Days Gone By

There are memories of the
stars,
the milky way spread
venerable and open
shooting over the west facing ridge,

of climbing mountain tops
and finding god in a hailstorm
that passes quickly
and opens the sky to
a sunset that weaves out over
the world,
covering the pines and cedars
in calming hues of red and pink,

of days spent next to lakes
whose watery backbones rub
against sheer rock outcroppings
in a gentle fashion that I have
never been able to
mimic,

of small birds flitting and
darting in the manzanita
and of friendships
formed over the laughter of a fire.

We Have Found

Sometimes, right before bed,

we press our foreheads together as if in prayer

while arms wrap torsos

legs and feet find footing on knees

and thighs,

the bridges on each nose line up and

our eyes close.

This is animal love:
how bodies speak in the dark
and trill the sounds of
passion through the harmonics of breath.

Finding refuge in between my
forehead and yours
has become the easiest way to reach
god.

Turn the light down low
and
let us pray. 

What Love

Last night I dreamt of meeting a friend's new baby. 

She presented it to me - a boy- with all motherly

 love and conviction. 

She smiled, cooed, and 

doted over her little one. But the baby had

been born 

in 

pieces. 

While she held the limbless body 

tucked against her neck, 

the little one's head was on the carpet

next to an arm, a leg. 

In the dream she must have seen my worry for

she patiently explained how,

slowly,

the baby would become 

whole

and 

normal. 

She wasn't worried, she was happy, content, and beaming love.

I awoke sad and not a

little disturbed. I can still still remember

the blue eyes of her boy

and how I tried to make sure that no one

stepped on the little arms.

I can still remember that effortless 

love that she radiated

and wonder what that would be like

to wear for a day.

For a day to trust that

it will all work out.

To believe that what I make will 

add up to something

beautiful and

heart stopping.

To have faith

faith 

faith

that pesky word that 

at times

seems to be too heavy to carry and I

cast it off to hold something easier like

maybe

or

probably.

I held that baby - even if in my dream I was 

slightly repulsed by him-

for I would never turn away from 

a friend's child,

so why turn away from myself?

Am I afraid that the world will see that I am

not whole

that growing still needs me

or I need it?

When did I give myself the Title of Most Unworthy One?

It is time to 

take hold of my most repulsing self and

love it like a friend's child

with all the joy and 

hope for a future,

with all love and compassion

with all belief and faith and love.

Snow in the Evening

I am, hot chocolate in hand,
judging the barista who made it for her high
pitched
winey
voice.
I can feel my throat tighten up when
she talks
how constricted my own
vocal chords would have to be
to reach the height of her lilting
speech.
A part of me wants to liberate that part of her,
saying,
you can get my attention with out
the girlish squeal
without the definite screech of girlhood, which
she is far past.

Maybe it is how her mother spoke. Her
grandmother before that. Maybe they
both died before she
grew and her voice is
everything they left behind.
How much of me is struggling to hang on
to my mother,
her anxiety
her mood swings
her lumbering humor which endears far before it alienates.

Who am I to judge when I
too hold on to family
traits like I
would have my childhood blanket?
My sister's pride
my father's wandering spirit
and the way he can vanish
in a moment.
Their faults and attributes fall on my heart and
mound up like snow on boulders
I am an amalgamation of them,
and they,
me.

Who are we but a
continuation of each other?
Surround yourself with
people who rain down joy and love
because they will
pile on top of those wounds left
years ago and
heal
heal
heal
you and allow you to spin brightly into the world.

Sparkle and Fade and Sparkle Again into the Night

It's almost a gift that no one,

except you,

reads what I write here.

How long has it been that I've actually felt like writing?

A few years

but

the disconnect from such a love feels like an

eternity

and a part of me still laughs as 

my hands don't remember 

line breaks or how to 

unweave a thought

through 

syllables.

It will return,

it always does but for

now I'll 

chuckle at my own trippings

and trappings of a 

young writer

whose voice is tangled up

in cobwebs

from the years is sat

alone and 

dusty in the attic of

my life.

Move On - Move Out

Fall is having a hard time leaving our little valley. I tend to understand - it can be easy to see such a beautiful place to lay down and sleep through the cold season to come. The oaks would never mind Fall's extended stay and I am sure that the pines and meadows would eventually come around to the change. Bright red leaves still hang like decorations on the maple behind my house and I can admit that the colors are eye catching to my soul

but

I am yearning for winter. I love seeing the skeleton of the world as the chill peels back all of god's manicured beauty. I think that you can find the fighters, the motivated, the alive and thriving easier in the dark of winter. There is no space for half-hearted warm-weather friends or weak relations. Celebrate celebrate celebrate the shortening days as a reminder to live life to the last drop. My nose turns red in the air and I am reminded I am alive and well as others around me bemoan the weather as a personal affront. Can't you see that in

winter

the world is telling us to be grateful for every second? Watch the snowfall and know that soon the days will be longer and wistful. For now hunker down and count the gems around you, count the shining sparkling moments that at other times you would pass over. Fall, please move on to the next valley. I need to feel the depth of my heart as the temperature

drops

and the world weaves a new skin to cover what has been exposed.

Things I am Grateful For (There is More to Life Than Depression)

Yesterday I ran up a trail somewhere in the hills above my house,
and fell.
Runner's tenacity built and I picked myself up and kept running,
palms bloody and dirtier than spit and my t-shirt could clean
no water on that adventure and the trail continued to climb higher.
As I crested the ridge line I had been traversing, home lay out before me
like an old painting
madrones and ponderosas framing
the houses and roads far below
and I felt the peace that exhaustion and
blood letting bring my animal body.

Later, post
shower and shaking limbs steady,
you cleaned out my wounds over the sink,
digging out the dirt with a kitchen knife
and scrubbing out the gravel even as I sobbed
begged you to stop
you soothed me,
kissed my neck and
held me - not even laughing at my
childish aversion to pain.

What more do I need in the world?
Even when I storm, you
carry on
and light the way for me to follow,
holding my hand when I finally
catch up
and holding no grudge that it was you that had to lead the way.

Never forget that
it was always you
Never forget that.

Some days it is me,
comforting and supporting,

but I will never forget that yesterday
I saw you love me deeper than I thought you could
and love you more for the dirt
you scrubbed painfully away
from my life.