buy/sell/trade

my body is not a commodity
in the eyes of a market
drunk on scarcity
dignity is trading at
bear-market prices
counting carbs like basis points
a moment on the lips

my body is not a commodity
i wish i could say stocks are up
but trust is down
favor collapsing
hedged my bets on a short-sell
left me holding the bag
and owing the devil my soul
another Great Depression

my body is not a commodity
a broker for my worth
never in my best interest
trading volume at an all time low
market cap some factor of 
whispers & side eyes
your ever-flinching gaze

my body is not a commodity
but like a commodity,
this body –
value not inversely proportional 
nor even related to
size, ability, agility
anatomy.
i have controlling interest
keep your bull-market smile
my worth
no longer publicly traded

My Own, Personal Jesus

In Season 14 of Grey’s Anatomy, April Kepner is having a crisis of faith. At one point she said:

Her agony and confusion were palpable, and in that moment, I saw something with absolute clarity:

I’m not religious, though I do consider myself spiritual. I don’t believe in heaven or hell; I have no concrete idea if there’s an afterlife that would resemble anything like the life I know now. Maybe we are all merely energy that will change forms and vibrate at some different level, merging with the universe in ways that are both mysterious and beautiful. I don’t think spiritual texts, including the Bible, are definitive rules I have to follow to win God’s favor, as much as they are encoded sources of wisdom and insight about how to navigate the complexities of our present existence. Ultimately, it’s about finding meaning and purpose, and the ability to have peace and joy — here, in this moment.

Negativity, narcissism, and neuroticism are rampant. They spread faster than the coronavirus and do more damage than cancer. It’s easy to be swept up in that current and to look at life through those eyes. When I do… Every day becomes an exercise in drudgery. Every email sounds sharper than it probably is — a hint of judgment I can’t help but hear. All those unmet, unspoken expectations of friends or family feel like proof that they don’t really love me. There’s a saying in a community I’m in: “One’s too many and a thousand never enough.” As soon as I give in to that first ONE, whatever it is, there will never be enough to satisfy me. And that’s also true with complaining, gossiping, rumination, harsh self-talk — things that might make me feel… well, different… for a moment, but snowball into a lifestyle that’s hard to escape.

It’s even harder to quit than sugar.

I’m not referring to feelings here — I’m talking about behaviors. I am going to have some feelings; we all do! I keep reminding myself that a feeling only lasts 30 seconds. I mean the science says no longer than 90 seconds – but when I first learned it, I learned 30. At any rate – it’s short-lived and certainly does not last days.

Apparently feelings are a chemical reaction; just energy moving through the body. When I allow myself to fully feel them — without judgment, suppression, or mental storytelling — they typically move through me in seconds, without taking control of the bus.

In the moment that I have a feeling, I also have a choice. Do I succumb to the feeling? Accept the invitation into self-obsession? Do I feed the virus so it will grow stronger? Throw another log on the fire? Latch on to that feeling so I can justify all sorts of behavior?

Or, do I choose to let the feeling run its course? Do I remember that in the grand scheme of things this doesn’t really matter and make the decision to practice patience, generosity of spirit, grace…. Do I lean on faith, trust, and hope?

The instructions to turn the other cheek or to rejoice aren’t there so we can “please God” — unless, like me, you believe that we are one and the same— or to earn a place in heaven. We’re meant to do it because it brings us joy now, because it allows us to experience heaven right here on earth.

I once asked a spiritual mentor and teacher – how do you tell the difference between what’s real and what isn’t? Her response was, “you don’t, you pick the story you like best and live it like it’s real.” She was telling me that we create our own reality.

So, when the line is long at the store and I’m going to be late for — whatever — I remember that patience is a principle that I can allow to guide my behavior. When I get word about someone I love who is not doing well, I remind myself that faith and trust are choices I can make, rather than giving in to worry or pity. I carefully choose the words I use to describe what’s going on — the story — and I tell it in a way that works for me instead of against me.

Perspective is everything. When I change the way I look at things, the things I look at change.

fucking supernova

i am broken
and i don’t know what will come of it

is there something wrong
with being broken
leaning in,
letting it be

here’s what i know about seeds
they have everything they need
to become
what
they
are
already inside them

don’t rush in
with your light
these seeds
need darkness

why are we in such a hurry to fix things?

some seeds have
an extra layer
that must be
burned
away

don’t worry, they’ll be fine.
they require that softening
a weakening
of their hard exterior
and eventually…

they break

they break right through
that
protective encasing of theirs

no one descends
to stitch that wound up
we marvel at the
process
of life
finding a way

let me break
let me be broken
let the darkness
have its way with me

let my root plunge
into the shadow
in search of life

i am broken
and i don’t know what will come of it

do not scurry
to pull my edges back together
this wound
does not mend

may this break find me
a million tiny pieces
scattered about
the bedroom floor

may my
fractured
pieces
light up
the night sky
a fucking supernova
exploding
brighter than a galaxy of
stars

let this life
not be wasted
a heart
never shattered
my shell
never compromised

maybe the fullness of life
comes not from wholeness
rather from breaking open

again
and again

Double Bonded Oxygen

(circa 1998)

purple people don't try to fly
they just do
except,
of course,
when they are lost
in the parking lot
of Pennsylvania

and
especially when
they are
tracking
the elusive
folk
singer

shhhh!! be vewy vewy quiet

when the storm comes
reach out your hand
to me
and lift me
into your boat

together
we are
aimlessly floating
through a sea of thoughts
and fears

until the sun comes up
once again
too early in the morning

i must tell you that i love you
with every double bonded oxygen atom in my body

...and then some

sporadic bursts of words appear
infiltrating my sleepy brain
until nothing makes sense

and i'm not quite sure
why
everything seems so clear

Pheonix

daring adventurer
dancing the flames
of my own undoing
dancing the flames
of my own resurrection

journeyer;
expanding
in to
oblivion

what awaits me?
mystery
that which is behind me
i no longer need

you thought i was further along…
i thought i was catching up
really,
i was catching fire

burning alive
by my own virtue
burning alive
from my own passion

from ashes i rise

Gate 6

I lay this heartache
on the bare-bones altar
of all my dreams

WHO AM I!?
I scream in vain
A question echoing through
the empty walls of my heart

No one will answer…..

No one can.

[Image Credits]
[Creator:Picasa]
[Retrieved from: https://elainemansfield.com/2016/listening-dark-descent-inanna/]

Why I’m Giving Up On Hope

Screen Shot 2017-08-10 at 5.25.35 PM

I’ve been thinking a lot about hope lately.  Hoping things turn out ok, hoping someone special to me is ok, hoping that maybe, just maybe “this” can work for me too.  Hoping for a better world, hoping for healing, so fucking much to hope for….

I don’t want to hope something for someone that they don’t hope for themselves.  Talk about an imposition of will based on some judgments that what want for you is surely better than what you want for yourself.

Synonyms for hope include the words expectation and anticipate.  All of these are looking toward the future.  If it’s not ok to future trip with worry, why is it ok to future trip with hope?  Let’s ditch worry, hope, regret, shame – all of it! – and live in this moment, with radical acceptance and surrender.

Brené Brown talks about faith and worry not being opposites.  She suggests that the opposite of faith is certainty, faith and worry being two sides of the same coin.  Let’s look at hope and worry with similar eyes, as being two sides of the same future coin.  That being the case, the opposite is presence.   

Hoping for some future, better condition is a sort of slap in the face to the perfection of now.  Maybe rather than hope for something different I can be grateful for what is.  Maybe rather than hope for something better, I can do the powerfully magical work of shifting my consciousness and seeing the world through different eyes –  a perspective shift that allows me to see the perfection of the moment.

“Maybe, just maybe, this can work for me too…..” What ever happened to doing the right thing for the right reason? Does this mean I am choosing a course of action based on my desire for a specific outcome – like “it working”? What if things turn out differently than my image of “working” – does that mean I did something wrong, that I didn’t try hard enough, that I am hopeless.  What if I miss some really beautiful outcome because I am so stuck to this vision of what I think life should look like? What would happen if I do what is on my heart to do, solely because it is on my heart to do?

Having loved enough and lost enough,
I’m no longer searching
just opening,

no longer trying to make sense of pain
but trying to be a soft and sturdy home
in which real things can land.
~ Mark Nepo

 

Photo Credit:
http://www.kendrarenzoniyoga.com/blog/sraddha-faith-fear-exhaustion-doubt

Like a Weed

I hope the seed I am
grows like a weed:

Without any reverence for where I’m supposed to grow
or where it would be more convenient.

Finding the cracks and tiny spaces in everything;
spreading my particular kind of beauty
in the most unlikely places.

 

 

Image credit: claudialala.tumblr.com

I come from….

I come from…

Well, of course I come from my mother –

and a long line of mothers before her.  And that is what is obvious…  My mother and my mother’s mother, and her mother before, all quite skilled in the art of survival.  They survived cruelties, witnessed disgusting acts of hate and power – and, somehow still had dinner on the table promptly at 5.

They sacrificed their children on the altar of someone’s hunger, on the altar of making nice and looking pretty, and…were up at dawn preparing breakfast, headed to the fields.

I come from a long line of lies, broken hearts, and pretense – always, always pretense.  And, when it all became too much to bear, too much to hold together, I come from a long line of violence.

I come from my mother, who not being able to bear the pain and constant struggle of holding the façade in place, firmly powerfully in place, escaped through a tiny hole in her arm.

In her escaping she shifted the legacy, only perhaps even darker now than before.

I come from…

I come from a place inside myself that will not be denied.

Shrouded in cultural atrocity, presented as normal, passed off as appropriate… I come from a place inside myself that will not be denied.

A place of stars, a place of grace, of raging fires and ravaging storms… I come from a place inside myself that will not be denied.

A place of ubiquitous love, of grand creation, a place of interwoven mystery and cosmic unfolding….

I come from a place inside myself, that, though carefully walled in and dressed in the fabric of a culture that could care less, will not be denied.


Originally written January 11, 2015.

Image credit: http://s357.photobucket.com/user/MangekyoChidori2089/media/monk22.jpg.html

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