That's my Sarah girl.
and there we are cracking up
again.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
me and sarah's corner spot
I had such a good time with Sarah in the city. Here is the cafe we stayed many more hours than we expected, I think, and had a good hefty talk in the corner.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
my desk and bedroom
my room has a new calm. it feels better. rae and i prayed (torches together)
thankyou room
The Torch show
I could live in the Women's bathroom at the Paramount.
My night at Tori Amos (continued).The moral of the story, is the Tori Show made me sad. As amazing as it was, something was off. she was like an idol, it was the same songs and same melancholy and it was all about her. it was not life giving. Rae felt it too, even being her fourth Tori Show. We wrote Tori a note at the end telling her first of our love for her but then telling her how we were both struck with the way she was propped up like an idol. we went on, "if you make yourself low, He will come." and more... and we were convicted. we were embarassed. we weren't sure, and we were gonna do it. and we kept writing the note over. we waited and waited at the back door for an hour. and when she finally came out she ducked in the waiting car, and drove off. our note in our hand. But it was ok.
last night we called it this,
that that the Tori Night was our Torch Night. It torched something important, and how strange that last night we both had a very concerning episode, of enountering someone lost, and both getting it, and being too scared, didn't know what to do.
we prayed into the night last night and it felt good.
(sigh) The Paramount
I went to the Paramount in Oakland to see Tori Amos.The most beautiful venue I've ever seen.
More beautiful than even anything in Italy I saw.
The Women's bathroom was marvelous. Everything was Art Deco and there were lots of mirrors and chairs.
I was enamored.
Monday, December 17, 2007
All things dawning
all things dawning.
somehow i feel so much better this morning. i'm so tired this morning, and just had a large soy latte and i feel myself emerging.
Joann is due back from hungary on Wednesday.
Cliff and i had a great night last night after a horrible weekend.
we talked with lee. i liked how lee put it. Just to say "Come along" giving little ideas to cliff on how to bring it, how to form it and help me (us) along.
cliff wore his sports jacket and his green shirt. he took me downtown. we got him a nice hat. he asked "I wonder what you call this hat? what kind of hat is this?" and i said "I think it's a nice hat." and that sufficed. and i could see the hat was putting him in a good mood.
later his outburst "I love this hat!" i had the best coffee from Bad-Ass Coffee.
i can't believe the turn around yesterday. the pleasant spaces. the smiles and the good relishing. even his voice was different, he talked about everything as if excited. we stopped at food bin and grabbed chips and the soy creamer. and all around was a good trust. talking to me nicely. me in a well-expectant place.
us finally giving-up to this needed puddle of happiness.
so . . . .
Content today.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
my messy room and Sunday night
my room is messy, or things at least are not put away. my laundry is still hanging, i should be hanging it up, but i'm not im writing, i'm finally writing and words are being chiselled for these poems for a couple of Vintage Faith Services. and i'm happy, i'm getting somewhere, into little wheres and thinking about what i've weared out this year and what i'm wearing still this year. i'm talking metaphor, ok! and i'm going back and forth in Isaiah, and i'm feeling pretty filled. and not quite as almost sick, and i still have 3 books to read i keep nibbling and i'm closer to the beat now for one of my poems and the week is way too full with how am i going to do it, but i know i will.....and my heater is on and it's warm in my room and the light also is warm and i have a great box now with flowers on it that's sitting on my desk it's for the MPS group to put our letters and our group poems in and i really like the box i will be happy to bring it to group, and i think i need a box too, i think i always need a pretty box like this in Ramona my car. and i had all these terrific moments that i fell into this weekend, like when Sarah came down Friday afternnon surprise visit to see my acupuncturist and she stayed and slept and i snuck away to the Gospel hip hop show and i was one of the only ones that came so they cancelled but they gave me their CDs and me and Sarah cruzed downtown with the hiphop blasting, it was like thug style but it was all about jesus and it made us smile and get so stoked and we rolled down the windows and rolled and were feeling it, then we met Cliff and a whole group of people at the 515 cocktail place, i didn't drink but we sat up on the balcony with the christmas lights and talked and it was like mad greatness to be with everybody.....and then in the most of my weekend i was chronically not able to make decisions about what to do and i was so sad about not going to CArmen's housewarming party in SF asmuch as i wanted to see her and jason and weird mike. i had all this mound of sorrow about it, but i was feeling like i was going to get sick so i stayed and then cliff said come over and i did and i had the beer with Stow balls and him at 99 bottles and it was a very chill night as they say which was uncharacteristics of most of my little nights and so the whole way everything was being layed down was good, then i looked at poetry at bookshop santa cruz and me and cliff read a book and he was excited about it and that made me excited. then i went home, then cliff spun at church in the morning, and i went to church at night too and somehow at the night service in the coffee shop i finally started writing, writing a flow for these poems for the christmas service and my hiphop show next weekend, and there is a new piece that is very different from my most. and so i am happy tonight, and i go to the bed.
my messy room and Sunday night
my room is messy, or things at least are not put away. my laundry is still hanging, i should be hanging it up, but i'm not im writing, i'm finally writing and words are being chiselled for these poems for a couple of Vintage Faith Services. and i'm happy, i'm getting somewhere, into little wheres and thinking about what i've weared out this year and what i'm wearing still this year. i'm talking metaphor, ok! and i'm going back and forth in Isaiah, and i'm feeling pretty filled. and not quite as almost sick, and i still have 3 books to read i keep nibbling and i'm closer to the beat now for one of my poems and the week is way too full with how am i going to do it, but i know i will.....and my heater is on and it's warm in my room and the light also is warm and i have a great box now with flowers on it that's sitting on my desk it's for the MPS group to put our letters and our group poems in and i really like the box i will be happy to bring it to group, and i think i need a box too, i think i always need a pretty box like this in Ramona my car. and i had all these terrific moments that i fell into this weekend, like when Sarah came down Friday afternnon surprise visit to see my acupuncturist and she stayed and slept and i snuck away to the Gospel hip hop show and i was one of the only ones that came so they cancelled but they gave me their CDs and me and Sarah cruzed downtown with the hiphop blasting, it was like thug style but it was all about jesus and it made us smile and get so stoked and we rolled down the windows and rolled and were feeling it, then we met Cliff and a whole group of people at the 515 cocktail place, i didn't drink but we sat up on the balcony with the christmas lights and talked and it was like mad greatness to be with everybody.....and then in the most of my weekend i was chronically not able to make decisions about what to do and i was so sad about not going to CArmen's housewarming party in SF asmuch as i wanted to see her and jason and weird mike. i had all this mound of sorrow about it, but i was feeling like i was going to get sick so i stayed and then cliff said come over and i did and i had the beer with Stow balls and him at 99 bottles and it was a very chill night as they say which was uncharacteristics of most of my little nights and so the whole way everything was being layed down was good, then i looked at poetry at bookshop santa cruz and me and cliff read a book and he was excited about it and that made me excited. then i went home, then cliff spun at church in the morning, and i went to church at night too and somehow at the night service in the coffee shop i finally started writing, writing a flow for these poems for the christmas service and my hiphop show next weekend, and there is a new piece that is very different from my most. and so i am happy tonight, and i go to the bed.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
flag
Lord, Flag my ship down. Flag in my ship.
Flagging. up with my flag or down.
Lord, where is the rain?
where is that covering?
Lordflaginmy posts.
Writersblock.
I am becoming unlost.
Iamwantingthe big looms
Flagging. up with my flag or down.
Lord, where is the rain?
where is that covering?
Lordflaginmy posts.
Writersblock.
I am becoming unlost.
Iamwantingthe big looms
Sunday, November 18, 2007
November, this very week in November
right about here in the week of November 6th to November 13th/14th is my favorite week of the year. It is my favorite time of the year. it is right here, pretty much. i am working so hard at work, and i am doing well.
Friday we went to this new Cambodian restaurant in Scotts Valley, me, Cliff, and Alice. It was a overwhelming coversation. I was eating a very chewy piece of chicken. I started choking on it. This big piece got stuck right at the top of my throat. but it was totally obvious pretty quick, no air was getting down. my air was blocked. i started patting the table and pointing to my throat. Alice said "She's choking!" Cliff said, "she needs the heimlick!" in this jolly way. He tried from the side, we stood up, and he did it again, and a piece of meat dropped out. It didn't take much, i don't think it was stuck too bad. but OH man! That was scarry. it was so scarry! my throat felt all bruised or like it had been hit or something, like this weird pressure....
I went on a hike with baam. with the girls. i was like a little puppy, i was so excited. i was doing little salutes in the air and kicking my legs up as Alice and i approached Amanda and B. We were all so grateful to be with each other. i was all delighted like a little kid.
i miss blogging. i miss just having little things that pile up to talk about. this was my Just-before-bed attempt....
Friday we went to this new Cambodian restaurant in Scotts Valley, me, Cliff, and Alice. It was a overwhelming coversation. I was eating a very chewy piece of chicken. I started choking on it. This big piece got stuck right at the top of my throat. but it was totally obvious pretty quick, no air was getting down. my air was blocked. i started patting the table and pointing to my throat. Alice said "She's choking!" Cliff said, "she needs the heimlick!" in this jolly way. He tried from the side, we stood up, and he did it again, and a piece of meat dropped out. It didn't take much, i don't think it was stuck too bad. but OH man! That was scarry. it was so scarry! my throat felt all bruised or like it had been hit or something, like this weird pressure....
I went on a hike with baam. with the girls. i was like a little puppy, i was so excited. i was doing little salutes in the air and kicking my legs up as Alice and i approached Amanda and B. We were all so grateful to be with each other. i was all delighted like a little kid.
i miss blogging. i miss just having little things that pile up to talk about. this was my Just-before-bed attempt....
Friday, October 12, 2007
make a little pond
Thom said this on October 10th 2007 when "in rainbows" was released:
There's a whole endless thing going on out there. You make your little pond but if your pond isn't connected to the river, which isn't connected to an ocean, it's just going to dry up. It's just a little piss pool. I've lived too long to be happy in a pond."
in rainbow.
Thankyou radiohead for this sweetest pond. with the little river coming into it. I pray the river would get bigger. Thankyou for getting it and making the sounds. the perfect sounds for now. How do you always do that? thankyou for meeting me here in the 2007 morning. Thankyou for bringing me here. i am so happy. thankyou for coming with me in this wonder. thankyou for this return and this dream.
There's a whole endless thing going on out there. You make your little pond but if your pond isn't connected to the river, which isn't connected to an ocean, it's just going to dry up. It's just a little piss pool. I've lived too long to be happy in a pond."
in rainbow.
Thankyou radiohead for this sweetest pond. with the little river coming into it. I pray the river would get bigger. Thankyou for getting it and making the sounds. the perfect sounds for now. How do you always do that? thankyou for meeting me here in the 2007 morning. Thankyou for bringing me here. i am so happy. thankyou for coming with me in this wonder. thankyou for this return and this dream.
in rainbows
Radiohead came out with "in rainbows" came out on 10-10. I love it! I am drinking it in, I am sitting here blinking!
4. Weird Fishes/Arpeggi
"I get eaten by the worms
Weird fishes
Weird fishes
Weird fishes
This song I just want to dance around my room. I came home yesterday and put this song on and took down the photos and put down the photos of my gorgeous life now. I danced around my room.
2. "Body Snatchers"
This is the song [catchy intro, upbeat, poppy] where I see Joann in Hungary. I see her walking briskly around some torn-apart street in Budapest. I see her going to or fro.
I hear this song with it's fab beat and see her like you'd see in a movie, that "in-between" sum-up overview scene that the movie doesn't have the time fo follow, giving you the quick run-through of the movie's character: meets the big city/or falling in love/getting hurried along/getting adjusted to city life,/getting their last-minute things for the party. That scene where the music blares and you watch the dashes of my protaganist here, there, going through this and that and the meeting and greeting. Joann is my protaganist!
Track 2 has this U.S.S.R. edge. like "Back in the USSR" like we're finally landing in the Eastern Slovic Block and we're rocking-out old school like we all need scratchy rock-n-roll.
Track 2: is where I see my protaginist coming out on her little city step, walking out the tiny door. Coming out to budapest. I see her walking and people walking alongside her. I see her passing people. I see her taking everything in. I see her buying some fruit and the man asking for more money, I see her getting her change out and counting it. I see her greeting and going along and going in the little shops. I see her busy and I see her waiting for the bus.
Joann! I am squeezing my fists!
"I do not
Understand
What it is
I've done wrong
Full of holes
Check the pulse
Blink your eyes
One for yes.
Two for no.
......
Make a sound
Move back home
Get an invitation
With the edges
Sawn off"
7. I am so happy right now. I feel like my life is in rainbows. I am being so truly blessed.
I feel like I'm walking upon a land of gold. Clifford is shining in His light and he is so kind.
There is a new pouring.
When I went to the Charismatic church on Sunday a man from Uganda did the preaching. His name was Hudson and he had the biggest smile. At the end everyone just went into their own spaces worshipping, standing before the Lord. Hudson was praying over people.
I saw that big glass change jar. (one that looked like C's big jar of change, the same very one that he came over for,and we prayed just cuz we were grateful and asked God "how do we tend your garden" and the doorbellrand and there was a man covered in tattoos of skulls and death at the door asking for $30 to move into his clean and sober living home. we didn't have enough in bills, but i remembered the glass jug of change, and we dumped the change out and we had just enough with$2 extra and we gave him all our change)
on Sunday I saw the big glass change jar. I saw it breaking open. I saw the change/coins pouring forth/flying out. I said "Jesus I want to be a wonderful vessel" I was feeling His wonderfulness overflowing. Right then I felt someone put something in my hands. My eyes were closed and my hands were open before me. I opened my eyes to see a bottle of water. A bottle full of water. I drank it and it tasted/smelled like roses and flowers and a garden. It was dasani which usually tastes flat and plastic to me, but this did not taste like that. this tasted like wonderfulness.
The LORD was saying He will fill me with His water, this is the kind of vessel he wants me to carry his water overflowing. like He is saying "the point is not to be a clear vessel (what i was always praying about before), but to be an overflowing vessel of my water, my wonderfulness)
4. Weird Fishes/Arpeggi
"I get eaten by the worms
Weird fishes
Weird fishes
Weird fishes
This song I just want to dance around my room. I came home yesterday and put this song on and took down the photos and put down the photos of my gorgeous life now. I danced around my room.
2. "Body Snatchers"
This is the song [catchy intro, upbeat, poppy] where I see Joann in Hungary. I see her walking briskly around some torn-apart street in Budapest. I see her going to or fro.
I hear this song with it's fab beat and see her like you'd see in a movie, that "in-between" sum-up overview scene that the movie doesn't have the time fo follow, giving you the quick run-through of the movie's character: meets the big city/or falling in love/getting hurried along/getting adjusted to city life,/getting their last-minute things for the party. That scene where the music blares and you watch the dashes of my protaganist here, there, going through this and that and the meeting and greeting. Joann is my protaganist!
Track 2 has this U.S.S.R. edge. like "Back in the USSR" like we're finally landing in the Eastern Slovic Block and we're rocking-out old school like we all need scratchy rock-n-roll.
Track 2: is where I see my protaginist coming out on her little city step, walking out the tiny door. Coming out to budapest. I see her walking and people walking alongside her. I see her passing people. I see her taking everything in. I see her buying some fruit and the man asking for more money, I see her getting her change out and counting it. I see her greeting and going along and going in the little shops. I see her busy and I see her waiting for the bus.
Joann! I am squeezing my fists!
"I do not
Understand
What it is
I've done wrong
Full of holes
Check the pulse
Blink your eyes
One for yes.
Two for no.
......
Make a sound
Move back home
Get an invitation
With the edges
Sawn off"
7. I am so happy right now. I feel like my life is in rainbows. I am being so truly blessed.
I feel like I'm walking upon a land of gold. Clifford is shining in His light and he is so kind.
There is a new pouring.
When I went to the Charismatic church on Sunday a man from Uganda did the preaching. His name was Hudson and he had the biggest smile. At the end everyone just went into their own spaces worshipping, standing before the Lord. Hudson was praying over people.
I saw that big glass change jar. (one that looked like C's big jar of change, the same very one that he came over for,and we prayed just cuz we were grateful and asked God "how do we tend your garden" and the doorbellrand and there was a man covered in tattoos of skulls and death at the door asking for $30 to move into his clean and sober living home. we didn't have enough in bills, but i remembered the glass jug of change, and we dumped the change out and we had just enough with$2 extra and we gave him all our change)
on Sunday I saw the big glass change jar. I saw it breaking open. I saw the change/coins pouring forth/flying out. I said "Jesus I want to be a wonderful vessel" I was feeling His wonderfulness overflowing. Right then I felt someone put something in my hands. My eyes were closed and my hands were open before me. I opened my eyes to see a bottle of water. A bottle full of water. I drank it and it tasted/smelled like roses and flowers and a garden. It was dasani which usually tastes flat and plastic to me, but this did not taste like that. this tasted like wonderfulness.
The LORD was saying He will fill me with His water, this is the kind of vessel he wants me to carry his water overflowing. like He is saying "the point is not to be a clear vessel (what i was always praying about before), but to be an overflowing vessel of my water, my wonderfulness)
Thursday, October 04, 2007
That I would be good
by Alanis Morissette
that I would be good even if I did nothing
that I would be good even if I got the thumbs down
that I would be good if I got and stayed sick
that I would be good even if I gained ten pounds
that I would be fine even if I went bankrupt
that I would be good if I lost my hair and my youth
that I would be great if I was no longer queen
that I would be grand if I was not all knowing
that I would be loved even when I numb myself
that I would be good even when I am overwhelmed
that I would be loved even when I was fuming
that I would be good even if I was clingy
that I would be good even if I lost sanity
that I would be good
whether with or without you
that I would be good even if I did nothing
that I would be good even if I got the thumbs down
that I would be good if I got and stayed sick
that I would be good even if I gained ten pounds
that I would be fine even if I went bankrupt
that I would be good if I lost my hair and my youth
that I would be great if I was no longer queen
that I would be grand if I was not all knowing
that I would be loved even when I numb myself
that I would be good even when I am overwhelmed
that I would be loved even when I was fuming
that I would be good even if I was clingy
that I would be good even if I lost sanity
that I would be good
whether with or without you
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Footnote*
[Footnote from Post on October 1st].
To Amber. for getting me out my funk EVERYTIME and for doing what we want, taking anything on, for running around Italy together and getting excited, for watching six-feet-under and for sighing for Ted, and letting it all well-up in he last episode, for reminding each other to listen to what we really want, for my rad friend--
for Theresa. my little lamb for being so darling and such a cutie! For all your special little things in your bags, and for all the mischief in your pockets! for all the things you do in the middle of the night! for being unbelievably loyal in your fiesty Theresa way and your unstoppable love--for how you show-up, AND how you take-off, and for getting me, for loving all the little things about me and the somethings that only you get, (like the girlymollyway of checking myself out in the mirror), for always getting me the perfect SUPER surprise gifts, for holding my hand and laying your hands on me when i was in the hospital.
for Tibisay. my wonderful roomate, my gorgeous friend, for totally loving me and seeing me and being happy when I'm home, for jamming out in the soul/hip-hop flow, for snacking-up with me, for bringing beauty out of our hoop-ty house, for all our long talks and mutual a-ha's, for asking each other the hard questions, for being so generous with me and takingcare of me, for all our processing and shoring-out and hearing each other's hearts, for getting it done with me. for getting younger.
for Alice. for being my wing-girl, GLAM, for being my BayArea homes, for being my Fly-girl, for always being in the same demented place and for helping me get-out of them, and for jumping on the Jesus trampoline with me, for being humble, for sharing with me.
for Michelle. my God-Mother, for listening, for knowing, for bringing me to the river, for getting down with me, for getting in the River with me to pray, for going down with me and getting in the river to pray.
for Carmen. my dear old roomate. the clever and quirkiness. For sharing 3 years at 327 Market Street together. for loving me, for our mutual roundish bodies running to the bathroom, for consoling me for all your paintings up in the house. for making a great and special home with me.
for Amanda. for being so on it and being there for me through so much, for praying over and over with me and helping me be brave, for being a prayer warrior with me! for being so much fun and sassy together and hand gestures on car trips.
for Biancha. for your brimming spirit, for BAAMing with me and keeping the ceiling high. for rejoicing and our big spirits at the edge of the big lake and cheering in the kingdom.
for Wendy Davis. for being my birthday girl, for your loyal love. for your patience and for your getting girly and dressed up with me. for planting roses in some of my most sincere and secret beds.
for my sister. for seeing Janis Joplin in the car with me and for growing up with me. for finally catching-up with each other in being in this extraordinary lady land. in finding the realness.
for my Mom. my beautiful generous mom. so much like me, and so caring. for the mom that is moved by it all, who calls me when Superman dies and the new Pope is picked and send me clippings of John Paul II and wants to show me his casket and what the Poles said, and is sad like me when Bonds isn't picked.
for my Grampa, for my bestfriend in my life. for loving me like no-one else and holding me hand and waiting for me. for horseplaying with me and us making a ruckus and not behaving and upsetting my gramma. For sitting in the car with me. for making little puns and telling me how trains worked. for tucking me in and coming when i was sick and making me oatmeal.
for my Gramma, for getting so excited when i came home and making your noises and for being needy and grabbing my hand and sitting me down on your couch. for squeezing my hand and for your humming. For being spoiled and wanting to be loved and wanting to talk. For talking to you everyday when i was in the hospital and for your wanting to hear all about it. For the run-on sentences in your cards and your 5 adjective-series expressing your constant and untired love, for caring about me, for your "I-can't-believe-it" shaking your head at my accomplishments. no matter how minute.
for my house, for the same 327 Market Street!,
for my writing. people cried when i read the poem on easter and how God even gave me the rap. for the voice in me that hears things and i can't wait.
for Dan Kimball. For believing in me and for reading my blog and for caring about me and for hoping in me.
for Joann. for my Sweet Ass! for my Complete friend, for believing in me and really getting me, for being able to read into each other. for throwing it over the balcony at the top of the Parking Garage, for rejoicing in the Jesus together for marking it, for finding God in Radio Head and for screaming out Smashing Pumpkins. For making fists in the air in the most insignificant places. For remembering who we are together, for helping me finish the stories, for calling me Little Girl, little girl. For making a ruckus in the Apple store. for right places and Psalm 73. for flaring up like a flame and making big shadows i can move in.
for Hannah. for deep nods. for that time we walked around Pacific and through the back alley and areound and you helped me walk away from him and you witnessed the story and you got it. for "Oh Boys" and fat understandings o
for Clifford. for the Cliffy he gave me. for his sweetness. for how he always held my hand. for how he treasured me. for everything we shared. for the turntables and making kazistan voices and pulling up Cauliflower and soft soil.
for my work, I HEART my work. it makes me tired. but for being everything i prayed for. (a job where i could use my leverage). for a job that fits. for placehood. for getting to leave and get lattes and go out in Ramona and talk to people and meet them and create beautiful ads and when they go "Whoa! You're really good at what you do!"
for Rob Namba, who walked with me when i was a brand-new Christian, who showed me how cool and down it could be. for meeting me where I was at, for the hefty talks and helping me wrestle it out and talking about the jesus way into the night over a couple of beers. for helping me feel the home in it.
for Sarah. my dawg, my oldest friend. believer in me. the person who gets me better than anyone and loves me for who i am even when i give up and want to go away or am no fun. for the girl who knows it all and rode with me in the back of the van on top of the bags of dolls and hid-away with me from my Mom and made secret play even having to go do the thing for my Mom. for the girl who always came. for the girl who always picked me up. for the girl who talks like me and gets the mischief and the ghetto thing and the Jesus and the serious Molly and the wilder parts and more important the Molly that tries. My girl that goes on the mission with me to Longs and we make friends with strangers, the girl who cracks-up with me at the worse part of the service when everyone is supposed to be praying or reverant or something and she and i get it but we can't help but be silly.
To my Sumayya. Dear friend of my spirit. The girl who gets the specialness in all, the girl who makes everyone happy because she is so enthused and her laughing. my roomate in the big condo with Mario, making our own radio-show in the house without furniture or entertainment, and loving on Mario, playing with Mario even when he took himself too seriously. For our childlike spirit. for wanting to share it all.
for Aaron, for Josh Johnson. My best guyfriends in Santa Cruz. for being true bros. For being stoked. Josh for wrestling with me. for the Radness. Oh boy!
To Amber. for getting me out my funk EVERYTIME and for doing what we want, taking anything on, for running around Italy together and getting excited, for watching six-feet-under and for sighing for Ted, and letting it all well-up in he last episode, for reminding each other to listen to what we really want, for my rad friend--
for Theresa. my little lamb for being so darling and such a cutie! For all your special little things in your bags, and for all the mischief in your pockets! for all the things you do in the middle of the night! for being unbelievably loyal in your fiesty Theresa way and your unstoppable love--for how you show-up, AND how you take-off, and for getting me, for loving all the little things about me and the somethings that only you get, (like the girlymollyway of checking myself out in the mirror), for always getting me the perfect SUPER surprise gifts, for holding my hand and laying your hands on me when i was in the hospital.
for Tibisay. my wonderful roomate, my gorgeous friend, for totally loving me and seeing me and being happy when I'm home, for jamming out in the soul/hip-hop flow, for snacking-up with me, for bringing beauty out of our hoop-ty house, for all our long talks and mutual a-ha's, for asking each other the hard questions, for being so generous with me and takingcare of me, for all our processing and shoring-out and hearing each other's hearts, for getting it done with me. for getting younger.
for Alice. for being my wing-girl, GLAM, for being my BayArea homes, for being my Fly-girl, for always being in the same demented place and for helping me get-out of them, and for jumping on the Jesus trampoline with me, for being humble, for sharing with me.
for Michelle. my God-Mother, for listening, for knowing, for bringing me to the river, for getting down with me, for getting in the River with me to pray, for going down with me and getting in the river to pray.
for Carmen. my dear old roomate. the clever and quirkiness. For sharing 3 years at 327 Market Street together. for loving me, for our mutual roundish bodies running to the bathroom, for consoling me for all your paintings up in the house. for making a great and special home with me.
for Amanda. for being so on it and being there for me through so much, for praying over and over with me and helping me be brave, for being a prayer warrior with me! for being so much fun and sassy together and hand gestures on car trips.
for Biancha. for your brimming spirit, for BAAMing with me and keeping the ceiling high. for rejoicing and our big spirits at the edge of the big lake and cheering in the kingdom.
for Wendy Davis. for being my birthday girl, for your loyal love. for your patience and for your getting girly and dressed up with me. for planting roses in some of my most sincere and secret beds.
for my sister. for seeing Janis Joplin in the car with me and for growing up with me. for finally catching-up with each other in being in this extraordinary lady land. in finding the realness.
for my Mom. my beautiful generous mom. so much like me, and so caring. for the mom that is moved by it all, who calls me when Superman dies and the new Pope is picked and send me clippings of John Paul II and wants to show me his casket and what the Poles said, and is sad like me when Bonds isn't picked.
for my Grampa, for my bestfriend in my life. for loving me like no-one else and holding me hand and waiting for me. for horseplaying with me and us making a ruckus and not behaving and upsetting my gramma. For sitting in the car with me. for making little puns and telling me how trains worked. for tucking me in and coming when i was sick and making me oatmeal.
for my Gramma, for getting so excited when i came home and making your noises and for being needy and grabbing my hand and sitting me down on your couch. for squeezing my hand and for your humming. For being spoiled and wanting to be loved and wanting to talk. For talking to you everyday when i was in the hospital and for your wanting to hear all about it. For the run-on sentences in your cards and your 5 adjective-series expressing your constant and untired love, for caring about me, for your "I-can't-believe-it" shaking your head at my accomplishments. no matter how minute.
for my house, for the same 327 Market Street!,
for my writing. people cried when i read the poem on easter and how God even gave me the rap. for the voice in me that hears things and i can't wait.
for Dan Kimball. For believing in me and for reading my blog and for caring about me and for hoping in me.
for Joann. for my Sweet Ass! for my Complete friend, for believing in me and really getting me, for being able to read into each other. for throwing it over the balcony at the top of the Parking Garage, for rejoicing in the Jesus together for marking it, for finding God in Radio Head and for screaming out Smashing Pumpkins. For making fists in the air in the most insignificant places. For remembering who we are together, for helping me finish the stories, for calling me Little Girl, little girl. For making a ruckus in the Apple store. for right places and Psalm 73. for flaring up like a flame and making big shadows i can move in.
for Hannah. for deep nods. for that time we walked around Pacific and through the back alley and areound and you helped me walk away from him and you witnessed the story and you got it. for "Oh Boys" and fat understandings o
for Clifford. for the Cliffy he gave me. for his sweetness. for how he always held my hand. for how he treasured me. for everything we shared. for the turntables and making kazistan voices and pulling up Cauliflower and soft soil.
for my work, I HEART my work. it makes me tired. but for being everything i prayed for. (a job where i could use my leverage). for a job that fits. for placehood. for getting to leave and get lattes and go out in Ramona and talk to people and meet them and create beautiful ads and when they go "Whoa! You're really good at what you do!"
for Rob Namba, who walked with me when i was a brand-new Christian, who showed me how cool and down it could be. for meeting me where I was at, for the hefty talks and helping me wrestle it out and talking about the jesus way into the night over a couple of beers. for helping me feel the home in it.
for Sarah. my dawg, my oldest friend. believer in me. the person who gets me better than anyone and loves me for who i am even when i give up and want to go away or am no fun. for the girl who knows it all and rode with me in the back of the van on top of the bags of dolls and hid-away with me from my Mom and made secret play even having to go do the thing for my Mom. for the girl who always came. for the girl who always picked me up. for the girl who talks like me and gets the mischief and the ghetto thing and the Jesus and the serious Molly and the wilder parts and more important the Molly that tries. My girl that goes on the mission with me to Longs and we make friends with strangers, the girl who cracks-up with me at the worse part of the service when everyone is supposed to be praying or reverant or something and she and i get it but we can't help but be silly.
To my Sumayya. Dear friend of my spirit. The girl who gets the specialness in all, the girl who makes everyone happy because she is so enthused and her laughing. my roomate in the big condo with Mario, making our own radio-show in the house without furniture or entertainment, and loving on Mario, playing with Mario even when he took himself too seriously. For our childlike spirit. for wanting to share it all.
for Aaron, for Josh Johnson. My best guyfriends in Santa Cruz. for being true bros. For being stoked. Josh for wrestling with me. for the Radness. Oh boy!
Tonight, Tonight
Time is never time at all
You can never ever leave without leaving a piece of youth
And our lives are forever changed
We will never be the same
The more you change the less you feel
Believe, believe in me, believe
Believe that life can change
That you're not stuck in vain
Were not the same, we're different tonight
Tonight, so bright
Tonight
And you know you're never sure
But youre sure you could be right
If you held yourself up to the light
And the embers never fade in your city by the lake
The place where you were born
Believe, believe in me, believe
Believe in the resolute urgency of now
And if you believe there's not a chance tonight
Tonight, so bright
Tonight
Well crucify the insincere tonight
Well make things right, well feel it all tonight
Well find a way to offer up the night tonight
The indescribable moments of your life tonight
The impossible is possible tonight
Believe in me as I believe in you, tonight
You can never ever leave without leaving a piece of youth
And our lives are forever changed
We will never be the same
The more you change the less you feel
Believe, believe in me, believe
Believe that life can change
That you're not stuck in vain
Were not the same, we're different tonight
Tonight, so bright
Tonight
And you know you're never sure
But youre sure you could be right
If you held yourself up to the light
And the embers never fade in your city by the lake
The place where you were born
Believe, believe in me, believe
Believe in the resolute urgency of now
And if you believe there's not a chance tonight
Tonight, so bright
Tonight
Well crucify the insincere tonight
Well make things right, well feel it all tonight
Well find a way to offer up the night tonight
The indescribable moments of your life tonight
The impossible is possible tonight
Believe in me as I believe in you, tonight
Monday, October 01, 2007
My Anniversary
This is a special day.
An extraordinary thing happened 14 years ago. it has become me, and it has become a story. Something i look at from behind the glass. this year i felt it a little. Basically, I almost lost my life 14 years ago. And in that place, i somehow became steeper with this crazy want to live. Everything around me got radder.
Life is important. i am so grateful for the people in my life. i can't handle it. For Amber, for Theresa, for Tibisay, for Alice, for Michelle, for Carmen, for Amanda, for Biancha, for Wendy Davis, for my sister, for my Mom, for my Grampa, for my Gramma, for my house, for my writing, for Dan Kimball, for Joann, for Hannah, for Clifford, for my work, for Rob Namba , for Sarah, for Sumayya, for Aaron, for Josh johnson.* (1)
I love you guys soooooo much. I zoom in on my life and i zoom out and i see you and i am so blessed. this is the best time of my life. i feel so taken care of, so surrounded, so held. my life just gets deeper and deeper and sweeter.
An extraordinary thing happened 14 years ago. it has become me, and it has become a story. Something i look at from behind the glass. this year i felt it a little. Basically, I almost lost my life 14 years ago. And in that place, i somehow became steeper with this crazy want to live. Everything around me got radder.
Life is important. i am so grateful for the people in my life. i can't handle it. For Amber, for Theresa, for Tibisay, for Alice, for Michelle, for Carmen, for Amanda, for Biancha, for Wendy Davis, for my sister, for my Mom, for my Grampa, for my Gramma, for my house, for my writing, for Dan Kimball, for Joann, for Hannah, for Clifford, for my work, for Rob Namba , for Sarah, for Sumayya, for Aaron, for Josh johnson.* (1)
I love you guys soooooo much. I zoom in on my life and i zoom out and i see you and i am so blessed. this is the best time of my life. i feel so taken care of, so surrounded, so held. my life just gets deeper and deeper and sweeter.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Psalm 25
Show me your ways, O LORD,
teach me your paths;
guide me in your truth and teach me,
for you are God my Savior,
and my hope is in you all day long..
All the ways of the LORD are loving and faithful
for those who keep the demands of his covenant.
The Lord confides in those who fear him;
He makes his covenant known to them.
My eyes are ever on the LORD,
for only he will release my feet from the snare.
teach me your paths;
guide me in your truth and teach me,
for you are God my Savior,
and my hope is in you all day long..
All the ways of the LORD are loving and faithful
for those who keep the demands of his covenant.
The Lord confides in those who fear him;
He makes his covenant known to them.
My eyes are ever on the LORD,
for only he will release my feet from the snare.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Ice Skating
I want to go ice skating with you Lord.
You and me in our little roller-rink,
We'll swoop around in big, wide circles
and make figure-eights over and over.
We'll speed-up just before the corners
and when I close my eyes
we could be flying.
I'll keep making little gasps at the far-away wonder coming-up so soon,
Trees and benches and garbage cans and parking spaces streaming by.
We'll miss the walls every time,
Turning around and around.
I'll get so proud at the crisp sounds of my blades at the turns,
Feeling so very mighty.
Me coming along like a fountain.
(I wrote this last week. Was in such a pleasant space back then. I felt that everything was especially given. I was sitting near the fountain across the street from my work and for some reason I rememberd how they say my Grampa's parents, my great grandparents used to ice skate. That's what they did back then, it was th 1800's).
You and me in our little roller-rink,
We'll swoop around in big, wide circles
and make figure-eights over and over.
We'll speed-up just before the corners
and when I close my eyes
we could be flying.
I'll keep making little gasps at the far-away wonder coming-up so soon,
Trees and benches and garbage cans and parking spaces streaming by.
We'll miss the walls every time,
Turning around and around.
I'll get so proud at the crisp sounds of my blades at the turns,
Feeling so very mighty.
Me coming along like a fountain.
(I wrote this last week. Was in such a pleasant space back then. I felt that everything was especially given. I was sitting near the fountain across the street from my work and for some reason I rememberd how they say my Grampa's parents, my great grandparents used to ice skate. That's what they did back then, it was th 1800's).
fall
What happens when my pockets are empty.
when i put down the warm coal in the ruff and when i let go.
empty. and like the house disappeared. how vacant is this to say goodbye.
also i feel relief on the roof on the heart. and the horribleness.
The loss of the pebble that was building, tumbling, rolling, smoothing.
I don't feel the heights anymore, the vertigo, the shakey dock.
And I keep remembering this last weekend after church when it was all falling: His hands when he was leaning on the brick of the coffeeshop "Please!" and he really meant it. And all the swell of feeling and his sweetness so up and big like a mast and surrounding and for me.
Like he had me, was for me, my hands taken in--so there. His hands were around mine and squeezing my fingers. And I kept shaking my head and it is all surreal. no more do-overs or working the land. No more shaping these sweet ways. how horrible.
how surreal to drop.
I wanted to call him after I saw my sister, and Cat Power at the Filmore last night. I wanted his reassurance after such an aquard night. the new ways me and my sister move. Her calm and being, and present, -- my many words and probably too much smile when i first came off the road. she said i gave all these gestures of trying to prevent dissapointment, how it reminded her of what she used to do to try to take care of everyone else. I felt so dinged in my heart! I was just being my frazzled self, heightened from the road.
The whole night we talked about truth, how it is so crucial to be truthful and authentic. She is on a truth mission. I have been too these last weeks. but there was this emptiness between us. I think she is finding a new authentic self. I remember how she used to get so excited, and I guess much of that was her trying to take care of other people, a somewhat propped up disposition for others. And simultaneoulsy where was that warmness between us? That contagious spirit. I am happy for my sister's awakening, coming into her own. but in the night i wanted to share deeper. i wanted to get to the heart of things. we did in spurts, and then there was this gap. my words seemed lame all night, i kept losing my sentences. I was trying to truthfully respond, and listen to her. She said it seemed I was "trying to figure things out" i remembered my overdoing as usual.
so this new space. it is very surreal. there is peace and there is lost.
when i put down the warm coal in the ruff and when i let go.
empty. and like the house disappeared. how vacant is this to say goodbye.
also i feel relief on the roof on the heart. and the horribleness.
The loss of the pebble that was building, tumbling, rolling, smoothing.
I don't feel the heights anymore, the vertigo, the shakey dock.
And I keep remembering this last weekend after church when it was all falling: His hands when he was leaning on the brick of the coffeeshop "Please!" and he really meant it. And all the swell of feeling and his sweetness so up and big like a mast and surrounding and for me.
Like he had me, was for me, my hands taken in--so there. His hands were around mine and squeezing my fingers. And I kept shaking my head and it is all surreal. no more do-overs or working the land. No more shaping these sweet ways. how horrible.
how surreal to drop.
I wanted to call him after I saw my sister, and Cat Power at the Filmore last night. I wanted his reassurance after such an aquard night. the new ways me and my sister move. Her calm and being, and present, -- my many words and probably too much smile when i first came off the road. she said i gave all these gestures of trying to prevent dissapointment, how it reminded her of what she used to do to try to take care of everyone else. I felt so dinged in my heart! I was just being my frazzled self, heightened from the road.
The whole night we talked about truth, how it is so crucial to be truthful and authentic. She is on a truth mission. I have been too these last weeks. but there was this emptiness between us. I think she is finding a new authentic self. I remember how she used to get so excited, and I guess much of that was her trying to take care of other people, a somewhat propped up disposition for others. And simultaneoulsy where was that warmness between us? That contagious spirit. I am happy for my sister's awakening, coming into her own. but in the night i wanted to share deeper. i wanted to get to the heart of things. we did in spurts, and then there was this gap. my words seemed lame all night, i kept losing my sentences. I was trying to truthfully respond, and listen to her. She said it seemed I was "trying to figure things out" i remembered my overdoing as usual.
so this new space. it is very surreal. there is peace and there is lost.
I Always Obey My Nurse
by Thomas Merton
I always obey my nurse
I always care
For wound and fracture
Because I am always broken
I obey my nurse
And God did not make death
He did not make pain
But the little blind fire
That leaps from one wound into another
Knitting the broken bones
And fixing sins so they can be forgotten
I will obey my nurse who keeps this fire
Deep in her wounded breast
For God did not make death
He did not make pain
Or the arrogant wound
That smells under the official bandage
Because I am always broken I obey my nurse
Who in her grey eyes and her moral breast
Holds an immortal love the wise have fractured
Because we have both been broken we can tell
That God did not make death
I will obey the little spark
That flies from fracture to fracture
And the explosion
Where God did not make death
But only vision.
I will obey my nurse's broken heart
Where all fires come from
And the abyss of light
Made of pardoned sin
For God did not make death
I always obey the spark that smacks the lightning
In the giant night
I obey without question
The outlaw reasons
The cries in the abyss
From this world's body that the wise have fractured
For God did not make death
He did not make prisons
Or stalking canonical ravens
The dirt in the incision
I will obey my nurse
I will always take care
Of my fractured religion
And God did not make death.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
The Greatest
|
The Greatest
by Cat Power
Once I wanted to be the greatest
No wind or waterfall could STALL me
And then came the rush of the flood
The stars at night turned DEEP to dust
Melt me down
into big black armour
Leave no trace
Of grace
Just in your honor
Lower me down
TO CULPRIT SOUTH
Make 'EM WASH A SPACE IN TOWN
FOR THE LEAD
AND THE DREGS OF MY BED
I'VE BEEN SLEEPING
Lower me down
PIN ME IN
Secure the grounds
For the later parade
Once I wanted to be the greatest
TWO FISTS OF SOLID ROCK
WITH BRAINS THAT COULD EXPLAIN
Any feeling
Lower me down
PIN ME IN
Secure the grounds
FOR THE LEAD
AND THE DREGS OF MY BED
I'VE BEEN SLEEPING
For the later parade
Once I wanted to be the greatest
No wind or water fall could STALL me
And then came the rush of the flood
The stars at night turned DEEP to dust
Thursday, September 06, 2007
the tundra
Last night I came home.
A lumpy package from my Mom, with batteries and the missing remote control, and a note referring to the street in Michigan I learned was named after my family name. There is a street in Michigan called Passolt Street. Named after my family.
"AUNT KATE--YOUR NAME SAKE WAS A PASSOLT--YOU HAVE A STREET NAMED AFTER YOU! (sort of)"
Because I'm named after my mom's great aunt kate, and that is the name of the street in Michigan. Opening it was like this nod to me, to who i am, to where i come from. I was so happy, this note from my mom. In her typical all caps writing, just one note.
The icky still in my throat and being. The places cut off. the places inauthentic. the displeasure swallowing me. and holding.
crazy that that night i broke up with Cliff, that i was firm, that i said it all, the hopelessness, all this stuff wearing me. that i couldn't do it anymore.
but out of the tundra out of the hell of bakersfield he was crying, then he started speaking into who i am. speaking all these things he always knew. the positive things i had been doing, what i couldn't see. "Can I ask you questions?" pleading like on the edge. "OK!" and we started talking about God. and he started asking me all these hefty questions, the spirit in his voice of wanting to know.
it was so surreal that night. Then we had the most life-affirming conversation i've had with him.
There were lots of a'has. Lots of nods. There was agreement. And he came back, it was 3 in the morning. and he was pouring into me.
It's like i released it. like i let go of the cliff, and i fell, and a shorter cliff was at the bottom waiting. it is like mewithoutyou says, i threw away book and i found these buried pages. It's like I gave it up to God and it was given back to me.
And it feels like for the first time a real rebuilding. like we could make a new house. "Do you want to plant a tree?" he asked. and ever since the best days. there is this softness. a heart of flesh. there is this new posture. new being.
and wholeness. This is seriously ridiculous.
I had told God a couple months ago in July that I wanted to find the treasures. And it feels like that, this hidden treasure.
and i am still scared but i know that it was like a whole new package delivered.
And it sounds like Brand New.
A lumpy package from my Mom, with batteries and the missing remote control, and a note referring to the street in Michigan I learned was named after my family name. There is a street in Michigan called Passolt Street. Named after my family.
"AUNT KATE--YOUR NAME SAKE WAS A PASSOLT--YOU HAVE A STREET NAMED AFTER YOU! (sort of)"
Because I'm named after my mom's great aunt kate, and that is the name of the street in Michigan. Opening it was like this nod to me, to who i am, to where i come from. I was so happy, this note from my mom. In her typical all caps writing, just one note.
The icky still in my throat and being. The places cut off. the places inauthentic. the displeasure swallowing me. and holding.
crazy that that night i broke up with Cliff, that i was firm, that i said it all, the hopelessness, all this stuff wearing me. that i couldn't do it anymore.
but out of the tundra out of the hell of bakersfield he was crying, then he started speaking into who i am. speaking all these things he always knew. the positive things i had been doing, what i couldn't see. "Can I ask you questions?" pleading like on the edge. "OK!" and we started talking about God. and he started asking me all these hefty questions, the spirit in his voice of wanting to know.
it was so surreal that night. Then we had the most life-affirming conversation i've had with him.
There were lots of a'has. Lots of nods. There was agreement. And he came back, it was 3 in the morning. and he was pouring into me.
It's like i released it. like i let go of the cliff, and i fell, and a shorter cliff was at the bottom waiting. it is like mewithoutyou says, i threw away book and i found these buried pages. It's like I gave it up to God and it was given back to me.
And it feels like for the first time a real rebuilding. like we could make a new house. "Do you want to plant a tree?" he asked. and ever since the best days. there is this softness. a heart of flesh. there is this new posture. new being.
and wholeness. This is seriously ridiculous.
I had told God a couple months ago in July that I wanted to find the treasures. And it feels like that, this hidden treasure.
and i am still scared but i know that it was like a whole new package delivered.
And it sounds like Brand New.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Tell it girl!
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant --
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Turth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased with explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind
--Ms. Emily Dickinson.
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Turth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased with explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind
--Ms. Emily Dickinson.
The mountains rejoicing
it's such a lovely day. I have this feeling of possibility today. There is kindness.
And last night i spent the evening with C. I didn't go to Monday Poet Society and this is a good thing. We've been in this messy space, there has been so much grumpiness, and he has wanted me to prioritize him. see i run around busy and make all these little windows, and i have these great great friends, and never in my life have i had so many grand friends.
So after last night, such a new kindness from him and relaxedness and happiness between us, However quietly. how fair and hanging. went to Aloha Island Grill and there were smiles on his face and hearing each other and a great plate of food.
I was just walking from Mobo sushi to my work, the day so sunny, even thinking this is like brimming with the Kingdom. I was snapping and making little fist motions--a business guy said to me "you've got a song!" all delighted with a smile/
Then I was walking across the street on cooper, had stepped onto the cross way, went back on the side I came from to actually change direction, then decided to forget about it and stepped into the Crosswalk when it wasn't my turn. But the lady in the jeep, waved me to go ahead anyway, then yelled out her window "It's your lucky day babe!"
Everything returning so kindly.
And last night i spent the evening with C. I didn't go to Monday Poet Society and this is a good thing. We've been in this messy space, there has been so much grumpiness, and he has wanted me to prioritize him. see i run around busy and make all these little windows, and i have these great great friends, and never in my life have i had so many grand friends.
So after last night, such a new kindness from him and relaxedness and happiness between us, However quietly. how fair and hanging. went to Aloha Island Grill and there were smiles on his face and hearing each other and a great plate of food.
I was just walking from Mobo sushi to my work, the day so sunny, even thinking this is like brimming with the Kingdom. I was snapping and making little fist motions--a business guy said to me "you've got a song!" all delighted with a smile/
Then I was walking across the street on cooper, had stepped onto the cross way, went back on the side I came from to actually change direction, then decided to forget about it and stepped into the Crosswalk when it wasn't my turn. But the lady in the jeep, waved me to go ahead anyway, then yelled out her window "It's your lucky day babe!"
Everything returning so kindly.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
August 13th: The Newness in the Oldness
How great my August the 13th was, with Sumayya visiting--Joann and Sumayya stayed over after Poetry group. At Poetry, Rae was intently talking about this man's near-death experience, and the crazy light, and forgiveness, and more. we were all in great spirits, even singing. how much love and dearness and acceptance. how much You poured down on us and it was felt by all. I like how Sumayyya talked about it, hearing the Little girl inside. That little voice of "It's O.K."
Being felt. We shared our little freewrites, each delighted and hearing one another. like we were knit together.
Sumayya cuddled with Little Bear--the dog. We prayed around Joann, her last Monday Poet Society before going to Hungary, putting her in the middle touching her shoulder, her arms, knees. Speaking how she has pierced us, that we have her so fit in us, how that remains. We prayed for all the new lands and new walks. Praying for all the ways she will gather "meaning in the molecules" in Hungary--our dear seeker, Joann, dear hunter of all the Ridiculous ways that God breaks forth--finder of all the brimming places where God marries us to our Right spots -- in Kid A. in planting trees. in hoodies. in sevens and eights. in the orange-and-yellow cover art in Geogaddi, in Paper cranes, in the sound that stays behind the ear, in gestures, in Birth, in Mono, in the sorrow in the joy, in Anne Sexton, in 6 am drives to san francisco, in possibility, in frenzy, in the shoot, in being there for me in the way she is there she is willing in the way she prepares the places in the way she speaks right to it, my dear lucky one, my dear complete friend.
My truest friends and staying up late. hearing each other's wonder and discontent. Coming in Tibi's room, my roomate, the Venetian lady that she is, keeping under sheets with only her burgandy on, and all the reds draping everywhere. "Hello!" all of us greeting "Hey you!" Greeting this graduated girl.
Neatness blinking:
I found my black leather jacket yesterday left months in the closet at Megan's! i almost got one yesterday, not having a good jacket since I lost this one. And then I found it yesterday. This is my Monday miracle! It's long cuffs and wide buttons. Leather and lining. I have it on and I feel so cool and myself. Got this biker-in-the-Lord spirit beside me of "Let's do it." Got this return. (Kinda like my metaphor about gold "Your hand back in shy pockets").
Having long evenings and convicted mornings and Pete's coffee, having loneliness and fullness together in this terrific day. Feeling alone and feeling found. Wondering what He's got in his pockets.
Being felt. We shared our little freewrites, each delighted and hearing one another. like we were knit together.
Sumayya cuddled with Little Bear--the dog. We prayed around Joann, her last Monday Poet Society before going to Hungary, putting her in the middle touching her shoulder, her arms, knees. Speaking how she has pierced us, that we have her so fit in us, how that remains. We prayed for all the new lands and new walks. Praying for all the ways she will gather "meaning in the molecules" in Hungary--our dear seeker, Joann, dear hunter of all the Ridiculous ways that God breaks forth--finder of all the brimming places where God marries us to our Right spots -- in Kid A. in planting trees. in hoodies. in sevens and eights. in the orange-and-yellow cover art in Geogaddi, in Paper cranes, in the sound that stays behind the ear, in gestures, in Birth, in Mono, in the sorrow in the joy, in Anne Sexton, in 6 am drives to san francisco, in possibility, in frenzy, in the shoot, in being there for me in the way she is there she is willing in the way she prepares the places in the way she speaks right to it, my dear lucky one, my dear complete friend.
My truest friends and staying up late. hearing each other's wonder and discontent. Coming in Tibi's room, my roomate, the Venetian lady that she is, keeping under sheets with only her burgandy on, and all the reds draping everywhere. "Hello!" all of us greeting "Hey you!" Greeting this graduated girl.
Neatness blinking:
I found my black leather jacket yesterday left months in the closet at Megan's! i almost got one yesterday, not having a good jacket since I lost this one. And then I found it yesterday. This is my Monday miracle! It's long cuffs and wide buttons. Leather and lining. I have it on and I feel so cool and myself. Got this biker-in-the-Lord spirit beside me of "Let's do it." Got this return. (Kinda like my metaphor about gold "Your hand back in shy pockets").
Having long evenings and convicted mornings and Pete's coffee, having loneliness and fullness together in this terrific day. Feeling alone and feeling found. Wondering what He's got in his pockets.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Lachma
At a used bookstore i came across this book called "Prayers of the Cosmos--Meditations on the Aramaic Words of Jesus." I bought it finding Rema in the page I opened to, later seeing it to be a little on a strange track. but it takes the Aramaic words of Jesus and breaks them open.
Lachma is both bread and understanding.
I have felt starved and keep thinking about bread. how i want bread in my relationship with the Cliff.
There are little words we share about our Spirituality. I have felt so hungry. I keep seeing bread and thinking bread. It is not about concepts that i yearn for, but to actually eat and feast in bread. and words are like bread to me especially words about god. they actually feed me and i know this is true b/c many sleepy grouchy late nights when i was ready to crash, i have caught this great wava
Bread means understanding
Lachma is both bread and understanding.
I have felt starved and keep thinking about bread. how i want bread in my relationship with the Cliff.
There are little words we share about our Spirituality. I have felt so hungry. I keep seeing bread and thinking bread. It is not about concepts that i yearn for, but to actually eat and feast in bread. and words are like bread to me especially words about god. they actually feed me and i know this is true b/c many sleepy grouchy late nights when i was ready to crash, i have caught this great wava
Bread means understanding
Longing (Remember)
my mom came down this past weekend and blessed me. so loving and generous. we sat in my room and painted the worn away spots on my orange rocking chair.
We watched the Leonard Cohen moving, recalling how his voice grew me, my mom playing it in my early teens. how i started to listen over and over and his melancholy grew on me. how his worlds became ambulatory around me through college. how he unlocked rooms. listening with my mom to Leonard's interspersed songs throughout the moving, came musty rooms unlocked. Listening to my own landscape that was shaped somewhere between the lands of leonard.
tonight i am so placed by "Suzanne" between drawers and drawers of sorrow. i do not know what to do. but leonard sings me back to me and to places i've been, to my attic on Storey street, to Oregon, to home with my Mom. to days of unknown before burden and unclear hinges.
I feel this grand coming forth and holding as "Suzanne" comes tumbling out and up. this rocking sweet simple country opening, the key shifting in the beginning. the background singers "ooooohhhing"
Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river You can hear the boats go by You can spend the night beside her And you know that she's half crazy But that's why you want to be there ....
And Jesus was a sailor When he walked upon the water And he spent a long time watching From his lonely wooden tower And when he knew for certain Only drowning men could see him He said "All men will be sailors then Until the sea shall free them" But he himself was broken Long before the sky would open Forsaken, almost human He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone.
Last poetry group i almost cried when i read this wendell berry poem. the line "Pray for the Little Songs that wake and move." kept making me choke. a longing, and a knowing. that many of my little songs were being held back, or that so many so so many more could be bourne. that my soul is waiting to run and walk and discover, and i keep getting quiet or having no material to make with. all these little places waiting.
Lord tonight I pray for the Little Songs that wake and move.
We watched the Leonard Cohen moving, recalling how his voice grew me, my mom playing it in my early teens. how i started to listen over and over and his melancholy grew on me. how his worlds became ambulatory around me through college. how he unlocked rooms. listening with my mom to Leonard's interspersed songs throughout the moving, came musty rooms unlocked. Listening to my own landscape that was shaped somewhere between the lands of leonard.
tonight i am so placed by "Suzanne" between drawers and drawers of sorrow. i do not know what to do. but leonard sings me back to me and to places i've been, to my attic on Storey street, to Oregon, to home with my Mom. to days of unknown before burden and unclear hinges.
I feel this grand coming forth and holding as "Suzanne" comes tumbling out and up. this rocking sweet simple country opening, the key shifting in the beginning. the background singers "ooooohhhing"
Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river You can hear the boats go by You can spend the night beside her And you know that she's half crazy But that's why you want to be there ....
And Jesus was a sailor When he walked upon the water And he spent a long time watching From his lonely wooden tower And when he knew for certain Only drowning men could see him He said "All men will be sailors then Until the sea shall free them" But he himself was broken Long before the sky would open Forsaken, almost human He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone.
Last poetry group i almost cried when i read this wendell berry poem. the line "Pray for the Little Songs that wake and move." kept making me choke. a longing, and a knowing. that many of my little songs were being held back, or that so many so so many more could be bourne. that my soul is waiting to run and walk and discover, and i keep getting quiet or having no material to make with. all these little places waiting.
Lord tonight I pray for the Little Songs that wake and move.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
A Banner
7.31.07
(From the first night I moved into Carmen's Room)
Backdrop:
For months at a time I will go through themes. There are words that will prop-up and gather meaning for me, words like tents that hold all these meaning and cadence inside, like tents or rooms echoing the challenge at hand for me, words that spill the essence in the room of my dialogue with God.
And it is so dear to me how God engages my words. How he says,
"Ok, you've propped me up like this? I'll move in what you're saying and dreaming about....or OK, this is your native tongue? I'll speak right back to you with your words. Just to be obvious. Just because I love you. And mostly, I want you to get this. I want you to hear me and I want you to know that I am this rad."
I moved into Carmen's room reluctant. testing the "vibe" as I do. And God blessed my first night. I am in a "tent" period. Where I keep asking for the Lord to set up his tent in my land, even if it is a demented land. But if the Lord sets could just set a tent. And I keep wanting to be in the Lord's tent.
God spoke to me that this new room is for me to make a tent! A place of rightness and where everything fits, like 07. This is the year of Sabbath and everything finding its right place and of rest. of looking back and calling what has been made or done or rendered good.
something is starting to wake-up in my land in my new room.
what a world that has started to sprout right here in this room
wrote (from) 7-31-07
your tent!
What a new thing is waking
Forget the former things.
Do not dwell in the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up:
do you not perceive it?
Everything fit.
Everywhere I am in your tent!
You have buried so many gems in me my head running over and over
when you planted them and the way you tied it all together.
Reluctant to take Carmen's room over, but then I started putting books inside, handfuls at a time (with no boxes to aid) picking the very best, my fondest books and little things off the shlef. Praying and asking "Is this the way? to really go to that dark room near the yapping dogs, shall I leave this room finally warmed-up?"
Then I found it. I found on the shelf, my "Myster" checkered notebook. My journal Joann gave me. My dearest fondest journal I have ever had. the one that has been missing since I met Cliff. I wrote the last entry the dawn of the day I met him, that very day. And I've kept wondering what it said, as it was writing my heart crying out for my man. speaking to the deepest of my needs and teh stakes. It was written to my Grmampa.
So I'm pulling out my favorite books from my shelf, and there it was, my beloved journal.
You were already bidding me yesterday:
The night before I read Joann my dearest poems, poemts that followed me around for years. I read "These Colors are Scheming" poem. It ended with Gold and Joann wanted me to read that part over.
"Gold is what is left behind. Gold is what remains in the gap on the bookshelf when the book is found. And Gold is in a return."
And tonight I found Gold. And there is the gap on the bookshelf where my book (my journal, my me) is found.
Right away I started writing in it, scribing parts of Isaiah down, I was looking for scripture I had found before.
But instead was this wholly other landscape of scripture. It was like I was reading another book.
the Lord was speaking to me these new things.
Before me flooding affimation after affirmation. repeating to me
I will answer you.
I will help you.
I will strengthen you.
I will hold you with my righteous right hand.
Do not be afraid.
I will life you. I will lift you.
I will lift up a banner.
(From the first night I moved into Carmen's Room)
Backdrop:
For months at a time I will go through themes. There are words that will prop-up and gather meaning for me, words like tents that hold all these meaning and cadence inside, like tents or rooms echoing the challenge at hand for me, words that spill the essence in the room of my dialogue with God.
And it is so dear to me how God engages my words. How he says,
"Ok, you've propped me up like this? I'll move in what you're saying and dreaming about....or OK, this is your native tongue? I'll speak right back to you with your words. Just to be obvious. Just because I love you. And mostly, I want you to get this. I want you to hear me and I want you to know that I am this rad."
I moved into Carmen's room reluctant. testing the "vibe" as I do. And God blessed my first night. I am in a "tent" period. Where I keep asking for the Lord to set up his tent in my land, even if it is a demented land. But if the Lord sets could just set a tent. And I keep wanting to be in the Lord's tent.
God spoke to me that this new room is for me to make a tent! A place of rightness and where everything fits, like 07. This is the year of Sabbath and everything finding its right place and of rest. of looking back and calling what has been made or done or rendered good.
something is starting to wake-up in my land in my new room.
what a world that has started to sprout right here in this room
wrote (from) 7-31-07
your tent!
What a new thing is waking
Forget the former things.
Do not dwell in the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up:
do you not perceive it?
Everything fit.
Everywhere I am in your tent!
You have buried so many gems in me my head running over and over
when you planted them and the way you tied it all together.
Reluctant to take Carmen's room over, but then I started putting books inside, handfuls at a time (with no boxes to aid) picking the very best, my fondest books and little things off the shlef. Praying and asking "Is this the way? to really go to that dark room near the yapping dogs, shall I leave this room finally warmed-up?"
Then I found it. I found on the shelf, my "Myster" checkered notebook. My journal Joann gave me. My dearest fondest journal I have ever had. the one that has been missing since I met Cliff. I wrote the last entry the dawn of the day I met him, that very day. And I've kept wondering what it said, as it was writing my heart crying out for my man. speaking to the deepest of my needs and teh stakes. It was written to my Grmampa.
So I'm pulling out my favorite books from my shelf, and there it was, my beloved journal.
You were already bidding me yesterday:
The night before I read Joann my dearest poems, poemts that followed me around for years. I read "These Colors are Scheming" poem. It ended with Gold and Joann wanted me to read that part over.
"Gold is what is left behind. Gold is what remains in the gap on the bookshelf when the book is found. And Gold is in a return."
And tonight I found Gold. And there is the gap on the bookshelf where my book (my journal, my me) is found.
Right away I started writing in it, scribing parts of Isaiah down, I was looking for scripture I had found before.
But instead was this wholly other landscape of scripture. It was like I was reading another book.
the Lord was speaking to me these new things.
Before me flooding affimation after affirmation. repeating to me
I will answer you.
I will help you.
I will strengthen you.
I will hold you with my righteous right hand.
Do not be afraid.
I will life you. I will lift you.
I will lift up a banner.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Jedi
What I'm saying is it's like I'm a Jedi and my partner is missing his Lightsaver. it's like his lightsaver is hidden and maybe he doesn't even have one. and i need my Jedi to back me up. and i'm not even sure if he's a jedi.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
a tent
Last night I wanted to share spiritual stuff, "do you want to know anything about me spiritually?" and he declined, it was too personal to talk about. I learned that this is his style. I wanted to tell him about the beginning. about how Jesus when he first spoke to me spoke to me as a DJ.
I didn't feel negative, just a hole. just a big wide and blinking gap. the beat dropped.
And how did you respond Lord? I came home last night and could only find my King James--you were so clever You had a way in mind You wanted to talk to me.
You took me in your tent and you gave me this treasure:
"Thy testimonies are wonderful:
therefore doth my soul keep them.
The entrance of thy words giveth light;
it giveth understanding unto the simple.
I opened my mouth, and panted
for I longed for thy commandments.
Look thou upon me, and be merciful to me,
as thou usest to do unto those that love thy name.
Order my steps in thy word:
and let not any iniquity have dominion over me.
Deliver me from the oppression of man:
so will I keep thy precepts.
Make thy face to shine upon thy servant:
and teach me thy statutes.
Rivers of waters run down mine eyes,
because they keep not thy law."
Psalm CXIX 129
You keep bringing me into you. Everything i feel as loss You speak into. You keep unlocking the rooms. And I know you are there. You know exactly how this brush stroke feels in my soul.
I love how it says:
The entrace of thy words. And I think of how your words almost make a gate all the time. And it isn't just about words being, but words entering and opening everything around them. How your words and the words from You is like this ambulatory knowing that I take. How it gives light, how is gives light to the simple. the simple stuff! I do feel like my mouth is caught open and panting. and longing to touch the world with YOu. And when I speak to You I always feel so received. so surrounded.
Living are all the words in my secret tent. all the places.
Where do i put them?
now I have found this hole and it is without sound.
It is like a vacuum that can be filled by only one thing.
that he cannot enter and i cannot enter and it stays plump and within me.
and it is the best patch that i have.
all i want to do with it is share.
I didn't feel negative, just a hole. just a big wide and blinking gap. the beat dropped.
And how did you respond Lord? I came home last night and could only find my King James--you were so clever You had a way in mind You wanted to talk to me.
You took me in your tent and you gave me this treasure:
"Thy testimonies are wonderful:
therefore doth my soul keep them.
The entrance of thy words giveth light;
it giveth understanding unto the simple.
I opened my mouth, and panted
for I longed for thy commandments.
Look thou upon me, and be merciful to me,
as thou usest to do unto those that love thy name.
Order my steps in thy word:
and let not any iniquity have dominion over me.
Deliver me from the oppression of man:
so will I keep thy precepts.
Make thy face to shine upon thy servant:
and teach me thy statutes.
Rivers of waters run down mine eyes,
because they keep not thy law."
Psalm CXIX 129
You keep bringing me into you. Everything i feel as loss You speak into. You keep unlocking the rooms. And I know you are there. You know exactly how this brush stroke feels in my soul.
I love how it says:
The entrace of thy words. And I think of how your words almost make a gate all the time. And it isn't just about words being, but words entering and opening everything around them. How your words and the words from You is like this ambulatory knowing that I take. How it gives light, how is gives light to the simple. the simple stuff! I do feel like my mouth is caught open and panting. and longing to touch the world with YOu. And when I speak to You I always feel so received. so surrounded.
Living are all the words in my secret tent. all the places.
Where do i put them?
now I have found this hole and it is without sound.
It is like a vacuum that can be filled by only one thing.
that he cannot enter and i cannot enter and it stays plump and within me.
and it is the best patch that i have.
all i want to do with it is share.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Rema
You spoke right to me:
Last night I finally disclosed much of what was bothering me. "what is going on? why are you hostile?" He kept asking me.
Light coming out like teeth pullling out. Light coming out. Even seeing him in better light when i was through.
learned new and sturdy ways I think for us to relate. how i've worked backwords in my stories, starting at the end and dwelling in the intangibles, then him tuning out. now i understand better. i don't think he gets how much i can putter in the details and "the what happened"..........
Until i talked I was feeling like giving up. then this huge reign was lifted.
I came home, and you talked to me Lord you said in Isaiah 45. You demonstrated what you did:
"This is what the LORD says to his annointed,...
to open doors before him so that gates will neot be shut:
I will go before you and will level the mountains,
I will break down the gates of bronze
and cut through bars of iron.
I will give you the treasures of darkness,
riches stored in secret places,
so thatt you may know that I am the LORD,
the God of Israel, who summons you by name."
You give me treasures out of darkness. You just pulled this sinking ship up.
and there you are talking about the treasures again. and you are naming just where they are and just how your bring them up. Telling me, "it is a treasure Molly"
Last night I finally disclosed much of what was bothering me. "what is going on? why are you hostile?" He kept asking me.
Light coming out like teeth pullling out. Light coming out. Even seeing him in better light when i was through.
learned new and sturdy ways I think for us to relate. how i've worked backwords in my stories, starting at the end and dwelling in the intangibles, then him tuning out. now i understand better. i don't think he gets how much i can putter in the details and "the what happened"..........
Until i talked I was feeling like giving up. then this huge reign was lifted.
I came home, and you talked to me Lord you said in Isaiah 45. You demonstrated what you did:
"This is what the LORD says to his annointed,...
to open doors before him so that gates will neot be shut:
I will go before you and will level the mountains,
I will break down the gates of bronze
and cut through bars of iron.
I will give you the treasures of darkness,
riches stored in secret places,
so thatt you may know that I am the LORD,
the God of Israel, who summons you by name."
You give me treasures out of darkness. You just pulled this sinking ship up.
and there you are talking about the treasures again. and you are naming just where they are and just how your bring them up. Telling me, "it is a treasure Molly"
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
today
You in the posture of all things. You holder of moss and sorrow and striding.
You and your spoons. You and your carpet.
You seeing me in the ill ponds.
Remember. Remember. you say.
I am holding onto your thumbs.
"Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it srings up, do you not perceive it?" --Isaiah
You springing up in me. Like Rilke said, the nearing future that I am already entering.
You and your spoons. You and your carpet.
You seeing me in the ill ponds.
Remember. Remember. you say.
I am holding onto your thumbs.
"Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it srings up, do you not perceive it?" --Isaiah
You springing up in me. Like Rilke said, the nearing future that I am already entering.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Sylvia Plath too
Mystic
by Sylvia Plath
The air is a mill of hooks --
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably
In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer.
I remember
The dead smell of sun on wood cabins,
The stiffness of sails, the long salt winding sheets.
Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?
Once one has been seized up
Without a part left over,
Not a toe, not a finger, and used,
Used utterly, in the sun's conflagration, the stains
That lengthen from ancient cathedrals
What is the remedy?
The pill of the Communion tablet,
The walking beside still water? Memory?
Or picking up the bright pieces
Of Christ in the faces of rodents,
The tame flower-nibblers, the ones
Whose hopes are so low they are comfortable --
The humpback in his small, washed cottage
Under the spokes of the clematis.
Is there no great love, only tenderness?
Does the sea
Remember the walker upon it?
Meaning leaks from the molecules.
The chimneys of the city breathe, the window sweats,
The children leap in their cots.
The sun blooms, it is a geranium.
The heart has not stopped.
by Sylvia Plath
The air is a mill of hooks --
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably
In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer.
I remember
The dead smell of sun on wood cabins,
The stiffness of sails, the long salt winding sheets.
Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?
Once one has been seized up
Without a part left over,
Not a toe, not a finger, and used,
Used utterly, in the sun's conflagration, the stains
That lengthen from ancient cathedrals
What is the remedy?
The pill of the Communion tablet,
The walking beside still water? Memory?
Or picking up the bright pieces
Of Christ in the faces of rodents,
The tame flower-nibblers, the ones
Whose hopes are so low they are comfortable --
The humpback in his small, washed cottage
Under the spokes of the clematis.
Is there no great love, only tenderness?
Does the sea
Remember the walker upon it?
Meaning leaks from the molecules.
The chimneys of the city breathe, the window sweats,
The children leap in their cots.
The sun blooms, it is a geranium.
The heart has not stopped.
Frenzy with Anne Sexton
We at the Monday Poet Society have returned to our female Confessional poets.
Anne Sexton, who battled with depression and mental illness. After giving birth to her child Joyce she fell into Post-partum depression. This is when she begun to write poetry.
Anne came to a Roman Catholic Priest in 1974 to be red her last rites. He, who was unwilling to read her her last rites, told her that "God is in your typewriter." This struck Anne Sexton who did not kill herself, but instead in 20 days wrote the collection "The Awful Rowing Towards God." Then in October she went on to take her life.
Frenzy
I am not lazy.
I am on the amphetamine of the soul.
I am, each day,
typing out the God
my typewriter believes in.
Very quick. Very intense,
like a wolf at a live heart.
Not lazy.
When a lazy man, they say,
looks toward heaven,
the angels close the windows.
Oh angels,
keep the windows open
so that I may reach in
and steal each object,
objects that tell me the sea is not dying,
objects that tell me the dirt has a life-wish,
that the Christ who walked for me,
walked on true ground
and that this frenzy,
like bees stinging the heart all morning,
will keep the angels
with their windows open,
wide as an English bathtub.
The Fish that Walked
by Anne Sexton
Up from oysters
and the confused weeds,
out from the tears of God,
the wounding tides,
he came.
He became a hunter of roots
and breathed like a man.
He ruffled through the grasses
and became known to the sky.
I stood close and watched it all.
Beg pardon, he said
but you have skin divers,
you have hooks and nets,
so why shouldn't I
enter your element for a moment?
Though it is curious here,
unusually awkward to walk.
It is without grace.
There is no rhythm
in this country of dirt.
And I said to him:
From some country
that I have misplaced
I can recall a few things...
but the light of the kitchen
gets in the way.
Yet there was a dance
when I kneaded the bread
there was a song my mother
used to sing...
And the salt of God's belly
where I floated in a cup of darkness.
I long for your country, fish.
The fish replied:
You must be a poet,
a lady of evil luck
desiring to be what you are not,
longing to be
what you can only visit.
Oh Annie! You got it. here is your last poem. maybe you couldn't wait. oh my dear how you found it.
The Rowing Endeth
I'm mooring my rowboat at the dock of the island called God.
This dock is made in the shape of a fish
and there are many boats moored
at many different docks.
"It's okay," I say to myself,
with blisters that broke and healed
and broke and healed--saving
themselves over and over.
And salt sticking to my face and arms like
a glue-skin pocked with grains of tapioca.
I empty myself from my wooden boat and onto the flesh of The Island.
"On with it!" He says and thus
we squat on the rocks by the sea
and play--can it be true--a
game of poker.
He calls me.
I win because I hold a royal straight flush.
He wins because He holds five aces.
A wild card had been announced
but I had not heard it
being in such a state of awe
when He took out the cards and dealt.
As he plunks down His five aces
and I sit grinning at my royal flush,
He starts to laugh,
the laughter rolling like a hoop out of His mouth
and into mine,
and such laughter that He doubles right over me
laughing a Rejoice Chores at our two triumphs.
Then I laugh, the fishy dock laughs
the sea laughs. The Island laughs.
The Absurd laughs.
Dearest dealer,
I with my royal straight flush,
love you so for your wild card,
that untamable, eternal, gut-driven ha-ha
and lucky love.
Anne! Thank-you Anne. Yes. That Jesus is the wild card. the untablelucky love. He is the fifth ace.
Dearest Dealer! I with my straight fulsh, love you so for your wild card!
Here is one more Anne Sexton poem for you:
The Touch
For months my hand was sealed off
in a tin box. Nothing was there but the subway railings.
Perhaps it is bruised, I thought,
and that is why they have locked it up.
You could tell time by this, I thought,
like a clock, by its five knuckles
and the thin underground veins.
It lay there like an unconscious woman
fed by tubes she knew not of.
The hand had collapse,
a small wood pigeon
that had gone into seclusion.
I turned it over and the palm was old,
its lines traced like fine needlepoint
and stitched up into fingers.
It was fat and soft and blind in places.
Nothing but vulnerable.
And all this is metaphor.
An ordinary hand -- just lonely
for something to touch
that touches back.
The dog won't do it.
Her tail wags in the swamp for a frog.
I'm no better than a case of dog food.
She owns her own hunger.
My sisters won't do it.
They live in school except for buttons
and tears running down like lemonade.
My father won't do it.
He comes in the house and even at night
he lives in a machine made by my mother
and well oiled by his job, his job.
The trouble is
that I'd let my gestures freeze.
The trouble was not
in the kitchen or the tulips
but only in my head, my head.
Then all this became history.
Your hand found mine.
Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot.
Oh, my carpenter,
the fingers are rebuilt.
They dance with yours.
They dance in the attic and in Vienna.
My hand is alive all over America.
Not even death will stop it,
death shedding her blood.
Nothing will stop it, for this is the kingdom
and the kingdom come.
Anne Sexton, who battled with depression and mental illness. After giving birth to her child Joyce she fell into Post-partum depression. This is when she begun to write poetry.
Anne came to a Roman Catholic Priest in 1974 to be red her last rites. He, who was unwilling to read her her last rites, told her that "God is in your typewriter." This struck Anne Sexton who did not kill herself, but instead in 20 days wrote the collection "The Awful Rowing Towards God." Then in October she went on to take her life.
Frenzy
I am not lazy.
I am on the amphetamine of the soul.
I am, each day,
typing out the God
my typewriter believes in.
Very quick. Very intense,
like a wolf at a live heart.
Not lazy.
When a lazy man, they say,
looks toward heaven,
the angels close the windows.
Oh angels,
keep the windows open
so that I may reach in
and steal each object,
objects that tell me the sea is not dying,
objects that tell me the dirt has a life-wish,
that the Christ who walked for me,
walked on true ground
and that this frenzy,
like bees stinging the heart all morning,
will keep the angels
with their windows open,
wide as an English bathtub.
The Fish that Walked
by Anne Sexton
Up from oysters
and the confused weeds,
out from the tears of God,
the wounding tides,
he came.
He became a hunter of roots
and breathed like a man.
He ruffled through the grasses
and became known to the sky.
I stood close and watched it all.
Beg pardon, he said
but you have skin divers,
you have hooks and nets,
so why shouldn't I
enter your element for a moment?
Though it is curious here,
unusually awkward to walk.
It is without grace.
There is no rhythm
in this country of dirt.
And I said to him:
From some country
that I have misplaced
I can recall a few things...
but the light of the kitchen
gets in the way.
Yet there was a dance
when I kneaded the bread
there was a song my mother
used to sing...
And the salt of God's belly
where I floated in a cup of darkness.
I long for your country, fish.
The fish replied:
You must be a poet,
a lady of evil luck
desiring to be what you are not,
longing to be
what you can only visit.
Oh Annie! You got it. here is your last poem. maybe you couldn't wait. oh my dear how you found it.
The Rowing Endeth
I'm mooring my rowboat at the dock of the island called God.
This dock is made in the shape of a fish
and there are many boats moored
at many different docks.
"It's okay," I say to myself,
with blisters that broke and healed
and broke and healed--saving
themselves over and over.
And salt sticking to my face and arms like
a glue-skin pocked with grains of tapioca.
I empty myself from my wooden boat and onto the flesh of The Island.
"On with it!" He says and thus
we squat on the rocks by the sea
and play--can it be true--a
game of poker.
He calls me.
I win because I hold a royal straight flush.
He wins because He holds five aces.
A wild card had been announced
but I had not heard it
being in such a state of awe
when He took out the cards and dealt.
As he plunks down His five aces
and I sit grinning at my royal flush,
He starts to laugh,
the laughter rolling like a hoop out of His mouth
and into mine,
and such laughter that He doubles right over me
laughing a Rejoice Chores at our two triumphs.
Then I laugh, the fishy dock laughs
the sea laughs. The Island laughs.
The Absurd laughs.
Dearest dealer,
I with my royal straight flush,
love you so for your wild card,
that untamable, eternal, gut-driven ha-ha
and lucky love.
Anne! Thank-you Anne. Yes. That Jesus is the wild card. the untablelucky love. He is the fifth ace.
Dearest Dealer! I with my straight fulsh, love you so for your wild card!
Here is one more Anne Sexton poem for you:
The Touch
For months my hand was sealed off
in a tin box. Nothing was there but the subway railings.
Perhaps it is bruised, I thought,
and that is why they have locked it up.
You could tell time by this, I thought,
like a clock, by its five knuckles
and the thin underground veins.
It lay there like an unconscious woman
fed by tubes she knew not of.
The hand had collapse,
a small wood pigeon
that had gone into seclusion.
I turned it over and the palm was old,
its lines traced like fine needlepoint
and stitched up into fingers.
It was fat and soft and blind in places.
Nothing but vulnerable.
And all this is metaphor.
An ordinary hand -- just lonely
for something to touch
that touches back.
The dog won't do it.
Her tail wags in the swamp for a frog.
I'm no better than a case of dog food.
She owns her own hunger.
My sisters won't do it.
They live in school except for buttons
and tears running down like lemonade.
My father won't do it.
He comes in the house and even at night
he lives in a machine made by my mother
and well oiled by his job, his job.
The trouble is
that I'd let my gestures freeze.
The trouble was not
in the kitchen or the tulips
but only in my head, my head.
Then all this became history.
Your hand found mine.
Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot.
Oh, my carpenter,
the fingers are rebuilt.
They dance with yours.
They dance in the attic and in Vienna.
My hand is alive all over America.
Not even death will stop it,
death shedding her blood.
Nothing will stop it, for this is the kingdom
and the kingdom come.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
2 by 2
This morning I feel that spilling.
Life is joining me rejoicing, I am in a gate. That forever spreading out.
Everything feels in its right place.
Yesterday by evening everything felt crumbling: The madness of everything. was i going backwards? why won't anything work? and even bigger questions "Am i in the right place? my world falling apart?" the trip was falling apart? many chasms between. feeling regrets.
Last evening I was trying to write. . trying to go deep. trying to read the mishaped stack of books in my red messenger bag. I was trying to get some solace. I was trying to get back to that dock of myself.
But then the way You cleared it!
down the alleyway I found
2 park benches. (Joann tromped up)
she plunked down.
the same 2 pigeons started circling around us. (We had seen them at LuLu's in the afternoon)
(brown and grey, definately Jo was the brown and I was the grey, I kept wandering off and going up to the wall. Jo kept hurring and pecking at little things and bustling around, I was taking wide circles for no apparant reasons).
There were 2 shoes on the lamppost.
she left to get the 2 tacos. i debated going to my car. but i stayed. i stayed. i opened up my little secret mini-NIV.
Psalm 145 spreading out before me, as if waiting:
The Lord is faithful to all his promises
and loving toward all he has made.
The Lord upholds all those who fall
and lifts up all who are bowed down.
The eyes of all look to you,
and you give them their food at the proper time
You open your hand
and satisfy the desires of every living thing.
this verse spilling before me. covering me.
The first line keeping me, "really?"
I opened my journal and wrote:
"The Lord is faithful to all his promises."
Then a felt something on me, looked down and right there on my pants was a ladybug! When a ladybug lands on you it means you're lucky, it means you're in the right spot.
The last time I saw a lady bug it was on my car the day i was to go to raechel's wedding. i had just dropped all the pedals across the bridge and in the river and thru the park. i was bound to see Loch with my Cliff. The lady bug was on my car Ramona. It was a promise to bless me and to bring me there. that someday I would be married and wed in the way he wants. even that ripple! That he would not let me go. that he will put me in my right spot. that he comes in on his promises. and i knew with everything knit inside me that it was God's way of saying Yes to my little language. the little trunks i was carrying. yes.. you have arrived. i am telling you, i am delivering to you i'm coming through. I am saying Yes to what you want to believe in. I am Here in your wonders and the way you are spelling me out. "you are in the very right spot"
This time in my sunken day he brought a Ladybug, a black Lady bug with red dots. with only 2 red dots! How punk, and how much like the Billy Corgan poetry I was reading. how hardcore! how much that Ladybug looked like it belonged somewhere on the cover of "Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness" or his book "Blinking with Fists" with the unusual character on the front-cover pictured with hands up and riding on a ball.
The Lord saying "You are in the right spot! You are in my garden, my land. I will lead you to the spacious places. I have found you. You are mine."
And the Lord saying, truly. As He always does, very, very, very perfectly and seamlessly:
He will come in on his promises! Spelling it out for me. Telling me to mark it.
In all kinds of joy I sat there. "OK then!" There was nothing for me to do. I felt drunk! rejoicing. nothing to try or to make. Sitting on a bench the kingdom coming.
Life is joining me rejoicing, I am in a gate. That forever spreading out.
Everything feels in its right place.
Yesterday by evening everything felt crumbling: The madness of everything. was i going backwards? why won't anything work? and even bigger questions "Am i in the right place? my world falling apart?" the trip was falling apart? many chasms between. feeling regrets.
Last evening I was trying to write. . trying to go deep. trying to read the mishaped stack of books in my red messenger bag. I was trying to get some solace. I was trying to get back to that dock of myself.
But then the way You cleared it!
down the alleyway I found
2 park benches. (Joann tromped up)
she plunked down.
the same 2 pigeons started circling around us. (We had seen them at LuLu's in the afternoon)
(brown and grey, definately Jo was the brown and I was the grey, I kept wandering off and going up to the wall. Jo kept hurring and pecking at little things and bustling around, I was taking wide circles for no apparant reasons).
There were 2 shoes on the lamppost.
she left to get the 2 tacos. i debated going to my car. but i stayed. i stayed. i opened up my little secret mini-NIV.
Psalm 145 spreading out before me, as if waiting:
The Lord is faithful to all his promises
and loving toward all he has made.
The Lord upholds all those who fall
and lifts up all who are bowed down.
The eyes of all look to you,
and you give them their food at the proper time
You open your hand
and satisfy the desires of every living thing.
this verse spilling before me. covering me.
The first line keeping me, "really?"
I opened my journal and wrote:
"The Lord is faithful to all his promises."
Then a felt something on me, looked down and right there on my pants was a ladybug! When a ladybug lands on you it means you're lucky, it means you're in the right spot.
The last time I saw a lady bug it was on my car the day i was to go to raechel's wedding. i had just dropped all the pedals across the bridge and in the river and thru the park. i was bound to see Loch with my Cliff. The lady bug was on my car Ramona. It was a promise to bless me and to bring me there. that someday I would be married and wed in the way he wants. even that ripple! That he would not let me go. that he will put me in my right spot. that he comes in on his promises. and i knew with everything knit inside me that it was God's way of saying Yes to my little language. the little trunks i was carrying. yes.. you have arrived. i am telling you, i am delivering to you i'm coming through. I am saying Yes to what you want to believe in. I am Here in your wonders and the way you are spelling me out. "you are in the very right spot"
This time in my sunken day he brought a Ladybug, a black Lady bug with red dots. with only 2 red dots! How punk, and how much like the Billy Corgan poetry I was reading. how hardcore! how much that Ladybug looked like it belonged somewhere on the cover of "Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness" or his book "Blinking with Fists" with the unusual character on the front-cover pictured with hands up and riding on a ball.
The Lord saying "You are in the right spot! You are in my garden, my land. I will lead you to the spacious places. I have found you. You are mine."
And the Lord saying, truly. As He always does, very, very, very perfectly and seamlessly:
He will come in on his promises! Spelling it out for me. Telling me to mark it.
In all kinds of joy I sat there. "OK then!" There was nothing for me to do. I felt drunk! rejoicing. nothing to try or to make. Sitting on a bench the kingdom coming.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
on and on and on
my portion Lord. What is my portion? I wait for the Lord. the Lord is my portion.
What a good bikeride Carmen and I went on to get Laudry soap at TJ's.
This day has been full of rest.
full of right places.
Lord, can you put your floodlights on? how do i let his floodlights come? when i'm with the other one and there is chaos.
What a good bikeride Carmen and I went on to get Laudry soap at TJ's.
This day has been full of rest.
full of right places.
Lord, can you put your floodlights on? how do i let his floodlights come? when i'm with the other one and there is chaos.
June 14th
Right now the Grand Piano is being moved away. Oh my! That was part of why I moved in. How I have loved that piano. and once again years have gone by without my pouring upon it. how i want to. I feel this kindred spirit with the piano. and that the piano soothes my and is something I feel I could be really good at. that I have a language of piano in my fingers I feel and when I touch the piano I feel like a knowing and a softness and an unlocking and something total. something that holds me so deeply.
I love the way the lord works.
A piano will be moving back in when my dear friend Alice moves in. a piano will stay. it is not all lost. i have not lost my chance. the little ways this year seemed to start to fall apart this summer as everyone was going as my dear Carmina was going.
but now a piano will come back in the house.
one of the 2 things I asked for at the start of 07 was for piano. was for molly and piano, to do piano, to focus on piano.
my stomach sank when I thought that it would be over. and now a new piano will be coming in. The way that the lord returns, and this year returns. everything in its right place.
Carmen's piano is so sweet, it is a grand piano and it is very warm and i love it and she has shared it with such an open spirit. it has charmed so many. sitiing there so happily amidst crazy parties, sitting there so grand and so accepting amidst the hoopdy house and tie-dye background.
They have covered the piano and wrapped it. They have taken the piano's legs off..............
This piano has been such a pleasing sign of homeness. so warm and merry.
when i looked at the room 3 years ago, trying to get out of the other house I had commited myself too, I knew that this place was right, I just went to the piano (Carmen was so abiding) and started playing it. couldn't even stop. somewhat embarrassingly kept playing as I interviewed to become a roomate of 327 Market.
"Sure you can play" went Carmen and with such ease let me put my fingers on her piano and dally upon the sweet keys.
I knew I had the house. I knew it was the right place to be.
I love the way the lord works.
A piano will be moving back in when my dear friend Alice moves in. a piano will stay. it is not all lost. i have not lost my chance. the little ways this year seemed to start to fall apart this summer as everyone was going as my dear Carmina was going.
but now a piano will come back in the house.
one of the 2 things I asked for at the start of 07 was for piano. was for molly and piano, to do piano, to focus on piano.
my stomach sank when I thought that it would be over. and now a new piano will be coming in. The way that the lord returns, and this year returns. everything in its right place.
Carmen's piano is so sweet, it is a grand piano and it is very warm and i love it and she has shared it with such an open spirit. it has charmed so many. sitiing there so happily amidst crazy parties, sitting there so grand and so accepting amidst the hoopdy house and tie-dye background.
They have covered the piano and wrapped it. They have taken the piano's legs off..............
This piano has been such a pleasing sign of homeness. so warm and merry.
when i looked at the room 3 years ago, trying to get out of the other house I had commited myself too, I knew that this place was right, I just went to the piano (Carmen was so abiding) and started playing it. couldn't even stop. somewhat embarrassingly kept playing as I interviewed to become a roomate of 327 Market.
"Sure you can play" went Carmen and with such ease let me put my fingers on her piano and dally upon the sweet keys.
I knew I had the house. I knew it was the right place to be.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
given (3 in the morning)
Sing to the Lord a new song,
his praise in the assembly of the saints.
Let Israel rejoice in their Maker;
let the people of Zion be glad in their King.
Let them praise his name with dancing
and make music to him with tambourine and harp.
For the LORD takes delight in his people;
he crowns the humle with salvation.
Let tthe saints rejoice in this honor
and sing for joy on thier beds.
May the praise of God be in thier mouths
and a double-edged sword in their hands.
Psalm 149
It's like when I release it to Him, he harnesses the right places back.
I could keep talking and asking with the boy "What rocks are we on anyway?"
I could keep feeling defeated. keep waiting for echoes.
Maybe the lesson is that you can't confront the Cliff, but the dropping off point. how do I reign in?
How do I rain in?
Where do I climb?
I was so angry that night.
Our tumblers not working together, rocks passing mainting chunks. too much me trying to be a tumbler.
Getting up in the night. asking me to be a vessel.
Sing to the LORD a new song...may the praise of God be in their mouths.
so i went back to that place of scabs were I was laying, a place with walls, places blotted out. It was in my very heart! I started praising, sending that one word out of my mouth, breathing in that word. ... and my place was transformed.
The Hebrew word for salvation means literally "to make wide" or "to make sufficient."
There are places of hell and there are places of heaven. of eternity. of pouring. that's how the kingdom of heaven on earth feels to me. and I know it's not all about feeling, but truly it's existence is real. And you have to enter it. And you have to bring it, call it down, "On earth as it is in heaven" it is tactile and it is like a fabric your bring into your right here.
next time I wonder, how can I share that so-much praise place.
even in our honing in between us and gratefulness for the other is that enough?
How can we speak into our places?
How do we be the love of Christ to one another?
I am looking for that constant tide, that kind face.
there is that cornerered place where we both endup. the little shipwrecks.
I want to burrow into Christ with him.
his praise in the assembly of the saints.
Let Israel rejoice in their Maker;
let the people of Zion be glad in their King.
Let them praise his name with dancing
and make music to him with tambourine and harp.
For the LORD takes delight in his people;
he crowns the humle with salvation.
Let tthe saints rejoice in this honor
and sing for joy on thier beds.
May the praise of God be in thier mouths
and a double-edged sword in their hands.
Psalm 149
It's like when I release it to Him, he harnesses the right places back.
I could keep talking and asking with the boy "What rocks are we on anyway?"
I could keep feeling defeated. keep waiting for echoes.
Maybe the lesson is that you can't confront the Cliff, but the dropping off point. how do I reign in?
How do I rain in?
Where do I climb?
I was so angry that night.
Our tumblers not working together, rocks passing mainting chunks. too much me trying to be a tumbler.
Getting up in the night. asking me to be a vessel.
Sing to the LORD a new song...may the praise of God be in their mouths.
so i went back to that place of scabs were I was laying, a place with walls, places blotted out. It was in my very heart! I started praising, sending that one word out of my mouth, breathing in that word. ... and my place was transformed.
The Hebrew word for salvation means literally "to make wide" or "to make sufficient."
There are places of hell and there are places of heaven. of eternity. of pouring. that's how the kingdom of heaven on earth feels to me. and I know it's not all about feeling, but truly it's existence is real. And you have to enter it. And you have to bring it, call it down, "On earth as it is in heaven" it is tactile and it is like a fabric your bring into your right here.
next time I wonder, how can I share that so-much praise place.
even in our honing in between us and gratefulness for the other is that enough?
How can we speak into our places?
How do we be the love of Christ to one another?
I am looking for that constant tide, that kind face.
there is that cornerered place where we both endup. the little shipwrecks.
I want to burrow into Christ with him.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
07/08/07
Yesterday was 07/07/07.
I was praying to God last week and I felt God speak into me, in that invisible yet sturdy way, where it's not like full sentences or word-structures from God, but a kind of whole revealing:
That this year is about finding the Treasures. I want to find the treasures Lord!
And almost like there is something coming up. Somewhere to fall into.
Find the treasures LOrd! in my relationship too. that is how i want my relationship to go. that is what i want to be doing.
This is the year of Sabbath and yesterday was like the apex. I was waiting for this day.
It's like Sabbath times Sabbath times Sabbath.
It's the middle of the year of Jubilee.
I had spoken to God straight "What, God. What" like what do you have for me? And boy did He give me a treasure.
The following is my account of my 07-08 weekend. please enjoy the little things of my little odyssey.
I woke up on 07/07 in Marin, had returned to see Sarah one more time before she goes to Costa Rica. A Very Molly and Sarah night in a club we could care less about, with girls done up and girlified and bling. we roll plainer than that but we still like to dress up. went with sarah's guy and his friend and danced in that vast and happy sarah and molly way. that was the night before.
Woke up on 07/07 and fetched Sarah from her friend's room. had to get back to Santa Cruz.
The license plate holder of the car in front of us said "Good."
on the 7th day that is what the creator said. He rested. He saw creation and he called it Good.
Saturday was a good day. It was a day of looking back on my life and where I've been, where I've come from, and knowing it is good.
We went to Sarah's Dad's house, in the neighborhoood I grew up in, Meadow Avenue. I passed the little alley way where the boys that picked on me threw rocks at me. I passed the school where my grandpa would pick me up. My street with the Island at the end where I used to walk my little doggie.
I sat there with Sarah's dad and she told him about the drama of the night before, and he laughed and sympathized and nodded, getting Sarah's tough love-me spirit. the steps where i gave her her first violin. the house i played in.
Driving home I kept calling my mom whose line was busy, had the nudge to. Then for some reason I called my Dad, and he actually picked up the Home Phone which never happens. He never picks up, but is handed the phone. This time my Dad picked up. He sounded happy to hear from me in his voice. "I have something interesting to tell you."
Then my Dad gave me the biggest news he has ever told me, one of the greatest gifts I could thinik of and it came from my Dad. He told me about some important people I'm related to. That they are studying our family line, which I know nothing about, I know a kinds of little fascinating things about my mother's line, but nothing from my Dad's side.
He told me I'm related to Emily Dickinson. 7 cousins. Seven.
I am related to Emily Dickinson. My world flooding. I can't believe it. Only the greatest Female Wordsmith. She is the one I looked up to as I started to sharpen my editing in college. Her command of words and structure. Her voice of daggers. Her obsession with the things, with objects, and the way she floats her worlds around her. That is like me.
She is the greatest female poet, and I started to feel this command, this gift from God, that i have a legacy in my family. That if I could be a poet like Emily Dickinson, but with the Jesus thing in there and the 2007 thing.
And I even started to think about the weird ways I've emulated or been drawn to her.
The book I made when I finished my program, It her her quote that is the epitath to the whole book.
"To be a good writer you must Murder your Darlings."
And I think about how I like to go to my attic, when I lived in my attic and I felt so reassured and that was the only place I wanted to be.
I am not trying to claim to be Emily Dickinson by any means but I do think it so interesting of the little embers of ways that I write or places i like to dwell that glow with Emily Dickinson way. The way she gets so fond of things. And even though her poems are somewhat morbid, there's a way she lives through things in the little lives of her poems.
Right when I was told that my personhood ignited. This is what I must do I am being called to be a writer! And God is blessing me in this dear way. I am in the line of Emily Dickinson.
And I know my poems are obsessed with things and mast up and sail in little worlds.
Could there be a way that our voices are related?
to be continued.....
I was praying to God last week and I felt God speak into me, in that invisible yet sturdy way, where it's not like full sentences or word-structures from God, but a kind of whole revealing:
That this year is about finding the Treasures. I want to find the treasures Lord!
And almost like there is something coming up. Somewhere to fall into.
Find the treasures LOrd! in my relationship too. that is how i want my relationship to go. that is what i want to be doing.
This is the year of Sabbath and yesterday was like the apex. I was waiting for this day.
It's like Sabbath times Sabbath times Sabbath.
It's the middle of the year of Jubilee.
Then 7/8/07. The next left. The day of infinity. The way we are moving into 8. 8 as in eternity. The next octave. The new land. The kingdom on earth. the next carpeted step, the good ready prepared spacious land. This is where I feel this year is taking us into.
I had spoken to God straight "What, God. What" like what do you have for me? And boy did He give me a treasure.
The following is my account of my 07-08 weekend. please enjoy the little things of my little odyssey.
I woke up on 07/07 in Marin, had returned to see Sarah one more time before she goes to Costa Rica. A Very Molly and Sarah night in a club we could care less about, with girls done up and girlified and bling. we roll plainer than that but we still like to dress up. went with sarah's guy and his friend and danced in that vast and happy sarah and molly way. that was the night before.
Woke up on 07/07 and fetched Sarah from her friend's room. had to get back to Santa Cruz.
The license plate holder of the car in front of us said "Good."
on the 7th day that is what the creator said. He rested. He saw creation and he called it Good.
Saturday was a good day. It was a day of looking back on my life and where I've been, where I've come from, and knowing it is good.
We went to Sarah's Dad's house, in the neighborhoood I grew up in, Meadow Avenue. I passed the little alley way where the boys that picked on me threw rocks at me. I passed the school where my grandpa would pick me up. My street with the Island at the end where I used to walk my little doggie.
I sat there with Sarah's dad and she told him about the drama of the night before, and he laughed and sympathized and nodded, getting Sarah's tough love-me spirit. the steps where i gave her her first violin. the house i played in.
Driving home I kept calling my mom whose line was busy, had the nudge to. Then for some reason I called my Dad, and he actually picked up the Home Phone which never happens. He never picks up, but is handed the phone. This time my Dad picked up. He sounded happy to hear from me in his voice. "I have something interesting to tell you."
Then my Dad gave me the biggest news he has ever told me, one of the greatest gifts I could thinik of and it came from my Dad. He told me about some important people I'm related to. That they are studying our family line, which I know nothing about, I know a kinds of little fascinating things about my mother's line, but nothing from my Dad's side.
He told me I'm related to Emily Dickinson. 7 cousins. Seven.
I am related to Emily Dickinson. My world flooding. I can't believe it. Only the greatest Female Wordsmith. She is the one I looked up to as I started to sharpen my editing in college. Her command of words and structure. Her voice of daggers. Her obsession with the things, with objects, and the way she floats her worlds around her. That is like me.
She is the greatest female poet, and I started to feel this command, this gift from God, that i have a legacy in my family. That if I could be a poet like Emily Dickinson, but with the Jesus thing in there and the 2007 thing.
And I even started to think about the weird ways I've emulated or been drawn to her.
The book I made when I finished my program, It her her quote that is the epitath to the whole book.
"To be a good writer you must Murder your Darlings."
And I think about how I like to go to my attic, when I lived in my attic and I felt so reassured and that was the only place I wanted to be.
I am not trying to claim to be Emily Dickinson by any means but I do think it so interesting of the little embers of ways that I write or places i like to dwell that glow with Emily Dickinson way. The way she gets so fond of things. And even though her poems are somewhat morbid, there's a way she lives through things in the little lives of her poems.
Right when I was told that my personhood ignited. This is what I must do I am being called to be a writer! And God is blessing me in this dear way. I am in the line of Emily Dickinson.
And I know my poems are obsessed with things and mast up and sail in little worlds.
Could there be a way that our voices are related?
to be continued.....
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