1 august 2017
art for arts sake.
in honor of sam shepard, who i loved dearly, here is my contribution. i created this video the day before he died. i wrote the poem a few weeks ago. and in my uneasiness about releasing it into the world, i remember shepard’s raw grace and what it gave us; art stripped of pride to uncover life’s confusion and mystery, spaces to share in the the damn sorrow and wide-open unknown of being alive...of not having all the answers but pushing on anyway, unapologetically.
although i wasn’t what you’d call an avid addict reader of Shepard, i have carried his book of seven plays around with me for about 15 years. i went back and flipped through Buried Child yesterday. that intro… all that rain… his urgent bravery with words and absolute craft of breaking the rules are magical. his gift of not giving a shit what others expected as he created art that surprised himself i imagine as much as it did his readers or audiences who craved his brutal honesty and yet him there all along, the cowboy poet, writing and writing and writing, absolutely unafraid of the shock his plays imposed, knowing the shock was necessary.
his magic has always been drifting in my mind somewhere, pulling the chain - i’m going to start paying more attention to the rattle and the pull.
this piece is called "sometimes i disappear."
9 july 2017
are you listening?
22 june 2017
sometimes i disappear. or attempt to
because not all that long ago and for far too long love was only ever illusive. ambivalent.
a thing un-seen.
it was a pin prick, then an aneurysm. blood came quick and heavy or not at all.
and you didn't know when or how it would bleed.
love was a brightly colored bobbing cork with not enough bait beneath and i always felt too loud, too hungry and then too unworthy and restless to wait any longer to be seen. it was the thing you look for in black and white movies just seconds before the woman cries but you miss it and then the man moves his stoic body away from hers that's trembling and you think your own heart will certainly break. because why? how could he not want to hold her? how could he not just sit with her?
so i shrink beneath the waves, beneath the arrows
just in case. because it's safe. it's safe down there.
i shrink just in case there still isn't enough charm.
but maybe now i shrink because there is. . .
because lately more than ever it's not as much
self preservation, as preservation of another...
because not that long ago another didn't look at me like you did.
so i want to say, i'm still here
holding it together. holding the needle and the thread
holding light to the page of these canyon walls
holding you in the shadows,
but i'm tired of the illusion distance makes. tired of things (of being) un-seen and un-said.
i want to walk in the light with you.
i want to scrap my knees and shoulder on the rocks and know why i'm bleeding.
sometimes i forget the difference between the feather and the ghost
18 june 2017
I hold no preference among flowers, so long as they are wild, free, spontaneous.
- edward abbey
8 june 2017
the sky is on fire
i wake and crawl straight into the day
clutching fear between my teeth.
with my palms on my face i sit
where you asked what i believe,
searching the sky for a blessed hawk
i turn to saturn
to slow time, to melt into this place
inside folds of our infinity ——
the sky is on fire.
fire gives in to the silence of the pushing sun
soft white slopes
the full of the moon pulls up blue
and i am alone.
alone with the mourning doves, the flickering flame
alone with truth lying wrecked like fallen leaves,
truth bound around half eaten figs on the feet of ants,
in the belly of clouds, under the rings of providence.
love. it is alive.
hidden, maybe muted
inside the cup,
holding the sword, pulling the string.
pull it through.
3 june 2017
26 april 2017
sometimes the greatest gifts come shaped like unexpected storms
7 april 2017
"we're made of star stuff," carl sagan famously said. and for that same reason we’re called back into the sea. the deep beyond the blue calls; even if we fear it, the cosmic unknown is literally in us. it's on the wind, on the waves. we are it. that same star stuff swims in the sea, it lives in the rivers that fill the sea, the salt complex, the comets, the sea creatures we can't see or even call by name but are there, still breathing, still surviving, still making love and dying unknown. and so to find some measure of equilibrium from holding onto or not holding enough spiritless materials we seek the sea, the only star stuff within our reach that doesn't reflect so much damn unbearable humanity. i love this about us. even if we’re afraid, even if the wide blue tossing churning waters frighten our minds, our bodies and our souls seek it. we need it. and once you're in it, once the cells are reunited with the creator, our mind begins to calm because it remembers. we remember. . . . re-member.
2 april 2017
i woke and saddled an hour before dawn and rode out the gate of the ranch house onto the vast, still black, mesquite sewn pasture beside the full rusty brazos. i had a plan. packing cameras and seeking answers and space to create something in my restless mind, I wound up short of the vision. a failure? not quiet.
what i saw with my heart in the pitch blackness was wondrous, beating timeless sparks beneath the silence.
◇ spirit is the companion of love ◇ reignite the spirit of wonder ◇crazy love◇
21 march 2017
i d e s of m a r c h
i opened to now.
opened, blushed face to blushed face
under a moon of sand.
you received and gave and took.
you took fear and made fire with my bones,
made our red and broken hands the wind.
from these ashes i will rise
far from these ides of the taken.
clear the way
25 feb 2017
you are resilient. you are infinite and free.
free to move, free to speak, to be angry, to scream.
free to dance, free to create, to breakdown and re-create.
you were made for this.
your sweet soul though needs rebuilding from time to time - what
with all the growing, the letting go, the battery on your being,
the side-ways whistles, the white washed lies,
the digging in and out.
so give up your tired heart and trust.
surrender to what moves within you -
rio abajo rio
let her in.
mixing dried leaves with water and earth she touches the walls of your soul
making them fine and strong and ready.
you need her bending so you can bear.
she needs you to bear. water. light. life. (your own)
soul-maker, wolf-raiser, keeper of love’s many shapes,
keeper of desires, keeper of the fire
will you let her in?
13 feb 2017
22 jan 2017
it is hard to post something like this so publicly. and if you know me, you will get that immediately. but i have found strength through other women and men who are speaking out or spoke out long ago for what draws them out of silence and into a vulnerable place where they can fight more freely for what they believe. it feels like it’s time now, since questions, concerns and some condemnation has come to light about how/why “those women” marched. my own truth too is asking for the light, as i take honor in being one of “those women.”
i was sexually assaulted when i was 25 years old.
the man followed me home when i was drunk, gave me a pill that made me black out and then decided he wanted to have sex and took what he wanted. i didn’t know what had happened until i woke up and he was there the next morning, still in my bed, normalizing it all with small talk.
i knew this man who followed me home but we had never shared a moment alone and had never been romantic in any way. he was an “important,” “powerful,” well known man in the community where i lived and worked. he made deals and he made impressions and it served his needs very well.
so one reason why i marched? because i would love to be able to tell the 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35 year old me that it wasn’t her fault. i would insist that she know that saying “yes” is very different than “no” or saying nothing at all and that she is not just a pretty piece of ass. consent is a conversation, consent is about my needs not just his because it was my limp body that man entered and my body and soul he took pieces of and it was not his to take. and no matter how you tell the story, no matter how i tried to tell it to myself back then, what he did was wrong. i didn’t march because i hate donald trump. that’s not how i personally choose to use my energy. i didn’t march because i hate men either. i marched because nothing about that night when my life was attacked is a reflection of who i was or had been up until that defining moment when a man took what he wanted without asking me, when he took from me without seeing me as worthy enough to even ask if he could.
i am a woman but i am not your woman. i am my own precious beating heart.
coming to terms with what happened to me and the assaults and harassment and belittlement that happens to so many countless women (and men) took place before donald trump was elected. it’s not literally donald’s fault that sexual assault exists or happens every day around the world. not literally. but trump and those who stand around protecting him today, those who protect the rights and whims of the privileged year after bloody year, the republican and democratic parties and the media circus in power are now more than ever absolutely accountable around the world for holding up and protecting only one kind of person’s desires. their own. they are accountable for the perpetuation of rape culture and the blatant disregard for a women’s or girl’s right and ability to choose her own precious life’s potential. just like they are accountable for the space his campaign made available for white supremacy to be normalized.
in silence, when we look away, we accept and condone.
53% of white women in america voted for a man who defines them and their worth by how attractive they are in his eyes. why? i have thought and agonized over this. how do we hear all the horrible words and see how those words and deeds affect our neighbors, our sisters, and look away while we pick out the bits that don’t sound as bad and still say yes or keep quiet and vote yes or don’t vote at all? i think in part it’s because we are numb to the system. we didn't demand better from the beginning (before the elections, before last year).
we (most of us anyway) were raised up generation after generation in a colonized fist to mouth culture that places value on women sitting pretty and talking pretty, pleasing men sometimes with no regard for ourselves so the man can be satisfied and flourish. so he can flourish and we can all get what we want, right? that is in large part how this nation was built. it’s how the world was built, especially the new world. women and minorities at the bottom, holding up the white men on top. that is who we were in 1776 and that is who we are in 2017 unless united we stand up and say “enough.” enough already.
we deserve better than this charade that was the 2016 presidential election, where women and other minorities were put on trial (by all parties). and no, it is not enough to have the right to vote and it’s not enough to be “free” living in america, not stoned to death in Saudi Arabia.
there are some things worse than death.
we deserve better than this.
we the people and our precious children deserve better than the president of these united states of america to be a man who without apology vilifies and disrespects women and human beings.
we deserve better.
donald trump with his paper mâché head on a stick was the main subject of protest at these beautiful marches because donald trump represents the worst of the patriarchy. he believes in taking what he wants without consequence or consideration of others. he has now surrounded himself with a safety net of liars to help him take what he wants while encouraging others to do the same. take take take. when will it be enough? how much more can they take? it has paid in spades for him and them. but what about for you and your neighbor? what about your daughter?
DT : "If Hillary Clinton can't satisfy her husband, what makes her think she can satisfy America?"
"Psychologists will tell you that some women want to be treated with respect, others differently. I tell friends who treat their wives magnificently, get treated like crap in return, Be rougher and you’ll see a different relationship.”
“I moved on her like a bitch, but I couldn’t get there. And she was married,” "I did try and fuck her. She was married.”
"That must be a pretty picture, you dropping to your knees."
"You know, it doesn't really matter what [the media] write as long as you've got a young and beautiful piece of ass."
"Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything."
"Nobody has more respect for women than I do. Nobody. Nobody has more respect."
my answer as to why/how i marched with “those women?” because i am them.
i marched and will continue to march to honor the love for myself that i finally cultivated over the past two-three years, the same love i have always given and seen in others, but never myself. i come from rural north west texas, from a beautiful family with parents who love and support me the best they can, from the day i was born, even when they don't understand me, even when i feel unknowable and won't let them. overwhelmingly most of my extended family doesn't believe what i do politically. and that’s okay. we live with respect and love each other in spite of these differences, which is what i think this country and its leaders and laws ought to reflect. it's our differences that make us whole! differences make us able to do great things when we come together and ask and listen. that's how and why america is great. i marched for many issues and for millions of folks. at the core though, my march was about things that ought to be uncontroversial - peace and love and respect. LOVE, mostly. love that’s inclusive, love that is borderless for ALL beings and all sacred land and the choice to love who you love, the opportunity to take care of those you love, the peace of mind that comes from knowing your worth is based on your character not your bank account or the size of your breasts, peace from being able to practice your spiritual beliefs and protect your cultural beliefs how you choose to, not how some man through his self-righteous whims and condemnation tells you to.
i marched because i can't and won't be quiet anymore.
02 jan 2017
like so many, i'm in the process of reviewing, renewing and working to let go to make room for what i want and need. (more daily tho than cos of new resolutions) found some musing dug up from january 2014 -
and she said - my love
i am here
where the sea turns air thin
under pale night sky.
i am the veil over the mountain.
see me in the morning
at the edge
learning to live finally.
turns out there is a pattern here, no? four years later.
i'd say it's time to move away from the edge. and go for it. whatever it may be.
27 dec 2016
before snow fell and melted your gaze
before smoke and steel spilled out
i was there.
after blood dripped from your drunken lips, when you spoke to the rivers with your hands
i waited there on grey stones
near the shimmering edge where you slept.
don’t you see?
your breath is the tide (that born me)
our union is the fire (that formed the tides)
in and out
always pulling, then breaking, putting the ground back together again
no matter how much you could not, no matter how much i would not
no matter how cracked or dark and silent the night
i have seen and felt you,
waiting by the edge
waiting for me
to find the way
to rise with you.
dragonflies dance with the golden fox
through fallen down trees
beyond reason of ages
beyond what can pass as a lie.
the fire, the tides
saturday 16 april 2016
step out from behind the veil
into the light
no longer strapped to the tree
by the dust and debris that flies
in the face of all you strive to become.
go on my love, you're almost home. (poem by cl)
saturday 16 april 2016
....surrender to what is right, for you. what do you need?
"the feeling that is stirring within you is the power that allows you to remember who you truly are in all your magnificence....in your glorious garb of light, for all to see..." and finally, see yourself, and love.
wednesday 30 december 2015
throw off sparks... a persistent, steady glow. no matter how dim. (raymond carver)
tuesday 6 october 2015
Silence, they say, is the voice of complicity.
But silence is impossible.
Silence is a message,
just as doing nothing is an act.
Let who you are ring out and resonate
in every word and every deed.
Yes, become who you are.
There's no sidestepping your own being
or your own responsibility.
What you do is who you are.
You are your own comeuppance.
You become your own message.
You are the message.
(prison writings - my life is my sun dance - leonard peltier)
monday 21 september 2015
"not knowing when the dawn will come, I open every door." (emily dickinson)
and then promptly i close them. just in case
monday 9 september 2015
besides the moon, where have you gone?
sunday 5 july 2015
monday 11 may 2015
out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. i'll meet you there. (Rumi)
monday 23 feb 2015
be still he said 72x72
tuesday 12 aug 2014
depression is not a demon.
i remember clearly the first time i heard someone speaking of suicide as the most selfish act.
the sweat seeped out of my palms and i felt my whole body growing hot. then cold. i was maybe 15.
they didn’t know the bright cheery all-star girl they set next to in class had quarreled with herself, fought and failed over the specifics of ending it for most of her young life. but i did. and i have, most of my adult life. until i chose to stop running.
as a society we are so quick to demonize things. to demonize beliefs, actions, people. but depression is not a demon. that would suggest that us who have it are somehow possessed by the terrible-awful and that we should be feared. so it is not accurately a “demon.” at least not to me. not anymore. that word suggests that what we should do is just turn and run from it. scream, kick, karate-chop heave-ho and throw a sheet over it. then hide ourselves, hide our sadness, hide until it goes away or slay it into the ground with gallant prayers or booze and pills without looking it in the eye. but i’ve tried all those things. and none of them work. depression is a part of me. maybe it’s part of you. i have come to accept that it lives in me, but that doesn’t mean it’s who i am or what i choose to feed. because i’m not depression. and depression is not a demon.
depression is a condition of the mind. sometimes of the heart. i think the only way to handle conditions like depression, alcoholism, drug addiction or trauma is head on, face to face, so that it doesn’t swallow us whole. we are light and dark - meet the darkness with more light. meet the darkness with more love. drive out fear. sing compassion and love into those deep wells until the darkness grows smaller and more tolerable. let’s stand together once and for all and shine love and light on what eats away at so many of us and demand as a society that we stop demonizing, that we stop running, that we STOP. and help each other to stop hiding. instead, be vocal. let each other know - you are not alone. today, instead of being ashamed or afraid of myself, i choose the light and i honor the dark in a balance that let’s me live instead of just survive. i choose to stop and look depression in the eye and ask how and why. and i recognize fully that i am lucky. i am so so grateful that somehow i found a way to love all of me and these days i am not afraid; and by grace somehow i am alive to write this now.
i choose now to welcome that part of me to the table and work with it because depression is not a demon. it is a condition. and i am only human. a human with a certain heavy condition. we are all human trying to confront the condition, the place, we’ve been given. whatever it is, whatever tugs or pushes you into more darkness than you can bare, i believe the confronting goes better if we lean on each other. so reach for more light. reach out and grab someone who can help light the way. reach out! but most of all, MOSTLY, reach out to yourself. sing to your heart and busy mind the greatest love song you've ever heard. depression hates lighthearted songs. (might i suggest something from the sound of music...)
depression favors guilt and insecurities and hate. so FEED IT LOVE. go in love. we’re all dying to love.
bless your beautiful aching heart robin williams.