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June 21, 2006

to the waterfall,

It is interesting the way endless nights always seem to end. And how, after the fact, a few days past, you can use the old line: "you blink and you miss it". But, this is time.

Between: careful construction of each moment a choice…and directive…and mindful; and: just. . . letting it all go. In this world, there does seem to be choice and there does seem to be---at least in illusion, at least in retrospect or foresight, or something---a hierarchy of choice. At least for me right now: I have a sense of an argument for gradation, but not knowing what bit goes where.

In this crucible of how spirit plays in this world: last night I got nicely-fucked-up and then watched the Krishna Das video. I finished his stories with him and he finished with my favorite Hanuman song. Better even, because of the sense of peace that finally resounds: the two teachers who sat next to me, softer and sweet; sewn back together different. The princess comes in and takes a candle from the alter to set in between her and her manforaday. Danny sits smoking outside, wrapped in flannel like Maharajii. I set my beer can next to Nataraj: this moment, it is fine.

And this moment, and this moment; I can stay here, until.

And I went to sleep and dreamed of Jack.

Of the back of his neck and his hair. And of candy. and at my mom’s house…like he wanted.

I’m not supposed to do this.

And I woke up to the sound of waves crashing and dogs barking and wind blowing and
The powers of nature that do not seem to play by the rules of this world, but are more totally this world than we ever could remember to be.
To the waterfall, everything is true at once.

So, I texted him. “I dreamed you last night, I think of you often.” And he called me back. And I was surprised. As I walked through the Brazilian supermarket on the way to the airport, we talked lightly around the idea that we shouldn’t talk again. Libby dropped a jar or preserves and it’s contents spread across the floor. I walked down the aisle and out to the parking lot and stood with the sole of my boot bent over the curb, “can I call you when I’m back?”

Maybe cachaca or a perception too shattered and a mind just too tired to pretend to be anywhere else than I am. The world and time got really big and these details got
Really small. And even time and the world got really small, and I had the premonition of it remembered as: “you blink and you miss it”. And I’m barely here now.
But, this is time.

Is the question “what is truth?” or “how does truth play in this world?” And, if truth is love, does love have a choice of how it’s true? Or just simply is. How do you live in truth and live in this world. . . Are they two different things? Or. this world as an expression of truth. And what keeps us seeing two questions is the stuff that has covered our hearts ?

The students: just four of us, now, were going home. The fifth had left two days before. I had decided not to run and told him not to either. A big man looked small when he sat across from me. He left sometime in the night.
And when I had told him that I knew that what happened was not about him and not about me, I meant it. We had just taken bodies that had taken hold of an energy rushing through that needed bodies to burn. and I had seen this energy before. Before. Now, I looked at what was mine: and a new set of choices

And now I know for sure that whatever set of memories has burnt behind my eyes for almost my whole life
was not about, another, him and
it doesn’t even matter who it
was about
It was about
Me, now, pulling it forward through a black expanse of time
My remembering un-memory of the first time
I came into the ranks of, what now, 8 out of 10 women, and
In life times before having died from the same pulse of energy and river of fear.
Pulling it from
Before I had a choice to
Now, that I do have a choice, but still
Lay silent

But could not stay silent long, a new set of choices.
So, when I talked to him, I asked him, what made him think it was okay? And to tell me---read me--- what’s in me; what’s was in my space, my past, my future around these things.
Make it mean something.

And he told me, then, in almost-tears in seeing, at the table, in the gazebo, under the rain
With the candle in between us.

And then I talked to the princess through the candle, and then him and her with the candle betwixt and
Then the next morning, he was gone. And I had to make myself know,
His leaving belonged to him.
(and his leaving belonged to him)
And I have to make myself know,
There is always so much that I never will know

this yoga:
the heart has the truth,
it’s essence is right
the confusion is in
what comes to cover it. that core heart:
My core heart your core heart, does not belong to anyone
Its all the same universal
It belongs to all and none.

I sat down in an exit row seat and had a remembered flash of another possible future. It was a premonition remembered from about four-years-old; the time that this cycle keeps referencing. So, I sat and prayed that the premonition would be avoided. And the plane returned to the airport so that it could be fixed. All together, the delay was like 7 hrs, and time re-set itself like 50 times, but I knew
We were being protected
And for the first time, in a long time
I start to remember the beautiful mundane bits of this life time, and
For the first time, in a long time,
I dream.

this yoga:
if the nature of the universe
is perception. Everything perceiving---everybit, a living thing
if we saw everything as perception
constantly perceiving
we would no longer talk of Samadhi, since
of: good better best. And an argument for gradation,
Is in the shields of the heart
Not in the heart itself
To remove the hierarchy removes the grasping. And if everything in the universe is a perceiving expression of truth, we get relieved of attainment, and
This moment, it is fine.

And this moment, and this moment; I can stay here, until.

And I woke up to the sound of waves crashing and dogs barking and wind blowing and
The powers of nature that do not seem to play by the rules of this world, but are more totally this world than we ever could remember to be.
To the waterfall, everything is true at once.

And this moment, I am trying to remember it as it happens
to avoid, at least now the
premonition of it remembered as: “you blink and you miss it”. But still
I am barely here now.
But, this is time.

June 01, 2006

City of Refuge

Sometimes when I wake up, things have been re-arranged. Like a week ago, after everyone got rearranged, the whole wall collage---it was several months old---came down. Angela, Bryan and I had all, all-of-the-sudden noticed it felt inappropriate; then, when I woke up, it was gone. To me, it had felt like an old skin; images that had become just images. The only things left were my "I ain't never scared" sign, a Christmas card from Tim and some pictures from me and Mollie’s trip through the desert. Some other things were still hanging out, but had been moved to other walls. This wall was almost bare.

Yesterday, when I woke up, things were different again. Above the alter and the dog-buddah was a gaffer tape octagon. It was open at the bottom by the alter and the things from the wall were now contained inside it, plus a picture of Sallie and Joshua. It was immediatly striking to me; there was a sense in which I understood. I looked closer, and at its bottom right, it was labled: "City of Refuge" and then an explaination: "peace and protection for all who enter". I felt inspired.

Last night, Bryan explained it to me. He said it related to actual cities in [ancient] Hawaii. They didn't have walls, but people respected their boundaries. If someone had commited any crime, no matter what---killed someone, or stepped in the king's shadow--or if someone needed protection or peace for any reason at all, they just needed to run into these cities and they would be safe.

This reminded me of "safe" in tag...something like "ollyollyoxanfree". I remembered running though a yard at church and catching a metal pole---safe. Screaming, "safe", and safe....so long as I held it.

Somewhere in the night I started thinking about the boundaries of this town. Thinking about how I felt I was between pairs of contradictory needs/desires. Wondering if mercy...peace...could ever be borderless. I was thinking of The City, of the Law of Jubilee, and the Law of Jupiter. Before I had gone to bed, I had gaffered a picture of Marisa, Jack and I in The City. Could these things be contained, could they be forgiven. . . how would they be reconsiled; could they ever be? Did peace extend beyond this octagon? And after all the thoughts and words of the last few days, the only thing that I know for sure is what first made her most mad, "I love you both".

Even as I say that now it feels both wrong and untrue. But still like all I’ve got.

Andrea asked me, “who makes you happy?”. That doesn’t help---they both do, just in different ways.

Christine asked me, “where are you in this?” “When do you get what you want?”. But, in a sense, I have been getting what I want, but it has not made me happy. It has not let me feel loved. At least not for more than a moment.

And I ask myself, “who do you miss more?”, “whose lips would you most want right now?”
And, the answer to that one is easy,

After we talked for hours. After I answered the wall and she told me to look at her. After the air buzzed thick with anger or fear or something hard and heavy that made it seem we both would die. After I finally found her eyes in the shadows. After there was nothing left to say:
She read each of my fingers with her mouth.

She didn’t need to explain anything to me. But she said that, to her, fingers have always felt like truth.

And that was all I had to offer her—truth. And maybe with that, a bit of herself that comes with knowing she was right. That she had always known, but she had been lied to.

To me, the mouth has always felt like listening, in its most simple and sensitive form. Like the way a baby knows its world.

The night before, we had been watching a movie at somebody’s house. He needed us to leave, so we took it with us. She scanned through the movie and started it. We were both messed up; it felt like a trace. Plus, it was “Fear and Loathing”, so it was trippy anyways. We had been almost at the end where we had stopped before, but we watched for quite a long time before I was sure that we had seen these parts at least once before. I said, “I think we are back at the beginning.” I heard my words hit the situation, and it was as though we were both ready to jump off this place and fly back through time. 3 years back, to the beginning. She paused the said, “kind-of”. But, no. This is somehow different for what has happened between and we were somehow unwilling to go back. Then she said, “oh. You were talking about the movie”. “Yes.” I said, “…I thought I was. But I heard that question, too.”