Some people heal and some never do
Some people die while others survive.
Who is to say what is the natural state of the world?
Life and death are intertwined
A covering blanket woven of many living and dying threads.
Who knows the time allotted?
Who knows the one who allots the time?
We live, we die, sooner, or later.
We do this thing together without ever knowing
Where the empty space will appear.
Wishes become prayers
when you say them outloud.
Someone is always listening
at the Office of Sound.
Shifts change rapidly,
but answers are forthcoming,
Just not in the order
you request them.
12/18/2010
Chapel, temple, ashram, tepee:
Kneel, bow, sit, stand. Believe or be damned.
Feed the hungry, dress the naked. Confess. Confess.
Guilt disguises herself in good deeds.
Embrace the arms of law:
Have faith in the system. Do no harm.
Walk/don’t walk. Stay inside the lines.
Keep curfew. Be responsible. Pay your fines.
Ignorance is no excuse. Obey or face the crime.
Control wears regulation uniforms.
Early, elementary, middle, high, lower, upper, post:
Read to be complete. Write of knowledgeable things,
Learn and be respected, or be rejected.
A pressure party of exams and expectations,
potential jobs with long credentials.
Education is buried by degrees.
Parents make demands:
Put on a happy face. Know your place.
Wash your hands. Be polite day and night.
Listen, or be lost to social discrimination.
Fear is best served hot under a crust of imitation.
The people are speaking revolution:
Work with us for our solution.
We are at the brink. Don’t look, don’t think.
Collaborate through conformity.
Cooperate or be the enemy.
Ignorance snuggles in the bed of unity.
I prayed, obeyed, stayed, played the game,
went to school, learned the rules.
I spent myself in trying to please.
I went so far that no one sees
ME anymore –
just the shell of someone else’s dream.
Collateral damage in this war.
1/2011
I am a voice in the streets:
Lost in the wind storm of traffic,
In the rushing swirl of others’ deadlines,
In the clatter of coins falling into paper cups,
in the silence of frozen nights
under concrete bridges and cardboard huts.
I am the mother you once claimed,
The son who came back maimed
From a war I didn’t understand.
I am the father who failed to provide.
I have no plan, no dream, no pride.
I am the daughter who screamed for you to stop
until I crawled into this other land
where you would never look.
Then he took my hand, and gave me gloves,
and some kind of backwards love.
He gave me safety and food, and made me happy.
He sent me out and said, Be good to your daddy.
All I have to do is remember that he is you.
1/20/2011
From my booklet Thoughts From Cahuita.
The cutter has come
With roaring splendor
To chop the grass.
No time to talk.
No language to say,
This that is mine,
Is borrowed land.
2008
What if I told the truth?
How can I distinguish
between my changeable reality
and what is really real?
Have I spent too much time
discovering the basics?
Am I too late?
How can I develop true humility?
Why am I wasting my time?
Whose time is it anyway?
Do I have a purpose
other than my own will?
Why can’t I learn something useful
and keep it always?
Why do I forget?
Is this the dark night of my soul
or only the dim light of dusk?
There is something I could be doing right now
that would be a real accomplishment.
I wish I could think what it is.
1995
This, too
shall pass
is passing
passed
past.
2008
I am standing in the “Tree Ripened” section
of Joe’s Palace of Fruits and Vegetables,
trying to find just the right mix for a summer salad.
Little round peaches as hard as tennis balls sit in a corner.
I stroke one in a polite gesture of consideration.
But in my heart, I know these will never do.
I remember how peaches are supposed to be:
Fuzz as soft as a kitten’s belly and skin the color of an October sunset.
And the first bite, I can still taste it. The flesh firm but giving.
I am sinking into the sweetest sweet. Juice leaking out my mouth.
I am standing in the little orchard we tried to grow.
You are tanned in layers and I run my finger along each shirtline
as you strip down to meet the afternoon sun.
Each time you sink the shovel into the sticky earth
the skin of your Levis pulls tight and offers you up in smooth, firm portions.
I am calling out to the clouds, the starlings,
the woodpecker whom I hated only this morning.
“Yes!” I call to them, “This is it! Oh, yes!”
I am moaning and humming and the peach,
blessed peach, is surrendering every drop to me.
And another, and another.
There are only seven, for the tree is young and small,
so I save a few for you to taste, thinking, after all, they are yours, too.
You know this tree even though you left it far behind.
The leaves have started to curl into themselves,
making green bubbles along each surface.
If I think about it long enough,
I can still feel that hard fist of tears buried in my throat.
I am pouring water into the moat at the base of the trunk,
staring at the popcorn leaves. How could they change so quickly?
When next I see you, I give you the one remaining peach,
offering it up with outstretched arm, a sacred oblation.
I am proud to sacrifice this treasure. I tell you:
this is the sweetest peach you will ever eat, ever again.
You cock your head and study me, then the peach.
“Let me look at that tree,” you say, and we walk together to the holy ground.
You caress the leaves between your fingers
the way you used to stroke the denim seam along my thigh,
your mind having drifted far away from me.
You tell me that the tree is dying, the peaches are sweet from stress.
Knowing this peach is the last of its kind, still, I let you hold it.
I give it freely but with regret.
I can’t buy peaches anymore.
1982
Part I (March 2008)
A well-placed fist is not murder if in self-defense
But a blade is quicker than the hand.
A gun is more effective than a knife.
A bomb thrown from a distance Is easier on the conscience.
And from a plane,
mental damage to the bomber Is negligible.
There are always exceptions to The Rule.
Protect yourselves at all costs!
Part 2 (June 2008)
Thou Shalt not Kill
the spirit,
ridicule others,
tear them down,
trick them,
manipulate them,
bend them to your will.
Thou shalt not think thou art better than anyone,
Or higher, or more loved.
Nor shalt thou
humiliate,
subjugate,
degrade
or destroy.
Is that clear enough?
To the One we call upon,
in many tongues,
dialects,
and voices.
We use so many names
and we are heard,
we are heard.
Miracles,
energy,
spirit,
all from the same source.
The One,
manifesting itself
in all directions,
in all faces,
all voices,
all names.
All One.
March 2008