14th & pennsylvania

you wouldn't believe it - i caught a glimpse. a real live show from someday, a concrete example of the possible, although no indication of likelihood or lack thereof. in the fading evening, a fountain glowed, spilling over wet with joy, at a city intersection, and like toys wound up for a musical play, couples twirled about the plaza to beautiful music. i was struck silent, near tears, it was such an amazing sight. no cameras, no judges, no dress code - just people dancing for the sake of dancing, for the pleasure itself. some were self-conscious, others blissfully unaware, some focused and others lost. and i saw us, just on the edge of the group, moving a bit slower than the rest, though in rhythm, more frail and fragile-looking in our old age. we danced with smiles, sometimes with eyes closed, sometimes acknowledging this small urban miracle around us, sometimes wrapped up in our own synchronized bodies. at times like these people inevitably reflect, and we reflected with peace on our past. that peace was a gift but also a reward for hard work, and we had done our time. i tried to remember what it felt like to miss you, but couldn't escape the joy of having you close, all to myself for another few moments, and i was grateful. you were my peace, you were my gift, and in my old age i let go of the long struggle between convincing myself i deserved you and working towards earning you simultaneously, because both sides of that struggle were reconciled with one solution: honoring you, respecting you, loving you as much as i possibly could for as long as god and mother nature agreed upon. i knew our allotted number of breaths in this lifetime were drawing to a close, and the serenity i found in my love for you kept most fears of death at bay. you had always been my inspiration, in this life and in preparation for whatever lay beyond. a sweet slow ballroom dance al fresco with you was big enough to fit all these thoughts, and small enough to help me understand them. it was lovely, and so are you.

reflection

hello again. it's been a while but i know your scream, and i heard it. i know your fears and i see you sleep and i wonder the same questions you do, but from a safe place. i am proof that we made it, that you will make it, as doubtful as you may be at times. the unknown hangs in your peripheral vision, creeping in from time to time, blotting out the view like wet ink, reminding you that you only see a portion of the picture, that you only know what is available to you, but there is more, beyond. remember when you dive in that if you go down, it's only worth it if you go all the way down and touch bottom, hover for a moment, relax into the darkness, let yourself go. then look up at the reflected light, walking lightly across the surface above you, remember it, crave it, and return to it. one day when you dive down, you may find that you can bring the light with you, and find comfort at the bottom, seeing it more clearly for what it is.
those people that you keep seeing on the black side the road at the edge of your headlights, i know they scare you. if not for their presence, then for their unknown intentions. are they lost? do they want you? will they hurt you? will they keep you? can they see you? why do they follow you? they are your questions, the hardest ones, and they thrive in dark places, behind trees, flickers in the night. you don't have to know everything about them, or be frightened, but you should acknowledge them, because they belong to you and they will stay with you until their answers become more visible.
i watch your body sleep at night, and you look nearly as contorted and misshapen as you do during the day. why do you stretch so far? what are you straining for? there may be things beyond the bed, beyond your dreams, that are of use to you, but you cannot spend your resting time reaching unless you spend wakeful time sleeping soundly. and we both know you do not. our back arches from fear of the next blow; our elbows and knees ache from the blood trapped in their bends; our hands are sore from holding fingers tightly in a ball; our forehead is tense with worry. this is unnecessary. you will solve no more problems in your sleep by being anxious than the number you solve during the day in the same state.
you don't always have to be ready for the next worst thing. i know this is how it's always been, that if you're ready for the pain it may hurt slightly less. that if others see you bracing yourself, perhaps they'll think twice before delivering the blow. but you know the bad thing always comes, without fail. and it hasn't killed us yet. the truth is that the bad is out there, and that it's a waste of life to spend your time preparing for it. or rather, the best way to prepare is to accumulate goodness, to barricade yourself with happiness, to build an arsenal of honesty and compassion. this is the only way to be properly prepared, it will not fail you, and it will be enriching in practice. and, as always, it is not easy.
go to bed tonight without worry. there are things you did not do today that you wish you had; things you did that you wish you hadn't; expectations for tomorrow both dreadful and anticipated; assumptions about next week and worry about next spring, or autumn or lifetime. all of those things are real, present, and waiting for you. they will surely be there tomorrow morning, you need not attend to them tonight. seek peace in your dreams, i'm here for you, i'm watching you, i will not leave you.

party of 3-7

is it active, survival? or is it a passive weathering of
storms? i do my best to convince lolo and lola
a.k.a. mohamed and khadija, a.k.a. frances and
ferdinand a.k.a. the most stable figures in my
everyday, my towering plants, that i'm independent,
and strong. i strut, i cook, i clean, i get angry at the
leaks and smile at the sunshine, keeping my
box in order, lest anyone question my capacity
for box-building and framework-maintenance. but
l and l, m and k, f and f... they know my secrets, they live
inside this box with me, they know what makes me
cry and which songs turn the mop into a microphone,
they know the secrets i spill to flesh and blood and the ones
i only offer to thin air, they see the real smiles and the puppet ones,
they feel my energy and remind me to water them, and to
water myself. so i ask them, the audience to my grand show:
am i surviving? am i thriving?
am i doing this right? if i stop and ask myself all the existential
questions, if i take on the stress inherent to the pursuit of
happiness, if i ask myself "are you welcoming the struggle or
running from the pain?," then have i canceled out the question?
what does it mean to doubt yourself when you are your only judge?
then there is no doubt, there is nothing to doubt, there is nothing.
just me and khadija and frances, and lolo and mohamed,
ferdinand and lola, we make a fine party. i asked those questions of them,
a mad woman pacing a wooden floor, making a mess of my brain as i floss
my teeth before bed, and although they don't answer outright,
i notice they lean in towards each other, only slightly,
and i imagine they're discussing my condition and
i hope they love me regardless.

a bed alone

it's important to have enjoyed a bed with another,
and to have suffered a bed with another, as well,
to enjoy a bed alone.
splaying arms and legs wide, to the cold frontiers of the mattress,
is appreciable only if one has clung to one side in the past,
loathe to roll over and face an oblivious, snoring log.
a bounty of cottony pillows most delights those who
have settled for the half-stuffed, the rough-seamed,
the foam-block reject before, jealously eying the club
sandwich-triple stack cushioning another's neck.
wrapping oneself twice, thrice, four times 'round
with delicious layers of sheet and blankets and feather-stuffed
duvets is a pleasure understood by those who have shivered
down the hallway to pull a stiff extra blanket from the
bottom of a closet, indignant and now with socks.
a bed to oneself means a chance to be the tosser, the turner,
the sleep-talker, the restless thumper, the thoughtless
roller, the rude rear-bumper ... all the things one never had a chance to be
because the post was already taken.
of course, it can be tiresome, a bed alone, it can be
a bit forlorn. some mornings a familiar face is greatly
missed, some evenings a good spoon would make all the
difference between a good night's sleep and a stretch of
lonely nightmares. but it's important to take the opportunity to
slurp soup, watch movies, spill popcorn, converse with
imaginary friends, love oneself and watch the sun rise from
a quiet, still, soft foundation, before you let another share
your dreams again.

tea bag wisdom, early september

"appreciate yourself and honor your soul"
over soothing chamomile.

why do we choose the paths
that we do?
what is cause? and
effect? ... when time is a joke and
consequence is man-made.
why obsess over befores and
afters, over actions and
choices? life is a giant knot,
a messy tangle, an unadulterated
mass of happenstances. we push and pull
and yank threads, turning away and regrouping
for a new perspective, considering alternate
messes, weaving in foreign strings, hoping
to make sense of it all, only to come to terms, much
later, with the mess, and be satisfied
with the opportunity for mess alone, without
kicking ourselves for not making enough sense of it.
if it's ashes to ashes and dust to dust, and lonely dust
at that, in the end ... enjoy the mess. be not discouraged if it makes no sense.
how could it?

táctica y estrategia [mario benedetti]

mi táctica es
mirarte
aprender como sos
quererte como sos

mi táctica es
hablarte
y escucharte
construir con palabras
un puente indestructible

mi táctica es
quedarme en tu recuerdo
no sé cómo ni sé
con qué pretexto
pero quedarme en vos

mi táctica es ser franco
y saber que sos franca
y que no nos vendamos
simulacros
para que entre los dos

no haya telon
ni abismos

mi estrategia es
en cambio
más profunda y más
simple
mi estrategia es
que un día cualquiera
no sé cómo ni sé
con qué pretexto
por fin me necesites

yoga chapters

i. tadasana: giving myself permission to relax. i cannot force, persuade, instruct, direct, insist that my muscles loosen, hang freely around my bones; rather, i give permission, a polite suggestion, i stop trying so hard.

ii. restorative savasana: some thoughts fly freely through my mind, gently passing by with
a nod, perhaps a wink, on their way elsewhere. others kick my chest from the inside, with a POP.
they startle me, shock my eyes open, make my heart think twice. i named them sparks, and asked that they return later to motivate me, to guide my path, but that they not disturb this moment

iii. side-supported savasana: i fished for love in my mind. at the edge of the sea, i waited for a fish - a love - to come to me. i grabbed it, pulled it close to me and held it tight, knowing all the joy, sorrow and fullness that comes with love. but the longer i clung to it, the more violently it thrashed in my arms, desperate to return to the water. i considered for a moment the risk to keep this fish for myself forever, to know that joy, sorrow and fullness indefinitely, but i knew the fish needed the water, that individual love is only a fleeting flash of a great ocean of love that exists among us. i bent over towards the water and threw the fish back in. i looked to my right at another woman, cradling a fish in her arms, and found peace and satisfaction in her experience, in her happiness, knowing it was part of mine. beyond her, a long line of people stretched one by one as far as the coast did, each in different stages of fishing - some searching, some welcoming, some rejecting, some gazing lovingly at their fish, some in horrible pain at the thought of letting go, others smiling as they released, none aware of the others, thinking their fish was the only fish in the sea

iv. i see you in my home, covered in a thick layer of my fears, my hesitance, my ignorance, my worries. i look at you and say i cannot, i just can't live and love you with my fears between us; i have to believe what i know to be true about you and step with a cautious confidence forward, trusting you completely. i come close to you and peel back the rubbery, gray coating from your face, push it off your head, down past your ears, pull the layer across your shoulders and push it down your body to the floor. i guide you to step away from it. you are golden, and lovely, and smiling