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Archive for April, 2020

The Temple of Here: Online Poetry & Meditation Retreat

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on April 30, 2020| 1 Comment »

 

Dear friends,

This Saturday, May 2, 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., I will be co-leading an online poetry and meditation retreat with dharma teacher Susie Harrington. Please join us in the comfort of your own home in The Temple of Here,

“Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must meet it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.”

David Wagoner, “Lost”

As we shelter in place, how do we meet “the powerful stranger” of Here? In this online retreat, we will newly meet our everyday home and life through meditation and poetry. In a way, this is what every retreat most wants to do—help us to find the peace and inspiration available to us in our most everyday circumstances. From wherever you are, join us in a day where silence and language conspire to bring us ever closer to what is.

We will use the technology of Zoom to facilitate connection and communication from our different locations. It is free, easy to use, and available for all computers/tablets/smart phones. For those unfamiliar with Zoom, we will start the day at 9 am with a workshop to troubleshoot any challenges and give tips for using this technology. You will be sent instructions, links, and a schedule the day before the retreat.

Susie is also offering a separate, second day retreat: The Temple of Now. More information available on her website.

Cost: $40 – $100 sliding scale. (If the cost of the retreat is more than is appropriate for you at this time, please contact us. No one will be turned away for lack of funds.)

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Making Apple Turnovers with my Daughter

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on April 30, 2020| 4 Comments »

turnovers

 

 

My own fault for not reading all the directions

on how to make puff pastry from scratch—

how after the shaggy dough phase, you shape

and then chill. And then roll and fold and roll

and shape the dough. And chill. And then roll

and fold and roll and fold. And chill. Then roll

and slice. And chill. And fill. And chill. So often,

mid project, I find myself thinking I would never

have started this project had I known

how long it would take. Flour on my pants,

on the floor, on the table.

 

Six hours later, nearly midnight, my daughter

and I baste the chilled triangles with water,

sprinkle them with cinnamon and sugar,

then put them in the oven at last. We are tired,

but the house fills with the sweet scent

of baking apple, the home-rich scent of crust.

 

What is life, but a big project we are in the middle of?

A project I’m in no hurry to finish.

In fact, these days are like puff pastry dough,

guiding me to take it slow, slower, to rest

between steps. I haven’t read all the directions.

For now I am laughing. It’s so much more

than I thought I was in for. But I’m here,

hands ready. I’m willing to work, to clean up the mess.

 

 

  • photo by Finn Trommer

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Pneumonia

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on April 28, 2020| 4 Comments »

 

            —for A

 

 

And if I could, I would breathe for you.

I would inhale and exhale and hold

your breath for you. For you I would

sigh and rant, I would hack and pant,

I would be your lungs if I could. I would

ease this ache, I would carry this pain,

I would take away fear, I would be

the wind, the wild mesa wind,

the late April wind that blows change

into all we thought we knew

and rearranges the meaning of here.

No one could ever speak for you.

But I would breathe for you, friend.

Please, breathe, please keep breathing.

I need you to breathe for you, breathe

for me, please, friend. I wish I could

breathe for you, breathe for you.

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An Interview with Laurie Wagner

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on April 28, 2020| 2 Comments »

Hello Friends,

Yesterday I had such a fun time with the fabulous Laurie Wagner, a writer and writing teacher in the Bay Area. She hosted this 20-minute interview with me about finding inspiration for writing, dancing with imperfectionism, and the benefits of a daily practice. It’s part of a writing series she is offering. For the last 25 years she has been teaching Wild Writing – which is a loose and juicy way to get to the heart of what you want to write about without the inner critic on your heels.  Until May 11th she is offering, for free, her 27 Wildest Day video series to help you chronicle your corona virus days and make it through captivity.  Find out more at https://27powers.org/27-wildest-days/

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Riparian

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on April 28, 2020| Leave a Comment »

To be known by the river—
that is what I wanted,
which is to say,
to know the self
as the river knows it,
as something that might be carried,
something that will be eroded,
something that might wade
into the center and then join
in the flow of all things.

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Surrender

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on April 27, 2020| 6 Comments »

 

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Some mornings I wake and the peace

that I tried to find yesterday finds me—

arrives in the open palms of the river scent,

in the erratic path of the warbler,

in the low golden angle of sun as it slants

through the gray knuckled branches of cottonwood trees.

Even the broken watering can seems to bring me

news of what’s been here all along—

the peace that holds up the turmoil, the mess.

And the dried grasses in the field

and the tiny new leaves on the currants

gather me into them. They’re like old friends who say,

It’s okay, make all the mistakes you want

around us. Some mornings, through no effort

of our own, we are gathered into the peace

of the patient lichen and the still pond.

It’s the difference between breathing

and being breathed, between asking for grace

and finding that grace has been asking for us.

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I Want to Live in That Garden

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on April 25, 2020| 5 Comments »

 

 

What if, tonight, we all went to bed

and thought of our best version of our self.

It wouldn’t be true, of course. Not

in this moment, and not tomorrow.

Not mid-week. Not next week.

Not even next year. But if we could picture it,

it would be a goal we could live toward.

 

It would be, perhaps, like the garden beds

I prepared today—hoeing in fertilizer,

last year’s grass clippings, leaves.

When I was done, the rows still looked like dirt,

but such fine dirt it was for planting.

 

I believe in our resilience.

What is best in us is eager to grow,

like the sunflower sprouts

volunteering again this year.

What if tonight, we imagined the roots

of our goodness. What if tonight,

we planted only those seeds.

 

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Extrapolation

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on April 24, 2020| 2 Comments »

 

 

 

Today it’s the hummingbirds that save me.

Not because I see one. Because I don’t.

Every year, the broad-tailed hummingbirds

arrive at our feeders the third week of April.

This year, they’ve yet to arrive.

How many other joys have I been awaiting

that are yet to materialize?

It is hard to spend a life waiting, and yet

this one impatience I meet with trust.

Every year, there are hummingbirds.

They return. And when they come,

we’ll feed them. We’ll admire their furious

wings. We’ll forget they were late.

We’ll delight in their curious hum.

 

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Fifteen Years Later, I See How It Went

Posted in Uncategorized on April 23, 2020| 12 Comments »

 

 

 

They say you fall in love with your child

the moment you first hold them,

the cord just cut, still covered in blood

and vernix. I held the strange being

just arrived from the womb and felt curious,

astonished, humble, nervous, but I didn’t feel love.

That didn’t come till later. Came from holding him

while he was screaming. Waking with him

when I wanted to sleep. Bouncing him

when I wanted to be still. Love grew as

my ideas of myself diminished. Love grew

as he came into himself. Love grew

as I learned to let go of what I’d been told

and to trust the emerging form.

Until I couldn’t imagine being without him.

Until I was the one being born.

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Song of Touch

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on April 22, 2020| 4 Comments »

 

 

The world wants to be touched—

thin spikes of grass push up to bare soles,

the near weightless of the paper wasp nest

graces the open palms.

Cool earth crumbles between fingers.

Onion starts celebrate smoothness.

The chill rush of the river.

The comforting heat held in south facing cliffs.

The cactus spine was made

to prove how sharp it is.

The thorn bush tugs on the legs because it can.

And I, though I can be pricklesome,

I, too, long to be held, to be cradled,

to be kissed. I long to know myself

through the hands and lips of you,

the way the piano is most itself

when it’s touched, the way

bread becomes bread

when kneaded.

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The Inner Cupboard

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on April 22, 2020| 6 Comments »

 

 

 

No one else knows, as they eat the bread,

what’s been slipped into it,

how in with the flour, the yeast, the salt,

 

a stubborn devotion has slipped in.

It hides in an inner cupboard. Even the baker

doesn’t have the key. But when

 

she would rather not be loving—

because she is tired, because

she feels wronged, because she’s distracted—

 

that’s when the cupboard opens itself

and mixes into her the kind of devotion

that cannot be manufactured, the kind

 

of devotion that rises up not out of duty

but from some mysterious, infinite source

that guides her hands as they knead

 

the soft dough. It infuses her with a longing

to be big-hearted, a longing to love, even when love

feels unreasonable. She can smell it

 

as it fills the whole house with its generous

scent. Even now, as they sit and eat the bread,

it astonishes her, how ferocious

 

this drive to nourish, to love.

They pass the butter, the jam. She smiles

as they eat it together, slice after slice.

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Ephemeral Prayer

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on April 20, 2020| Leave a Comment »

 

In five billion years, the hydrogen fuel

at the core of the sun will be spent.

Forces of gravity will take over,

compressing the core. The rest of the sun

will expand, vaporizing the earth.

I’ve studied the science, read the texts.

In the meantime, I live in a canyon

with rock walls one-hundred-fifty million years old—

and sometimes, like this morning,

despite rumors of doom,

the forces of gravity take over

and I fall on the floor laughing—

a riotous squealing and braying,

tears leaking, chest heaving,

grateful to big time for this very moment

when I am almost seamlessly joined with my shadow.

It rolls with me on the floor as I hoot and giggle,

praying in the language I know best.

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Things that Bloom

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on April 20, 2020| 2 Comments »

 

 

I’m thinking of silence, how when it opens,

it changes the room with its fragrance.

 

How frost can make a garden

of a window overnight.

 

Old friendship—sometimes

even when we forget to water it,

persists like mint.

 

Fear, of course, is knapweed-ish,

tap-rooted, invasive. Almost impossible

to eradicate its petals of panic,

petals of dread.

 

Sometimes a name can bloom

on the tongue when the syllables

stem from someone we love.

 

And when we’re very still, the moment itself

seems to bloom, like a peony

revealing layer after tender layer,

charging the air with sweetness.

Now flower. Here flower.

 

The moon, that giant cream perennial,

reminds us nightly how we, too,

are called to grow our light

toward the dark.

 

And uncertainty, it comes to us

in giant bouquets, each bloom a question

that doesn’t want to be answered,

it wants only for us to hold it in our arms

like the gift it is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Paper Clip

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on April 19, 2020| 4 Comments »

download-1

 

 

Something splendid about the way

it holds things together

with elasticity and torsion,

Such simple invention—

a steel wire bent on itself.

Less violent than a staple.

Less permanent than glue.

But effective and elegant,

it does what I’ve so often

wished to do—it unites.

It gently connects what is separate.

It doesn’t leave a scar.

It maintains order and humbly

keeps the messy world composed.

But then, and here is where I fail,

it easily lets things go.

 

 

 

 

 

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The Key Speaks

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on April 17, 2020| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

I couldn’t believe

she tossed me

into the back of the car—

after all, a key

is an important thing.

But toss me she did.

 

You should have seen

her face when all

the car doors locked,

me sitting there

on the back seat

 

That can’t happen,

she said. But it did.

That can’t happen,

she repeated,

as if her words

might change the world.

 

But everyone knows

words won’t open

a locked door.

That can’t happen!

She’s still ranting,

walking circles

around the locked car.

 

What’s done is done.

How many innocent choices

have pitiless consequences?

 

Tossing a key. Not

washing your hands.

Not saying I love you

when given the chance.

 

 

 

 

 

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Freedom

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on April 17, 2020| 6 Comments »

 

To walk alone

on the dirt road.

Whatever the weather,

to be grateful for it.

To step and step

and step again—

not toward an end,

but for the joy

of stepping.

Squirrel tail.

Creek scent.

Swish of last year’s leaves.

Nowhere to be

but here.

And the next here.

And next.To know

the self as traveler.

To know the self

as road.

To know each step

as freedom when

there’s nowhere

to go.

 

 

 

 

 

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To Hold You, To Be Held By You

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on April 15, 2020| 8 Comments »

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I want to give you the same welcome

that a meadow gives to sunlight. I want

to be that open space for you where you

can show up completely, can be brilliant,

can play. I want to be the container

that holds you, receives you, but never limits you.

I know these days are difficult.

I know it’s not easy to endlessly shine.

But here in this meadow, you are necessary.

Without you, things wither. And when

you are most yourself, your warmest

most generous self, do you hear

how the birds sing in response? Do you see

how green, how alive the world becomes?

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Not the What but the How

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on April 15, 2020| 4 Comments »

 

 

 

Mostly, we forget.

Mostly, the singular moments

that felt so important—

remarkable, even—

slip like raindrops

into a pond.

 

Most of my life

is blur, is watercolor.

But let me clearly remember

tonight, dying my daughter’s

hair blue, singing along

to the radio, laughing

about nothing in particular.

 

What I want to remember

is how little it takes

to make a moment light up

from within, light up

like dew infused by the sun—

each moment a teacher,

our own home the temple.

 

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Intimacy

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on April 14, 2020| 2 Comments »

Once I crossed a hanging bridge.

where the planks were missing,

I could see muddy water roiling below—

and the planks that were present

were rotten. That’s the nature

of bridges. Eventually, they fall apart.

Like this one between you and me.

And the nature of love? To rebuild.

And when that fails, because

even the best tools don’t work well

in unskilled hands, that’s the time

to know when to quit trying to fix,

to jump in the swells and swim.

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Opening the Deepest Ears

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on April 13, 2020| Leave a Comment »

download

 

The kingfisher wakes me

with its strident rattle,

thrilling me out of sleep.

It’s been months since

I’ve seen one, and now

on this snowy morning

one clatters and chatters

me into spring.

 

The heart leaps up,

surprised it doesn’t

have wings. I’m here,

it beats, its own tuneless call.

Like the kingfisher, it’s ready

to dive into the deep.

I’m here, it calls again

from inner branches.

 

It need not be beautiful,

the song that reminds us

who we are—it calls to us

in its own undecipherable way

until one day when we hear it,

we can’t help but hear

our own name.

 

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