Collective Memory Puer

You smell like the forest floor after days of rain
Touch of cold in the air
Not a fir forest that holds tight to her needles
But the wisdom of the deciduous that knows to let go
Gives in to the gravity of the season

Trees that put all of their grief
Into the tips of their beings,
With the fading light of fall

And let go

Wisdom to shed
To give things up

Leaves, piles of loss and things better not clung to,
Bleeding rich and pungent
ochre red black brown tears
Into soil

Stew of puer
Places where memory gathers, rests and transforms.

On My Drive Home

The Lark Ascending begins,
Children, coats wrapped 'round waists,
Run from school
A small flock of birds taking flight.
Leaves swept upward on the breath of a fall breeze.

Geography Lesson I

On lazy days I sometimes parade around my house butch.
I want my hair cut "boy" short
--and sometimes I cut it!
I want my chest flat.
Like the plains I manspread on my little futon.
Hips narrow, chiseled shoulders; like canyon rocks.

Other days I like ambiguity, cultivate it;
Lipstick it.
Trimmed brows, hair smoothed close to my head, blue jeans,
Loose white tee showing off a pink polka dot bra.
I am the cave and the outcrop,
The jetty and the harbor,
Mountain and valley.

Today, it's a rare day.

Today, I'm all girl.
I slip around in my low-cut nightie,
Hips swaying, lips full, big hair,
Breasts loose and swinging.
Cows working their way back and forth across a field of rippled grass.
Fluffy clouds suspended in the sky.

Today I feel hollow, open, receptive, hungry.
Today I could bring it all in. 

In-side.

In-voluted.

A cave for an oracle, something hidden in the dark.
Something precious, protected, kept warm and sacred.
Ancient hearths below and stories above.
Invaginations of primordial waters.
Histories held secret and fears embraced.

January 23rd

My grief is as vast as an ocean
Its waves tsunamis.

I want you to head for safety.

I want you to stand at the receding waters and call me forth
Unafraid of drowning in my sorrow.

1:00 AM

Awake,
Listening through every inch of being
For the sounds of my Beloved
Sleeping or stirring.

Beloved is a word used by Rumi.

What if it wasn't Shams in Rumi's poems?
What if Shams and Rumi were the same person?
What if Rumi meant the self?
Or maybe Rumi meant both the self and other?

The self that is a part of the Dao, God, Allah, Jehovah...
What if we referred to our own selves as the Beloved?

Awake,
Anxious for sounds that my Beloved is healing,
I await sleep.

Smiles

I do not want to write about what is on my mind.
I want to paint pictures of sunny days, flowers in full bloom,
Warm breezes, fuzzy feelings.
I do not want to be honest about what I'm feeling.

What I am feeling is a bottomless well of grief.
If I shared all the grief in my lungs, bones, muscles and heart
It would fill the room, no matter how large or small,
It would fill it.
I'm not sure you can swim in my grief.
I'm not sure I can swim in my grief.

The ocean surrounded by fire
That is my heart.

I don't want to share this. I want to share beautiful things.
Lovely things that make the world a better place.
Not sadness of loss, of my own and others'.

I don't want to open my heart to you.
I'm not cold or shy.
I'm not heartless or strong.
I'm terrified the contents of my heart are toxic.
I'm stuck in the fear
Fear that what my heart holds
Overwhelms
Drowns
Scares.

Let me tell you lovely tales of survival,
Joy,
Love,
Kindness,
Spirit,
Friendship,
Generosity,
All the lovely things that make you want to be around me.

Let me show you only my smile.
My lovely smile that everyone says is contagious.
Please let me just show you that smile
Smile and eyes that are so good at reflecting back goodness.

Reflections on the Path

Already my center has shifted.

I am no longer sitting beneath the willow when I am in reverie
I am the willow
I am powerful and luminescent
I am golden warm lithe.

Rooted deeply
I grow towards the heavens
I become infinite as I move upwards and so solid as I grow deeper.

I am so light your pulse, her exhale, his inhale, ripples through me
Yet I stand firm and still and tall, able to support you and your waves of being.

I accumulate and expand as I breathe in and I become the nothing that is everything as I let the breath go.

I am wiser and more naive
I am opened raw as I grow fresh boundaries
I am motivated to the action that is a vibrating stillness.