Thursday, July 26, 2018

Music


MUSIC

Rhythms and beats

Flow over and through me,

Opening my eyes

And heart

To the beauty

All around

And in me,

Enticing me to dance

To the music of life.

Chirping birds, a baby's coo,

A dog's bark, and a cat's meow

Join the voices and guitars,

Violins and drums,

Saxophones and cellos,

Playing the sometimes tragic,

Sometimes delightful,

Symphonies of life,

Enticing me to dance

To the music

And live my life

Full and wide.


Friday, July 20, 2018

Why the hell should I be grateful?





Why the hell should I be grateful?


There is so much pain and so much strife.


I feel like I've been suffering all my life.


But when I look in the eyes of my mate,


When the morning sun shines me awake,


And illuminates the entire room,


I remember


to move the I


In my question and say,


“That is why the hell


I should be grateful.”


I am grateful when I hear her words


That are filled with wit and charm


That make me feel loved and warm.


I am grateful that she challenges me


A better person to be.


I don't always like it


It sometimes feels unkind


But a better person I am


When I open my mind.


And when it opens I see


So many things in me


That I am grateful for.


From my head to my toes


I see that it is my life that glows


When I am grateful for everything,


And anything that comes my way.


And now I can say,


"That is why the hell


I should be grateful."


Sunday, July 08, 2018

FIRE SPIRIT


I am grateful for Fire Spirit.

He is alive in
Candle fire,
Camp fire,
And fire in the fireplace.
Fire Spirit is powerful
And gentle.
He is the driving energy
Of life.
Fire cooks our food,
And Keeps us warm
On cold winter nights.
Fire Spirit can rage,
Destroying whole cities.
But, when fire lights a candle,
The wax and wick
Allow Fire Spirit
To warm our soul
Gently and sweetly.
When Fire Spirit sways
And dances
In a campfire,
In a fireplace,
Or above a candle,
He is inviting us
To watch,
To be calm,
To just be.
To be in the moment,
The present moment
Calming the fire
That sometimes
Rages within us.


Monday, June 04, 2018

Rumpelstiltskin

         “It’s open!” she yelled from inside her studio apartment. I opened the door and saw my niece clutch her stomach. She pleaded with her bloodshot eyes before keeling over and falling onto her side. She rolled her bony frame into a ball. Her pelvis protruded through her dingy blue denim skirt. I ran over and bent down to pick her up off the floor. She shooed me away.
 “He’s there,” she whispered, pointing under her bed.
“Who? Is someone hiding under your bed?” I asked.
She shook her head violently. “No!” she shouted and pointed to an old wooden RoiTan Cigar box peeking out from under the bed. “That cock sucking Rumpelstiltskin has already taken my girls.”
“Rumpel what?” I sat on the floor next to her. “What are you talking about?”
“Just give me the damn cigar box!” she said, still rolled into a ball. She ripped the box from my hand as soon as I held it within her arm’s reach. She placed it on the floor next to her face and opened it. Her boney fingers pulled out a syringe, a spoon and a small brown glass medicine bottle. She opened the bottle and tossed it across the room. “Shit! Shit! Fuckin Shit! It’s empty!” She smashed her fist onto the floor. “Damn it all to hell! It’s empty!”

                                                      ***
She laid flat in her bed when I entered her room at the rehab hospital. “You look like hell,” I said. Her eyes were still blood shot. Her dishwater hair was plastered on the left side of her head.
“You ain’t so good looking yourself.”
“Who is Rumpelstiltskin?” I asked.
Her hand shook as she reached for a glass of water. “I hate you for bringing me here, you know.”
“That’s nothing new. I’m trying to save your damn life.”
“You’re wasting your time,” she said as she struggled to sit up.
“Who is Rumpelstiltskin?” I asked again.
She smirked and released a smile. “He’s the motherfucker who ruined my life.”
“Who is he?” I asked. “When I found you, you said that he took your girls. Your girls have already been adopted.”
“You don’t need to fuckin remind me.” She took a drink of water. “Do you remember the fairytale?”
“The one about Rumpelstiltskin?”
“Duh! Rumpelstiltskin is all this shit.” She waved her hands above her. “All the drugs, the cops, the social workers, the system, all of it is Rumpelstiltskin.”
I cocked my head to the side. “You’re losing me,” I said.
“In the fairy tale, Rumpelstiltskin gives the girl what she wants.” My niece narrowed her eyes. “But the bastard made her pay with her first born.”
“But she overheard him say his name and she got to keep her son,” I said.
“That’s the fairytale version,” she said and then crossed her legs under the sheets. “In real life, Rumpelstiltskin takes my kids away, my family away, my money away, everything, even my desire to fuck.” She shook her head in disgust. “Shit!”
I didn’t say anything. I contemplated the fairytale. “Why do you deal with Rumpelstiltskin, with the drugs? You’ve come clean before.”
“You’ll never understand. I can’t divorce Rumpelstiltskin. He is part of me.” Her shoulders slumped. “He’ll never give me my kids back.” She adjusted the pillow behind her back. “I hate to admit it. If I had a druggy mom, like me, I sure the hell wouldn’t want to go back. Shit!”
“Don’t you want to get your life back? To be able to raise your own daughters?”
“That guilt trip shit ain’t gonna work on me. When Rumpelstiltskin wraps me up and takes me to his secret place, our secret place, there is nothing that I need. Nothing, except more Rumpelstiltskin. I want that more than my…” She faltered and looked away. “When I get clean, they’ll throw me back on the street. What can I do? I ain’t got nothin. How am I supposed to raise my girls with nothin?”
I knew she didn’t want me to answer that question. I inhaled slowly and asked, “Why do you call it Rumpelstiltskin?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She grabbed a handful of sheet between her hands and formed a makeshift ball. “They rumple my dreams, my girls, my fuckin gawdamn future and then they stuff it under my skin.” She blew hard. “In my back. In my fuckin back! where I can feel it every day, but I can’t reach.”
“That’s pretty good,” I said. “They rumpled and stuffed it under your skin.”
 She glared at me. “They know.” She pointed her finger accusingly at me. “And don’t pretend that you don’t know. Rumpelstiltskin will find me as soon as he can and….” She sat up straighter in her bed. “I’ll enjoy fuckin the shit out of him until I die. Until I fuckin die!”

Thursday, May 31, 2018

For Giving Love

We are our most vicious critic.
I should've.
I could've.
I would've.
What was I thinking?
Are all laments,
All dirges,
Sung off key
To knock us down
And bring us to our knees.
Are we really that bad?
How can we know,
Really know,
Who we are,
If we never become
Who and what
We are not?
Sometimes there's no other way
Other than to become
Who we are not.
Sometimes we must
Do mean, hurtful shit.
Yes, we lie,
Cheat, and steal
To get what we think,
What we hope,
What we pray
Will bring us joy.
But it is all too often
Short lived,
Temporary.
Self-deceiving ploy.
We can look at our past actions
And past omissions
And say, "That's not who I am.
I am better than that.”
And we are
We are so much
Better than that.
Better than we have allowed
Ourselves to imagine.
Each and every morning
Is new.
Brand new.
We can start anew.
Create a new me.
But first and foremost,
We need to forgive ourselves,
For delving into
Who we are not.
We need to forgive ourselves
For being self-correcting
Ever evolving
Versions of ourselves.
We need to forgive ourselves
For not already
Being the perfect
Finished
Product.
When accept our own self-forgiveness
We honor our humanity.
When we forgive ourselves,
We express love
To the one,
The only one
Who knows our deepest,
Most tightly kept
Secrets.
The purpose of forgiveness
Is for giving
Love.
Love to the one,
The one who needs it most.

Monday, May 28, 2018

Guava Dance


She smiled a multitude
Of red and yellow
Very happy sparkles
Which she offered
In her soft pink petals.
"Come and taste,"
She beckoned.
"My petals are sweet."
They were surprisingly
Delicious.
She didn't tell me
She sweetened them
With love.
She shimmied
As she and the wind
Danced together
In the midday sunlight.
She smiled a multitude
Of red and yellow
Very happy sparkles
Which she offered
In her soft pink petals.
“Come and taste,”
She beckoned.
“My petals are sweet.”
They were surprisingly
Delicious.
She didn’t tell me
She sweetened them
With love.

She smiled a multitude
Of red and yellow
Very happy sparkles
Which she offered
In her soft pink petals.
"Come and taste,"
She beckoned.
"My petals are sweet."
They were surprisingly
Delicious.
She didn't tell me
She sweetened them
With love.

Friday, May 04, 2018

Death as an Advisor




I am grateful for the advice that Death offers us. We don't often think of Death as someone who can offer advice. We usually imagine a faceless hooded creature with skeleton hands, wearing a black robe. The image is frightening. But when someone dies, Death provides us with advice. He does it so quietly that we rarely, if ever, notice that the advice comes from him.
When someone we love dies, Death fills our minds with memories of our loved one. He conjures questions and feelings in our minds and hearts. He reminds us that we do not know when he will come for us. Therefore, we should live life fully. 
Death is a valuable and ever-present advisor. He suggests that you ask yourself the following questions from time to time, especially when we feel stressed:
If I were to die tomorrow, would worrying matter?
If I were to die tomorrow, would whatever I am spending my time on be that important.
Would I regret or be happy with what I am doing right now? 
After I died, would I be remembered for being a blessing?
There are many more questions that he asks if we listen.