covers, just breathing, waiting, listening for the dawn to wake up. I eventually rolled out of bed, dressed, and sat in mediation while my mind wondered to what I wanted to eat for breakfast and what possibilities this next year might bring. As my thoughts went from pancakes with butter and honey to New York City, the actualization, the experience of “Just this,” entered my body. This is it, I thought, this is all we have. This moment right, now, and right now, and right now. How awesome! I smiled as I thought about the great cosmic joke this life really is. I am thrilled to be alive, and knowing that I have so many people in my life who exude love.

My roommate did a Tarot reading with me last night, and one of the cards I pulled was the Joker, which told me to “Accept the humor of the situation, all situations.” He is the Enlightened Play of the Game of Life, and it is due time we all have a bit of humor in our lives. When things get stuck, there’s nothing like a good laugh to break the stagnation, cutting through. So here’s my joke for today, (it’s a true story):

“Hey dad, I’ve been thinking of writing more than just poetry and “meaningful pros” on my blog page.”

“Well, you have to start someplace.”

“Yes, but what do you think? It will be ‘Life According to Shinay,’ you know, my opinion on life, everything. Do you think it will inspire people? Not that anyone reads my blog besides my mother…”

“Well, you know what they say about opinions, don’t you?”

“What?” 

“They’re like assholes, everyone has one.”

We laughed long and hard about that one. Both are true, and we all have to start someplace­–remember the first job you ever had, babysitting, dressing up as Elmo in July and dancing along side the highway, selling handmade cards and lemonade. There will be no experience, unless we make it happen, so simply, start.

I was first encouraged many years ago to write a blog, and I have been dabbling since 2007, writing musings about life when I feel like I have something important to say. Yet lately that’s just not cutting it. It’s not enough to wait for inspiration to hit and then write it down, hoping someone might read it. That’s not enough. There’s urgency in my heart to create, to give, to learn, to acquire knowledge, to give that knowledge back, to perpetuate the circle of love, to be a student of life, therefore, it has come time to “start” again. I have no credentials, no letters after my name, nothing to signify that you aught to trust anything that I put on paper, yet I have lived for 24 years under the influence of Intention and Integrity and Unconditional Love. I am a 20-somehting woman, with a few insights now and again. I grew up with parents wanting something different for their children. I am surrounded with love that is unconditional, I am loved by many and feared by a few (or so I’d like to think). I am human and have the same cravings as the two women indulging in their sandwiches and wine at the table to my right. I have the same dark thoughts as that man, hunched down in the big leather chair in the corner, glaring at the world. I like to write, I like people, and I’m prepared to live by example. I want to offer the world a bit of what I have in my life. Here’s to love and light!

On this day of my birth I have chosen

you, and you, and YOU to sit with me in

this seat of Divine knowledge and forgive-

ness. I am choosing to forgive the weak

and needy because they know no better.

I am choosing to love the condemned

because they have made choices, human

choices. I am choosing to sit with the

arrogant, the angry, the foolish, and

the insane, they exist in this world, as

as I. I am no different than the

guilty.

Paint me a picture of your God, I would

like to see what you see. Draw me lines, sing

me a song, dance me a dance, pranam to

the mountain or wave your hands in time with

the stereo booming through car speakers,

let Grace breath you. Collect friends who will be

your mirror, when you forget how wonder-

ful you are. Use your words wisely, because

that’s the last thing people will remember

about you. Move with integrity, and

know that actions speak louder then words. Be

brave, life is precious. Be courageous, life

is grand. Be pretentious, everyone is.

Be gentle, be kind, be intentional

with your love. Take nothing for granted. And

as a very wise woman wrote, “Wear red.”

Her laugh is a remedy for the space

left empty by their thoughts on future plans.

His hair is an attachment to the past and

projection into the future, a symbol of idealism.

12 years of dread locks, matted into perfection,

growing lop-sided because of the way he sleeps.

Who am I to call you up to bat when the years

have gone flat and lifeless like paper cut-out dolls?

I’m standing between horse stalls, blue jean cut offs

and a tank top on, showing all my tattoos.

You choose, who you are in this lifetime.

And from time to time we get glimpses of our

truest self, unshadowed by tomorrow’s musings.

That kid over there, it’s time to cut your hair.

No body No how

If antisocial were a person

I’d be meeting them tonight

We’d sit in silence together

Me with my cup of tea

They with their hand-gun,

finger on the trigger

We’d sit a while and attest to nothing

Holding me accountable for saying nothing

Global economy crash

Too many people

Plastic unsustainable

Questioning diversity

The need for separation

The need for communion

My heart wants for nothing

I am nothing

A clearing for love

I do not want love

I want to be alone

Shrink wrapped so that nothing can get in

and nothing can leave

It’s really only me

the one with my finger on the trigger

Morning

I move my body as morning wakes up
I stretch my legs as she stretches her arms
I run up hill, around the block, across the street to the next set of painted houses

I run past green lawns
Potted plants
Garden gnomes, and stop

In front of a white picket fence
Paint peeling off its grey weathered posts
I laugh a loud at this age-old metaphor

Leaving impressions in the early morning mind
No one ever tells you
That you need to repaint your white picket fence

I feel your words against my skin
Your lips softly next to my ear
Spilling sentences down my neck
Across my shoulders and along my spine
I close my eyes and your voice remains a tracing
of letters written, and spoken by the heart
Carefully articulated or flung onto
the page like cursive and finger paint
Colors slide across the pages
Words trickle down my arms and get caught like dew
in the creases of my elbows
Loosening, they roll to the tips of my fingers
Dripping off each untrimmed fingernail
To rest carefully
on my lap
Floating letters forming
in the space between my knees

With armor on, no light gets through

Why should I remove the tears
as they race down my face
For fear of being seen
broken open?
Wiping away those moisture beads
smearing them across check bones
Leave tracks of salt on my skin
to shimmer in the sun

Procrastination can be productive too, at times...

Well chick, chick and a bottle of
BOOM!
Get off my hot pants and I'll leave with some room
to           b r e a t h
 life out and I'll catch the ride
on your hot air balloon
watching heat waves off the pavement
of my stale brain
workin circles 'round the corner
              just tryin' to ern a dollar
give the kid a break
he's only half your height
and the answer is YES
   don't ya know
to all things
Not HOW or WHY or WHO cares
if you're stuck between a rock and hard place
      it's not their space to SQUEEZE the living life out of ya--
unless you ask them for the time and
they turn around waiting on your pretty face for a smile
 or a flicker of Grace
Stop
Don't touch. That frying pan is
hot.

Remembering is half the battle

I have to remember that it’s all small stuff

This life is not about us anyway 

July

All we have is right now

Right here

I listen to the voices

On a Sunday morning

It’s about co-existing

I like to refer to it as Enlightened Duality

Just another day

Another way to live

30 minutes for a lunch break and I head to my car

There’s a man sitting on the curb across from where I’m parked

“Homeless Need Work” his sign reads

On any other day

I’d take my food somewhere else

So I wouldn’t have to share it with his hungry eyes

Changing my environment

The task at hand is to make it work

Not to suffer

Not to indulge

Existing while others live

Living while others exist

Allowing others to exist in my own world

No pity

No regret

Don’t sweat the small stuff

It’s really all small stuff anyway

I sit in my car and eat my lunch

He sits on the curb holding his sign

We do not speak to each other

We do not even look at one another

We don’t need to

All we have is right now

On writing

Someone once told me that Charles Bukowski had to work at getting his writing published.

So here I am, working.

This is my attempting to use the tools I have learned, and write.

Committed to writing every day.

I force myself to put words, thoughts, expressions, letters, symbols on paper, because the only way to get batter is through practice.

Practice is dedication, a repeated endeavor, over a long period of time.

“Practice makes perfect,” I learned as a child.

I don’t know about perfect, but it certainly makes me stronger, more disciplined.

The good, the bad and the ugly–

I’ll write whatever it takes just to keep writing.

Over, and over, and over.

Seated now, at my kitchen table, knowing that this could be the last time my legs rest on the soft, cool, wood of the chair.

Knowing that this could be last time I rest my forehead on the dimpled, yellow surface.

Remembering now, all the lasts–and I didn’t know they would be the last time.

Life keeps going, with or without you.

And I’ll keep writing, with or without you. 

I write this…

Because I can’t bring myself to pack that box

Because I’m stuck

Because childhood memories surround me,

sitting their on the shelves like gargoyles.

Pictures of the past, make me forget where I’m going and why.

I can’t bring myself to pack that box

I gave my sock monkey to my niece the other day,

came over to find that the dog had adopted it as his own–

Some things I just have to let go of.

I’m not sure where the next step will take me,

But I’m telling the Universe that I’m ready.

YOU HEAR ME?!

I’M READY!

Bring it on!

Tears of overwhelm cloud my vision and it’s hard to write.

Why do I feel stuck?

I wish I could just peek into the future,

and then I wouldn’t worry so much.

I can’t bring myself to pack that box.

Today I sit in the middle of my room.

Stuck.

Where do I start?

What will happen if I give that book away?

That dress? Those CDs…

I’m not a little girl any more.

If I lay on my bed and cry until 11pm I still have boxes to pack,

they won't pack themselves. 

There are some things that are never going to change.

Today I wish the cloudy skies outside would let loose a flood so huge it would wipe away these boxes, and my house, and me so I won’t have to deal.

Dealing with life.

People drive cars, like they live their life.

People do most things, like people do most things–eat, dance, talk to small children... 

Except packing. 

Being as if Frida

Frida Kahlo once said, “I paint myself because I am the subject I know best.”

What if I “knew” myself the way Frida did?

What would it take to know myself this way?

My body.

What if?

I knew my body–

The way Frida knew her face?

first add heat

what’s coming out is dry

like a hot pan without any oil

it doesn’t sizzle–only heat

the gas is on high and nothin’s cookin’

and yet, there’s something to be said

for heating the pan before you fry

the egg

it cooks better

turn up the heat, add butter

i’m breaking eggs

one at a time

one at a time

Learning to express, sometimes it takes effort!

It takes all I have to put pen to paper, fingers to key board.

To stamp out these symbols to make syllables to make sounds

forming a series of subsequent sentences, spewing out of this

less-than-perfect mind.

I attempt to make sense of this unpredictable life.

I force myself to whittle words, to put thoughts on paper

because if I keep them inside they may burst my innards

and I’ll find myself walking down the street–a split second later

blown apart, filled with shards of introspective-shrapnel from my

less-then perfect mind.

Agony comes from discipline, yet there’s something to be said for doing despite.

How sweet the rewards when nose is lifted from the grindstone and I see

just how much of a fraud I’ve been, telling myself lies about the glory of war.

I’m afraid of failure, same as you, and my less-than-perfect mind will be the first

to jump to false conclusion.

Providing I haven’t pushed too hard and alienated those to whom I owe my life,

I’ll be kicking til I’m 90 and dancing into the next one.

I’m not sure I wanna come back to this Earth before it’s deconstruction

I don’t like pain.

If it were up to me, my less-then-perfect mind would know when to shut the fuck up and give me some peace and quite! 

That’s the joke, the game, the hokey-pokey.

ART comes from those times of deep self-loathing, when the creator keeps going

to spite death and laughs in the face of fear.

If it really were up to us, we’d stop at our first skinned knee, because we knew we’d never make it, our less-then-perfect minds churning out incongruencies.

Perhaps what we think of as struggle is merely life, happening.

My toes curl around the hard edge of the chair in from of me and I will my fingers to keep going and my mind to stay focused.

This body is meant to be expressive, this life is meant to be expressed!

And my less-than-perfect mind asks, why do you wear beige? 

What does it mean to be Committed?

commitment |kəˈmitmənt|

noun

1 the act of committing or the state of being committed.

• dedication; application

• a pledge or undertaking

• an act of pledging or setting aside something

Thesaurus

commitment

noun

1 the pressure of commitments responsibility, engagement, arrangement.

2 her commitment to her students dedication, devotion, allegiance, loyalty, faithfulness, fidelity.

3 he made a commitment vow, promise, pledge, oath; pact, deal.

May 31, already

Perhaps I have chosen this state of upheaval

Delusion never did get me anywhere

Duck feathers.

Learning to live with the chaos.

Returning to Love. 

36 years, and then you turn around (Part 1)

Imagine if you were able to reinvent yourself

everyday–

who would you be?

Imagine if you forgot every conversation

you ever had.

Imagine if God were just another word for

longing.

What if I were totally

symmetrical?

Would you still find me interesting?

Today I am a raven.

What will tomorrow

bring?  

The In-betweener

The in-between moments

this period as an essential juncture

A place to stop, look around

and notice

A place to live despite being

uncomfortable

The in-between moments

can be quite rewarding

When my aim is to

self observe

Not going the full distance

is a challenge in and of itself

Because it’s here, at the transition

where growth happens

Standing on my left leg

bare feet, toes gripping my yoga mat

Right hand holding my right foot

knee bent, not fully extended

Push and pull

the muscles prepare and I wait

Patiently noticing

sensations as they arise

The in-between moments

as a place to practice 

Presence of Grace

In this time of weightlessness

when I can’t tell what is real and what is illusion

when the chair across from me seems to

droop and sag

morphing into basset hound eyes

and squirming with discomfort

That I learn to relax

letting go of my grasp on life

It is now that I release my fixation with

fitting round pegs

into square holes

attempting to “make it work”

It is this time that I acknowledge my humanness–

not as an excuse for being

rather as a vessel for transformation

It is in this time of groundlessness

when I half expect my yoga mat

to turn into a flying carpet

that I seek comfort in the unfamiliar

because it is here where I learn to

bask in Grace 

for my mother

as i sit across from her

i am amazed

“do you know what is so awesome?”

i ask

without waiting for an answer

i reply

“that you are my mother and

that i am sitting here with you

that is awesome”

“you chose me”

she said

yes

i thought

and you were the vehicle for my arrival

you carried me for nine months

you showed me how to walk

you listened to me cry

you laughed with me

played with me

and wrote down all the stories i told you

and you still love me today

at 23 you hold my hand and tell me how much you love me

that is amazing 

in thanks of Her

then there are times when tiny phenomenon’s happen

like new life coming into this world

like a gathering of friends around a fire

like telling someone you love them

like receiving flowers

like spontaneous dance parties

like waking up early with the sun

like pancakes

like an unexpected hug

or a smile on stranger’s face

these help to remind me that love exists beyond myself

On BEING:

Be. Just Be. Be. Do. Have.

Don’t fuck with the plan.

Don’t take another life ­– that’s not yours!

Even yours, you’d be doing yourself a karmic favor to let things BE.

Just be.

Don’t kid yourself, there’s nothing to see

There ain’t nothing you need to be except

yourself from time to time.

Time is all we have and this vessel that

            you’re livin’ in is the only machine you

            get to rule for this life time 80 years or so

So realize, actualize, that there is nothin’

‘cept living.

This is it, in one form or another, the ultimate

            Truth.

Truth you ask, what is truth?

Can’t tell you, cuz I don’t know and I don’t

            really care.

Lay bare your idols and your symbols,

            show me your naked body

Un-tuck your shirt, let down your hair and

            embrace the face you were given for

            this live time. 

India, Day 31:

I've been taken apart, bit by bit
Slowly my hard edges are being whittled
As the Divine has her way with me
No profound epifanies
No radical shift in cosciousness
No shining white light or
glowing blue ball
(Contrary to populqr belief, that's not why I came)
Just a slow dance with Grace and a
kiss from her beloved mouth on my
Forehead
She has left her mark

India should wear a warning sign:
"Sense of humor required upon entry"
(And in fine print: If you wish to remain alive, sustain it)
And upon leaving
One should take into consideration that
they'll never be the same

I made a pilgrimage to a place where a holy
saint lived and died
I sat in the presense of Greatness
I climbed a mountain that Siva (the god of destruction)
stood upon
I bathed in the Bay of Bengal
I kissed Tara, Goddess of Compation
I ran my hands along stone
carvings in a temple that is over a thousand
years old

I found God
laying in the dirt on the side of the street
I saw beauty in his eyes
We cried together for the changing of times
and the lost traditions
We laughed together at the subborness of humanity
and my own insecurities
We talked about love and
He told me to tell you this:

"God is love...
God is in the world and is acting through every one of us...
True spirituality consists in our living in the world,
moving in it and serving all beings,
all the time being conscious
of the Divine within us and everywhere around us"

Sunday

I could ride for hours on the scooter if my butt didn't cramp up and my hip flexers didn't become my arch nemesis. We rode South this morning to a beach near Manallapuleram. I saw the city in fast forward with the wind in my face and the smell of the ocean in my nose.

Relaxing in a hammock beneath huge shade trees and sipping coconut milk, watching as children and adults alike play in the waves... along comes a herd of goats; Hmmm, afterall it IS still India (just in case I forgot).

Breakfast for $1.50. Let me just say that's it's a thousdand times better than Denny's and really can't compare except price wise...

Beer at 10:30AM becasue that's the way we roll when we're on vacation. Tomorrow I will head to Tiruvannamalai and continue this doscovery of self and selflessness.

As we rode home this afternoon, I witnessed my first bicycle/scooter crash. Not three feet from the front of our scooter a man hit a boy on a bike. No one was seriously hurt, and the first thought out of my head was, "Am I hurt?" No of course not, I was fine, but my body experienced exactly what the boy's did, shock, then fear, then pain. I realized in that instant how connected we are as human beings; being as one, just as the other is ourselves.

Okay, okay, I'll stop preaching, but ceriously, it was wierd.

For all of you in America getting snow, I'm missing it just slightly... actually, no, that's a lie. I'll take 80 degree heat with humidity any day! So long, fare well, my skin is glistening with sweat and my hair makes quite the mohawk with sand and sea water!

Ciao for now!

Day 3. India

On the streets of India. We took the scooters to a near by temple and parked across the street. (Crossing the streets in India is an adventure in and of itself). We dodged motors bikes, bicycles, cars, and other pedestrians, all in one piece. Leaving our shoes at the shoes stand outside I walked barefoot into the temple. The stones were hot under my feet and my tender skin burned. It felt good though, like a little reminder of being alive. Fallowing Emmanuelle, I bent down and touched the entrance stone with my right hand, then placing my fingers on my chest in an offering of gratitude. We walked around the grounds, quietly watching as others sat, chanted or ate snacks-it's the only place one can hang out without being asked to leave. We neared a shrine to the Gods of the nine planets. (Yes, there are still nine, and yes Pluto does count and probably always will). Walking counter clockwise around the shrine until the attendant motioned for me to come closer. "Stand here" his motions said and I stood as he waved a flame first in front of the statue, then in front of us. Waving his hand I walked a little closer and he gestured for me to put out my hand. Smearing ash of the fourth finger of my right hand, he indicated silently that I should rub it on my forehead. I dabbed the ash as he suggested, then he spoke. "Nine" he said. Meaning for us to walk nine times around the shrine. We did this in silence as others fallowed suit. What a glorious culture, steeped in tradition and reverence. Devotion is everywhere and people know how to pray. For what is more important than a life of Devotion? Answer me this: What would you rather do with this life, than seek the Divine? She may show up in different forms, in different ways, with different faces, yet you will know her when she speaks the Truth, calling your name from the mountain tops

That Umbrella Day

The man with the Broken Green Umbrella

What good is a broken umbrella?

One edge sags in and with each step

the corner

slaps the metal pole

showering him with

spray and getting his shoes wet

What is it that I really want to say?

WE ARE ALL THE SAME!

I want to find God

I want to find myself

I want sex,

pleasure,

chocolate,

hot tea on a rainy day.

It’s all been said before and we are dying inside

for lack of inspiration and passion

The Man says, Get a job

The People say, Give us freedom

The Women say, Love me

The Men say, Respect me

The Children say, Play with me

But we are ALL the same

We bow to a God up there –

call him by a name and give our souls

away to the church of our Desire

The prophets and the saints told us to

stand on our own two feet

We were born into this world in this form

Mary Oliver said,

“What will you do with this one wild

and precious life?”

I seek beauty and friendship

I want to walk on this Earth and not die

before my time

as an old,

wise,

woman

Shot down at the hand of someone who has

forgotten how to love

Robbed by someone who was never told how

wonderful they were

Run over by lack of attention and care

Grabbed by Cancer because pollution is everywhere

It is undeniable – seized by desire we become

slaves to our bodies

Tame those wild notions of separateness and ease

into your unique qualities – you are a person,

same as me.

I may look different than you, I may act different, I may say

some pretty obscene things, but at the core, we are

all the same.

Desire for fulfillment.

And how to obtain this you ask?

Well my lovely, there is not right way or wrong

way,

there is no set of rules

for this life,

The Bible does not say it all – how could it?

The Vedas to not

hold the ultimate truth – how could they?

I am an American, I came from entrepreneurs,

innovators, a people who cultivated in themselves

a strength to do things differently. I came

from a melting  pot of ideas and races and

origins – I am not one, separate, worthy, white,

female – I am a soul same as you.

With a brain, a pair of eyes, a set of morals,

two ears, two legs, two hands and a tongues to form sounds into

syllables to tell you how much I love you. 

Bob Dylan Cadence

I wanna pay my dues

I wanna pick and choose

The battles that I win and loose

I wanna get in the mood

With a little food for the soul

Salivate while I rotate around the globe

But wait!

Have not fear

The end is always nearer then you think

Blink, and it might just sneak up on you

Creep up on you

Pass you by

Peak into the past

Fast

Future tense

Don’t be dense, it’s just a fence

Stop sittin’ on it and get with the program

Like a diagram,

Diaphragm

BREATHE

We can only plan so far

Are you a human being?

In this body of love

Loveliness

De-stress

Confess what it is that you most desire

For I’ll hire the angels in heaven to do your bidding

Just kidding, I’m only human

But don’t retire the idea of poetess

And caress the inner edges of your heart

With the fingers of that part of you

That knows your own greatness

So the test

Let’s undress

And in our nakedness

We’ll dance

In a trance

With our pants tied around our heads

Like turbans from exotic lands

Raise your hands and solute the

Coming of Aquarius 

Show me your true nature

Because it’s your essence that I want to see

BE part of THAT world

Like a word that makes a sentence, makes a phrase, makes a paragraph, makes a book

Take a look–

What’s gonna change your life?

Like a knife

Use it, this tool, for getting rid of excess

Making smaller the bulk

And becoming more refined

Like an elephant on a dime

We remind ourselves to smile and laugh every once in a while