in the stunned silence

like a hummingbird
flitting
forward
and back
sipping the sweetness
never still
never landing
too fast to be captured

until she flies into the glass
headlong

f
a
l
l
i
n
g

in the stunned stillness
hands reach out
holding
protecting
sheltering
feeding

(not all hands hurt or capture)

dance of joy

I wrote this song with words/content from some Facebook friends today.  I’m gonna be singing it tonight at A Creative Commons Celebration hosted by The Seattle Star.  Here are the lyrics if you want to sing along:

Today I dance a dance of joy
For my ancestors and yours
I wanna break down these walls
And unlock every door.

Today I dance a dance of joy
For my ancestors and yours
I wanna break down these walls
And unlock every door.

Today, I will be kind
I’ll hug you if you don’t mind
Today is a gift
Let’s make the shift
Dance for remembrance

Come on let’s dance a dance of joy
For my ancestors and yours
Let’s break down these walls
And unlock every door.

Come on let’s dance a dance of joy
For my ancestors and yours
Let’s break down these walls
And unlock every door.

In the light of the moon
I dance for you
Under the sky so blue
I do this dance of joy for you
Grass ‘neath my toes
Wind on my thighs
I got something here
To put a glint in your eye

Today I dance a dance of joy
For my ancestors and yours
I wanna break down these walls
And unlock every door.

Timing is everything
Or so they say
Today I’m just gonna get out my own way
And play
Play
Play

Let’s dance a dance of joy
For my ancestors and yours
Let’s break down these walls
And unlock every door.

Come on let’s dance a dance of joy
For my ancestors and yours
Let’s break down these walls
And unlock every door.

11/16/17 Update:  After performing it a capella at the event, I decided I needed to add some instruments.  Spent a few minutes messing around with it in Garage Band today (Literally one take on the vocals).  Here’s the work-in-progress.

(insert Creative Commons jazz here when I have time.)

changing the room of my mind

There’s so much I want to say.  So much I could say about friendship, and belonging, and how care (or the absence of it) feels deep in the center of my being.  About feeling dehumanized so often.  Objectified.  Plunked into the fantasies and projections of men who said they loved me but didn’t show me care.

I could talk about how my ache for belonging has led me to saying yes when I knew it should be a “no”.  About how finding the courage to finally say “no” meant being cast out.  Shut out.  (Or worse.)

About how that makes me not trust anyone, especially myself.

I will write about those things and more. I  know there are others who need to these stories but today, just for today, I’ll linger on the sweet sustenance of this poem by Hafiz and just let my heart rest deep inside my animal body.

“All the Hemispheres
Leave the familiar for a while.
Let your senses and bodies stretch out

Like a welcomed season
Onto the meadow and shores and hills.

Open up to the Roof.
Make a new watermark on your excitement
And love.

Like a blooming night flower,
Bestow your vital fragrance of happiness
And giving
Upon our intimate assembly.

Change rooms in your mind for a day.

All the hemispheres in existence
Lie beside an equator
In your heart.

Greet Yourself
In your thousand other forms
As you mount the hidden tide and travel
Back home.

All the hemispheres in heaven
Are sitting around a fire
Chatting

While stitching themselves together
Into the Great Circle inside of
You.”

~Hafiz

Update:  After I wrote this, I went to yoga with one of my favorite teachers, Ashley.  At the end of class, she put my head in her hands and gently said, “I’ve got you girl.”  Quiet tears rolled down my cheeks.

Trust is earned but we have to remember to open to it.  Opening…

we mend (and love) what is within our reach

I’ve taken to daily mediation walks. It’s nourishing to my spirit and helps ground me to my purpose. I walk for 30 minutes then journal until I feel complete.  Here is today’s reflection:

A cat visits, twining itself around my legs for a while. I pet it and also just let it be , allowing it to enjoy the feeling of its fur on my bare legs (I enjoyed that too).

A little girl in a black, velvet dress rocks gently in a swing. The kind of swing with a back. She smiles. I tell her she looks peaceful. She nods.

Three older girls are playing on the hill above her. In the dirt. The kick it up then oddly dust themselves off. Then get dirty again. I want to tell them it’s okay to be dirty. To get dirty and messy and stay that way.

A hummingbird flies straight up into the blue sky. Like an elevator. I am in awe not only of their abilities but their ability to fill my heart with joy every time I see them.

This moment is saturated in peace and yet I want to leave. This is always true for me. I have such a restless soul. When something is peaceful and beautiful, I appreciate it but then want to explore something new.  I’ve come to accept this about myself.

I move a small snail off the pavement. It’s dry and would take a long time for it to reach the grass. It’s a small act of kindness.  It will die anyway. Maybe today. Maybe by a small child climbing the enormous cedar tree I placed it under.

But we do what we can, we tend to what is in our reach.  Reminds me of this quote by one of my favorite teachers:

“Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach.”  ~Clarissa Pinkola Estes

bare

IMG_20160301_095142 I read an article recently that recommended walking with bare feet.  I’ve been dutifully trotting outside each morning while I wait for my coffee to brew and walking on the little gravel patch on the side of the house.

Back and forth.  Bare legs.  Bare arms.  Bare feet.

The rocks are hard and cold on my tender feet.  It hurts.  I feel the nerves in my legs responding and muscles contracting.  I feel where I am unstable and where I overcompensate. It’s fascinating and disturbing but answers some questions about my body.  Doing this makes me feel very vulnerable.  I become aware of things I need to change and of the temporal nature of life.  It’s also making me feel stronger and more alive, day by day.

I’m finding that love is a lot like this.

Continue reading “bare”