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Oh, howler monkeys, barking brothers, give me a sign!
Oh, mossies with your accidental inoculations and incessant whine!
Oh, reckless horses grazing rain-soaked on hillsides!
Oh, back-lit cloud-filled glowing eve moonlight!
Oh, parrots screeching, paired in flight!
Oh, cicada electric diamond dust-mite!
Whisper to me, what’s next in this life?
Oh, you ebb and flow, you gradual let go,
you unpredictable tides toss my ego to the side.
Oh, you kindhearted warriors and medicine men
converting skeptics to believers; thanking god, forgiving sin.
Oh, lift me sky high, you wondrous ride,
wings wide embracing sight, souring to glide
darting to find with shimmering eyes.
Oh, certainty, undressed in this magical mess,
monsters loom whispering sexy sounds of death
Rundown, wrung out, mind void of sound
shoulders unwound spiral toward the ground..
Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?
Laa laa laa laa laa?
Oh, the future is bright!
Soul, fear not of heights!
Simply squeeze myself tight,
love, and believe with all my might,
everything’s already alright.
(inspired by whitman, panama, and my beating heart)
The only constant in life is change. My body and cells are always changing, evolving, growing, working, and dying. My mind and emotions shape-shift. It’s important to remind myself that none of them are mine. Nope. None of the things I love or hate about myself or my experience exist beyond this very moment. A sense of peace expands when I breathe in and let this feeling sink into my wavering bones.
Rooting is not easy for me. I prefer to drift and allow the universe to topple me over, tangle my hair, lift me above the strongest currents, and then sweep me away at high tide. I experience oneness in these dancing flowing moments, allowing to be. But a seed cannot blow in the wind forever, no no no, not if it wants to grow. I believe the universe wants to manifest itself in every possible way through me, through us. All our seeds are meant to grow. We are nearly weightless in this void. We are compact, efficient, and contain all the vital information to survive. Upon finding fertile ground we will have one chance to grow. Is it safe?
Fully exhausted, I’m struggling against the current. My roots don’t know where to go. I tell them, “dig deeper, away from those weeds, around these stones, stay, don’t be afraid,” but actually, I have absolutely no idea what the fuck I’m doing. To ground is to trust in stillness, and create something to be a representative for who I am and what I do. A pillar. I prefer myself as a whisper, a story, a burst of passion, a gentle touch. My fragile sprout chances death and dismemberment if those winds blow and I don’t let go.
How much of this is about ‘letting go’ and how much is about ‘running away?’ There are no answers, so I’ll live inside the question mark. I’ll allow my constant curiosity to observe these thunderous quaking cries, an unruly display. Fuck it. I’ll just breathe. Fear not, little seed. This is an effortless endeavor. I will trust that now is the time and this is the place, mostly because there is no use in thinking otherwise. Hold on tight.
Deep within the jungle of my unconscious mind a long-limbed spider monkey swings from the rafters of a bamboo hut. Fueled by frustration she erratically sways from one beam to the next. Her fingers and tail powerfully grip the smooth bamboo poles. Her graceful movements tell a story. First soft and steady, syncopated rhythms resound. Without notice, she accelerates, becomes flailing, vicious, and violent. She embodies the chaos of the spinning swirling infinite abyss, hands feet and tail blindly reaching for anything solid, teeth bared, voice wavering between shrieking and screaming.
She realizes she isn’t alone. She focuses her frenzied assault. Open hands become fists, tail becomes a whip, feet become cannon balls. Every swing is a hold-your-breath-you-just-might-make-it… miss. Spinning round and round this round bamboo room, whirlpooling the air, unable to leave, unable to breathe. Her screams pierce the air. In time they are reduced to hoarse grumbles. The sheer effort is too much, she tires quickly. Her movements falter, she moves as if through jello, thoroughly exhausted. She finds stillness, cries, slumps into a pile of defeated furry limbs and tears.
This monkey isn’t real, you know. She’s just a figment of my dream-self. She embodies how I dealt with that heartache, I owe her my happiness. Up until she came to me in a dream, I had different ways of dealing with pain. I would curl in the kitchen cabinets when the monster was after me. I would spend all night running away, hiding away, unaware that there was another option.
My monkey spirit taught me well. She told me to speed through the hurt. Accelerate. Cry all the tears as they come, speak the words with the thoughts, move my body whenever and however it needed. Dance it out. Kick and scream, just like the toddlers do. Have a tantrum, fully exhaust myself, and then fully surrender. (Just like yoga class.) The calm after the storm was buzzing with awareness and new realizations.
Inner wisdom whispered her secrets during those quiet dewy mornings. Acceptance met my acquaintance, jealousy and fear left the building. I embraced the hurt, I accepted it, and I learned that speeding through the dark allows me to live in the light.
Come, come, whoever you are.
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving.
It doesn’t matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow a hundred times.
Come, yet again, come, come.
For years I’ve been using my mother’s suburban house, as many people do, as a jumping-off point for travel endeavors. Returning home isn’t easy. Sure, there are free hot showers, people speaking the same language as me (although it often doesn’t feel like that), friends to laugh with, and family to squeeze and smooch. But, I’m also bombarded by a plethora of memories.
Attempts to be ‘in the moment’ dissolve into time travel as I sift through the remains of my youth. I uncover bits of love letters, aged photos, broken gifts, and tatty jewelry that were hidden from sight under the furthermost corner of my bed. My face reflects associated emotions with raised eyebrows, a half grin, a quiet chuckle, a quivering chin. A sudden case of the ‘shoulda-coulda-wouldas’ looms darkly overhead. I read the letters, swoon over the photos, finger the gifts and jewelry as if they’ve just been resurrected from an ancient forgotten treasure chest. Old emotions run their course, steadily lapping in and out of my consciousness. As my mind clouds, I lose the task at hand (clean out old shit) and begin fantasizing about how my life could have been different.
…If I stayed in that relationship I’d have kids by now, and probably a nice house, dogs, in-laws over for Sunday dinner. I could have taken that job. I’d be enjoying health insurance, a retirement, a 401k! I should have just looked harder, tried this, or that… I would have established myself. I would have made something of myself. I would have a ‘real life’…
This is dangerous territory, bordering on depression and regret. Scenarios present themselves, current situations appear shallow and unsatisfying, and suddenly, nothing I’ve done can live up to my own mind’s adolescent fantasies.
The disappointment strikes in a panic; I start to re-evaluate life. Gut-clenched I rush off to the computer, put the words together, make sentences, and make sense of these emotions. The full moon peeks out from behind a cloud. It dares not blink. Tides are high. The typed letters flow like water, like breath, rolling a steady cadence into linear existence and back again.
I write because I’m so alone I crave an imaginary audience to share this scary space with. I feel alone because I separate myself from my friends and family to experience more of the world. I travel because keeping up pace here feels like running on a hamster wheel, sometimes monotonous, and over-crowded with familiarity. I compulsively leave this place because travel makes my guts smile, makes my smiles sing, makes my songs impassioned, makes my passion ignite. I want experiences that are bright, fresh, untainted, new, clean, beautiful. I’m full of emotion because this room, in this house, doesn’t feel any of those words. Got to let go.
The stirred up dust settles on two full garbage bags and leaning stacks of things to donate. Graveyards of memories. A final glance lingers. My mind asks questions. Will I regret it? Will I want to go back to those memories, mourn again what was lost, pry myself from presence to float in fantasy of what can never manifest? Maybe. But it’s too late, now. The stuff is gone, the clouds are lifting, and the room feels as spacious as a clear night sky.
I won’t catch my bus if I’m stuck crying beside memory tombstones, and I couldn’t really breathe with all that emotional baggage weighing me down. This torturous act of clearing leaves me to experience what remains.
What remains? The space to stretch, time to enjoy, and freedom to breathe.
The stars poke holes in the blackest night sky. Ideas about self-empowerment, beauty in the breakdown, and dancing mercilessly into the void shine through. The stars appear united from behind. One cohesive blinding light. Justice, love, truth manifested. They poke holes in our being, our utter blackness, our own singular point, our void.
The night sky would hold no importance to me, no beautiful poetic narrative, if it weren’t for the stars. These pieces of truth that manage to squeeze their way through pin-sized holes in the great abyss. Moments like these, these points of clarity, are what makes ‘it all’ worth it.
The dark includes the twinkling stars, full of possibility. Inseperable. ONE. Dualism is a way to reflect this universal truth into our earthly paradigm. We often take the unknowable apart, and simplify the bits to fit our cultural commonalities. Although divided, the story is reunited in daily acts. Reunited in our full collective unconscious. Memory soup.
Gazing up at the night sky on this very evening has allowed me a moment’s glimpse of the ‘one hearted way.’ I am inspired to more fully understand, to know it in my bones, to sow my seeds in it, to breath it, and become a living representation of it.
Actually, we probably already have. We probably already are.
Oh all the money that ere I spent, I spent it in good company. And all the harm that ere I’ve done, alas it was to none but me. And all I’ve done, for want of wit, to memory now I can’t recall. So fill to me a parting glass, “Goodnight and joy be with you all.” Oh all the comrades that ere I’ve had, are sorry for my going away. And all the lovers that ere I’ve had, would wish me one more day to stay. But since it falls into my lot that I should rise and you should not… I’ll gently rise and I’ll softly call… “Goodnight and joy be with you all.”
What is reality but your own sensory perception of that which ‘is?’ My senses are heightened, naturally I might add. I mean, colors are so bright and beautiful, smells strong and remniscent of emotion, clarity of sound, textures, touch, tastes, are all available at each moment. I’m glimpsing what it is like to be here now. Three months for me ended up being the best thing I could ever do for myself; the lessons are endless. I’m informed, I’m educated, I’m a certified yoga instructor! Gratitude to all my teachers, from all walks of life, put into my life to guide me along this jungle path.
The Golden Nuggets (and how they were learned):
The universe always delivers. (Getting what I am intended to receive, always.)
Beauty lies the struggle. (Yorron taught me this.)
The magic of the moment is within me. (The illusion of love spells.)
Sense gratification is merely perpetuating the enslavement to desire. (Benzy, chocolate museli bars and smokes.)
Above all, allow to be. (Homie G.)
Love is bliss, so enjoy every second of it, wherever you find it. (Selina <3)
Never give up. (My good old sensei)
Are you breathing? (David)
Awareness, action, then mastery. (Karl, thank you!)
Every moment is a chance to recreate yourself. (Des)
Thoughts embraced by emotion and intention creates manifestation. (Marnie, Michelle, everyone really)
In the face of fear, breathe into your heart. (Kyndra the mermaid)
Be soft, gentle, draw back your claws. (My white tiger)
All good things in moderation, moderation in moderation. (Life and Ari)
Offer love and compassion in the face of suffering. (Everyone)
Aham sat chit ananda; I am truth beauty and bliss. (Marina)
It’s perfect. Every moment is perfect. (Michelle)
We are all unique beautiful creatures with some unfortunate habits, but we have power in the struggle to acknowledge the beauty and mportance of emotion, social interaction, and community.
It’s all coming together, spiderwebs of spirograph connections. To really integrate, I’m going to hole up in a tent on a beach for awhile. For the selfish/selfless quest to give appropriate time and space for expansion. Next stop, India and Nepal!
We did some affirmations for Valentines day. Today is really special, something with the alignment of Jupiter and Mars and the moon in the house of Aquarious or something. It’s a good idea, you can try it too. Here are mine.
I am a loving, healthy, and totally balanced creature. I am manifesting pure love and divine contentment for my family, friends, and each beautiful spirit who has passed under this pyramid. I speak my truth. I manifest pure love for mom, dad, and bubs. I manifest pure self love for me. I appreciate and love and spread this buzzing rainbow-flavored goodness all around me to all who I meet. I love, love, love. I surrender my control to the universe to take care of me. I trust I will find my partner in love and life when I am fully ready and aware… when it’s meant to be. I believe and I feel. And I love. I really do!
From the top of the flight
Of the wide white stairs
Through the rest of my life
Do you wait for me there?
There’s a bell in my ears
There’s a wide white row
Drop a bell down the stairs
Hear it fall forever more
Hear it fall forever more
Drop a bell off of the dock
Blot it out in the sea
Drowning mute as a rock
Sounding mutiny
There’s a light in the wings
Hits this system of strings
From the side while they swing;
See the wires, the wires, the wires
And the articulation
In our elbows and knees
Makes us buckle and we couple in endless increase
And the little white dove
Made with love, made with love
Made with glue and a glove and some pliers
Swings a low sickle arc
From its perch in the dark
Settle down
Settle down
Settle down my desire
And the moment i slept
I was swept up in a terrible tremor
Though no longer bereft, how i shook
And i couldn’t remember
And then the furthermost shake
Drove a murdering stake in
And cleft me right down through my center
And i shouldn’t say so
But i know that it was then or never
Push me back into a tree
Bind my buttons with salt
Fill my long ears with bees
Braying ‘please, please, please,
Oh you ought not!
No you ought not!’
And then this system of strings
Tugs on the tip of my wings
Cut from cardboard and old magazines
Makes me warble and rise like a sparrow
And in the place where i stood
There is a circle of wood
A quarter to which you chop and you stack in your barrow
And it is terribly good
To carry water and chop wood
Streaked with soot, heavy booted and wild-eyed
As i crash through the rafters
And the ropes and the pulleys trail after
And the holiest belfry burns sky high
And then a slow lip of fire
Moves across the prairie with precision
While somewhere with your pliers and glue
You make your first incision
And in a moment of almost unbearable vision
Doubled over with the hunger of lions
‘Hold me close’, cooed the dove
Who was stuffed now with sawdust and diamonds
I wanted to say ‘why the long face?’
Sparrow perch and play songs of long face
Burro buck and bray songs of long face
Sings ‘i will swallow your sadness and eat your cold clay
Just to lift your long face’
And though it may be madness, i will take to the grave
Your precious long face
& though our bones they may break & our souls separate
Why the long face?
And though our bodies recoil from the grip of the soil
Why the long face?’
In the trough of the waves
Which are pawing like dogs
Between pale-faced and grave
As i write in my log
And then i hear a noise from the hull
Seven days out to sea
And it is the damnable bell
And it tolls, i believe, that it tolls
It tolls for me!
And it tolls for me!
And though my wrists and my waist
Seem so easy to break
Still my dear i would have walked you to the edge of the water
And they will recognise
All the lines of your face
In the face of the daughter, of the daughter, of my daughter
And darling we will be fine
But what was yours and mine
Appears to be a sandcastle that the gibbering wave takes
But if it’s all just the same
Then say my name, say my name,
Say my name in the morning so that i know when the wave breaks
I wasn’t born of a whistle
Or milked from a thistle at twilight
No, i was all horns and thorns
Sprung out fully formed, knock-kneed and upright
So enough of this terror we deserve to know light
And grow evermore lighter and lighter
You would have seen me through
But i could not undo that desire
MRumianowski