Chef Shinay (mostly notes to self, but you never know, these may come in handy for you too!)

Rule number 1:

Never leave the kitchen.

I’m prone to distraction which yields burnt pot bottoms (while writing letters) or leaving the oven on (after I remember I need to run to the post office, bank, and then get caught in a book store)… all morning.

Rule number 2:

Taste everything before serving it. Key words: more salt (or butter, or Braggs or lemon or fire).

Rule number 3:

Don’t cook while you’re hungry. This yields consuming most of what I’m making before it’s all put together. (Which is fine but then I forget how much I've eaten and when it comes time to sit down, I'm no longer hungry.) 

Late Night Poem

There’s such a bad rap about staying up late lately

All the health professionals will tell you that it’s better to eat before 7 and be in bed before 10 (sounds like when I was ten).

But that’s when my muse comes out to play!

She’s satiated by late-night episodes of wine, cherries, and pop-corn.

When the sun goes down my synapses fire faster,

Because in the mid-day heat I can’t see strait. 

I’m 25 and I still believe I can have it all—

In a tea cup, a man, and a bag of whatever.

Would you tell your child not to reach for the stars?

Are you still reaching for the stars, or…

Have you succumb to that holler about low-carb, no protein, strictly green diets?

What about the craving?

Is She satisfied with one kind of herbal tea and oatmeal?

Are you neurotic.

Sometimes being Adult means choosing to stay up late, going out dancing, drinking too much, swearing just for fuck’s sake, and knowingly having unprotected sex.

It’s my choice

To let the muse out.

She’s bursting at the seams and needs a little Healing!

Too much, too little, not enough, wanting, caring, forgetting, indulging, being irresponsible, talk back to me and we can scream at each other until there’s blood on the page and, after all, that’s what they want to see—no guts no glory.

Get up early, greet the dawn as She steams in my open window.

It’s June and summer’s just approaching.

Let go of your inhibitions.

Try to BE somebody useful.

Make good art.

Say thank you, because later might be too late.

It’s late, and I’m not even tired.

The screen door’s open wide and the cool breeze prickles my skin.

Who is She and where am I?

Give me something to Work with!

I’m down on my knees begging, no better than that man on the corner with the sign:

“Homeless, Broke, anything Helps.”

So why all this separation and desperation to connect?

I’M STANDING RIGHT HERE!

What ever happened to those days when guys actually ran after the girls, catching up to them, gently tugging their arm, and asking with their eyes, “Do you love me?”

All I’m saying is fear and technology ruin everything.  

From July 2011

Ever wonder what shape life would take if you let it? 

Squares, they rule my world. 

Packing boxes, pillows, computer screen, picture frames, dance floors...

Square t-shirts, my bed, my kitchen counter, even my bathroom mirror. 

As I look at my reflection, I see no squares. 

To look at squares, nice clean lines, predictable limits–

Closed doors, open doors, doorways to walk through. 

Sharp right angles, cutting into time and space. 

Making boundaries where none were before. 

Fences. Dish rags. Billboard signs. 

Arbitrary edges in a world that's not so strait...

Circles, I wonder what life would be like if circles ruled the world? 

Don't blame me for bad poetry this evening. I know it's bad and it's okay. Just skip this one and hope the next time is better. 

They're at it again, those squawking ravens.
I think a squirrel stole their eggs, or tormented their babies.
They're at it again with loud shrieks of indignation!
If only the world were fair... to a crow it means life or death,
to the human beings it means a red car or a black one.

I'm changing it up a bit, or so I'd like to think:
10:30pm and it's my bedtime.
I'm dressed to go out dancing but instead I'll find my way between the sheets with only my memories of  your arms around me for comfort.
I want to be HAD by the Divine.
I want to be chewed by God and spit back out–
I'll take ABC Shinay any day over this half-brained, self-sabotaging, 25-year-old suit.

Goodnight.
Time to write but there's no more strings of wobbly words coming out of this one tonight.
So waddya say chickies?
Shall we meet in our dreams and go dancing for a while before those blasted crows start again?

Chennai, India Day 40

I'm wedged in the door frame. My knees butt up against the screen and my back presses the open door. My ankles grind into the hard stone tile just to get a bit of internet. It's almost five in the evening here and still hot. Jesse and Emmanuelle sleep off lunch and in the next room and I chew a Halls and try and write something down. There's something about being far away (physically) that coaxes me to write more than just words for entertainment's sake. What am I doing here? One might ask. To tell you the truth, I'm not really sure. Most days I'm not sure of truth, so all I have are the facts and my faith in the divine dance of life. Oh geeze what the hell does that mean, Shinay? Not another rant about G-O-D. Something's happened to me, when I'm in India (or maybe it's just easier here) I feel that there is no separation between dhal and god, or coconut juice and god, or smiles and god.

A few great metaphors for today:
First, driving in India. The Indian are terrible at backing up. At first I was like, What the hell guys, what is your deal? Then I realized that it is only my responsibility to pay attention to what is in front of me. The Indians automatically assume that if they are in front of you and they stop, it's your problem to go around them, or stop. Likewise, when I'm walking down the road (literally in the middle of the roam because sidewalks here are a joke) all I have to worry about is what's right in front of me going forward. No need to turn around when I slow down or change directions; that's their problem.

Second, (again walking down the street) I was in front of my friend, Emmanuelle, and we were just walking along going someplace and I didn't know where we were going, but trusted that she'd tell me if I was going in the wrong direction. But something inside of me made me turn around and ask, "Am I going the right way?" She smiled and nodded and said, "Yup! And that's a great metaphor for Divine Influence. We have to trust that if we're headed in the wrong direction, we'll be told (in one way or another) and corrected back in the right direction." Wow, that's a good one to remember.

We hopped in a jitney back home. Grabbed a cold Pepsi and walked the rest of the way down the road sipping our cold drink. The noise from the street and a crow sharpening his beat on the railing outside brings me back to the present.

Remembering to be present.