standing at the sink,
contemplating rice or perhaps tea,
i notice the neighbor's dog.
i watch him through the chain link fence,
face to earth,
distracted in thought,
he always seems to be there,
sitting in that same pile of dirt,
they don't seem to ever let him inside.
suddenly, he stands up,
limping off to another spot in the yard,
as if to defy my judgements against his master.
back right foot turned in,
his walk is but a painful dragging of appendage.
i remember again,
that while everyone is created equal,
not everyone is created equal.
that some should not have children,
or dogs,
or even an ant farm.
that they must salvage the little love they have,
simply for themselves.

birthandeath

the bookends of human life, of all life for that matter, are so incredibly telling. birth and death exist in every single moment simultaneously. no moment or breath or experience is ever the same, it is all new. every second and every experience, however nuanced, is fresh. and in order for a moment to come into being, another moment had to end. it is all continuous birth and death together.

dear fear,

please, come to me tonight and rape me. ravage me beyond comprehension. tear me apart with one absolute undeniable blow. and then leave me be. i'd much prefer one sweeping blow of pure debilitation than the tiny paper cuts of daily life.  sohave your way with me and be gone. my heart, vast and infinite has no place for you anymore. some come, for one last horrific horah and be gone.

k

whirling dervishes

are we all not in search for the holiest of grails,

seeking the cup from which to sip the sweetest nectar?

hopeful lips yearn to press against The chalice so fraught with Love.

all the while Rumi shakes his head and laughs,

reminding us that we are the wine,
we are the chalice,
from which we yearn to drink.

this is what i would tell you, if i thought you cared to listen.

the first wailing roar i don't remember should have been an indication,
but that only gets recalled on a cellular level,
when shamans share the sacred vine.
i knew of embers that carried the wind to the driest of foot hills,
thousand year old vegetation scorched in minutes flat.
lest we forget the millions of golden stars, the levies and Pol Pot.
it would stand to reason that the arc of history prepared me for our ever brittle break,
but it did not.
your eyes told me we were strong,
the flood waters that pushed against us didn't stand a chance,
that our love would shield us while we dwelled in the attic of some kind stranger.


ending is being worked on...

the beauty of red lights

at other times,
red lights have simply been delays to my destination,
but today,
today the red lights,
meant a few more beautiful moments with you.

the beauty of suffering

suffering, with all of its disruptive torment, has infinite potential for expansion and growth of the heart. it offers the ability to bring us closer to others, to forge a connection with the understanding that others too have a heart that can ache. and while we can not fix anyone, perhaps we can offer ourselves as a witness to their pain, offering our presence and willingness to not turn away from that which is uncomfortable. suffering lays the seeds for the heart to soften and discover compassion for others who also experience the pains of being human. we all suffer though to varying degrees and at different points in our individual journeys. but if we can remember this, remember that each person carries with them both the weight and the utter beauty of this life, perhaps we can learn to view this as a common and binding thread.
k