Smoke slowly fills the valley.
A bit south homes are being evacuated,
your worth reduced to people and land,
everything else superfluous and refundable.
I think of Tipi Camp and my essentials --
pillow and sleeping bag, yoga mat and journal.
What I needed most was the sunrise over the lake,
the blanket of polished stones.
The voice of Paul as he put me deeper in a
tunnel of my own understanding.
The light and dark.
Karuna adjusts my hip and decades of over-extension
release into the open sky.
I no longer hear the voices of my children.
No longer wake to the to-do list in my mind,
the huge and mundane mixed
to create a full life.
This life is full with understanding.
It's full with stories that transcend
alarm clocks and lists of objectives and outcomes.
The objective is this moment.
The outcome is being here.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
re-entry
Re-entry is the rocky depths. It's the in your face to-do list. The laundry and toilets and groceries and layers left un-done.
I escaped my real life for a week. I escaped to a tiny island in British Columbia. Tipi camp is magical and twenty of us went deeper then many go in a lifetime. There was a glow to our days, an aura of sorts bringing forth all shades of light, all levels of dark. Asana practice was deep and intense, Karuna's first few adjustments on me better than any I've ever received. I was more in for movement than meditation, but that soon changed. Paul's courage and conviction lead me to places so deep, so beautiful, so painful, expansive, spacious, real. There was uncontrollable crying and unabashed joy. Much of it felt somehow altered, like life amplified.
It's almost hard to write about it now that I'm back. I was so deep within myself that I didn't miss anyone. I was so deep within myself that all I could do was write and move, breath deep and dream wild dreams, messages and symbols shouting to me from all directions.
Now we're on to integration. Yesterday I set up a little alter and woke with asana, tried to sit still, prioritized writing in my journal. But last night anxiety seeped in and all the little, mundane realities of life began to slip into my consciousness, wake me in the night, leave me feeling twitchy and frustrated.
Today at breakfast I focused on the faces of my children. Eliana and Solomon sang along with their Disney Pandora with all the gusto in the world, bright and earnest eyes and full hearts. I realized that it was okay to make that my moment to savor, that the pieces of me have been placed in a giant mixing bowl that is me with my contexts, me with my family. I felt more settled when I forgave myself for not holding the holy reigns on a new practice. I don't have anyone cooking glorious and healthy meals for me at home, don't have an endless supply of tea and fresh fruit. Don't have the simple choices of journal or swim, child's pose or downward dog. So integration is upon us. It fills me up inside just to write it down. Integration in an attempt to hold on to that other piece of grace that is me.
I escaped my real life for a week. I escaped to a tiny island in British Columbia. Tipi camp is magical and twenty of us went deeper then many go in a lifetime. There was a glow to our days, an aura of sorts bringing forth all shades of light, all levels of dark. Asana practice was deep and intense, Karuna's first few adjustments on me better than any I've ever received. I was more in for movement than meditation, but that soon changed. Paul's courage and conviction lead me to places so deep, so beautiful, so painful, expansive, spacious, real. There was uncontrollable crying and unabashed joy. Much of it felt somehow altered, like life amplified.
It's almost hard to write about it now that I'm back. I was so deep within myself that I didn't miss anyone. I was so deep within myself that all I could do was write and move, breath deep and dream wild dreams, messages and symbols shouting to me from all directions.
Now we're on to integration. Yesterday I set up a little alter and woke with asana, tried to sit still, prioritized writing in my journal. But last night anxiety seeped in and all the little, mundane realities of life began to slip into my consciousness, wake me in the night, leave me feeling twitchy and frustrated.
Today at breakfast I focused on the faces of my children. Eliana and Solomon sang along with their Disney Pandora with all the gusto in the world, bright and earnest eyes and full hearts. I realized that it was okay to make that my moment to savor, that the pieces of me have been placed in a giant mixing bowl that is me with my contexts, me with my family. I felt more settled when I forgave myself for not holding the holy reigns on a new practice. I don't have anyone cooking glorious and healthy meals for me at home, don't have an endless supply of tea and fresh fruit. Don't have the simple choices of journal or swim, child's pose or downward dog. So integration is upon us. It fills me up inside just to write it down. Integration in an attempt to hold on to that other piece of grace that is me.
Tipi Camp
At Tipi Camp we rise in silence.
Hot chai waits,
the simple joy of warm water
on my face.
The pink of sunrise matches the pink of sunset.
I'm settling into my driftwood bench
after a night of fluid dreams,
revelations to explore -
journal,
pebbles,
quiet,
connections -
when two bare bodies greet the lake.
One lithe, strong frame on the tiny dock,
one full, lovely shape makes ripples
in another direction.
They are nymphs, are women, are
the glory that is all things
open and bare, seen and unseen.
Their bodies float back towards me
and I'm filled with longing for
what they're doing.
Want that expanse of cool water though,
I know,
I too can have that.
Want that fearless freedom,
though I know, too,
that I am a heavenly water creature,
that I too was made to float.
On the last morning at Tipi Camp,
I wake to a beautiful face and a
silent invitation to swim.
We make our way down the pebbled beach,
peel back bed clothes and stumble in.
I push off a rock, push myself under,
arms propel cool, clean water.
I remember strokes I learned at eight,
how to make a heart shape with my arms,
my legs little frogs.
I am all amphibian and nymph,
one with wild water bugs and their skittish ways.
We skim and dance,
float on, energy and grace.
Her face is so lovely as it rises from the water,
new friends so full of vital life force,
so ready to connect, go deep,
be born.
And from nowhere geese start singing,
breaking our silence.
Heads turn and the birds' discuss,
rally, decide to take flight and
bring their song to another bit of shore.
They rise, voices fading,
float in a perfect line beyond the point.
We are a collective catch of breath,
a remarkable and full sigh.
Hot chai waits,
the simple joy of warm water
on my face.
The pink of sunrise matches the pink of sunset.
I'm settling into my driftwood bench
after a night of fluid dreams,
revelations to explore -
journal,
pebbles,
quiet,
connections -
when two bare bodies greet the lake.
One lithe, strong frame on the tiny dock,
one full, lovely shape makes ripples
in another direction.
They are nymphs, are women, are
the glory that is all things
open and bare, seen and unseen.
Their bodies float back towards me
and I'm filled with longing for
what they're doing.
Want that expanse of cool water though,
I know,
I too can have that.
Want that fearless freedom,
though I know, too,
that I am a heavenly water creature,
that I too was made to float.
I wake to a beautiful face and a
silent invitation to swim.
We make our way down the pebbled beach,
peel back bed clothes and stumble in.
I push off a rock, push myself under,
arms propel cool, clean water.
I remember strokes I learned at eight,
how to make a heart shape with my arms,
my legs little frogs.
I am all amphibian and nymph,
one with wild water bugs and their skittish ways.
We skim and dance,
float on, energy and grace.
Her face is so lovely as it rises from the water,
new friends so full of vital life force,
so ready to connect, go deep,
be born.
breaking our silence.
Heads turn and the birds' discuss,
rally, decide to take flight and
bring their song to another bit of shore.
They rise, voices fading,
float in a perfect line beyond the point.
We are a collective catch of breath,
a remarkable and full sigh.
coastal
My children are fairies.
They drift in and out of worlds,
rules, songs, memories.
They lift gently, float, fall, delight.
My children leave a trail of splendor,
sparkle, golden sand and long, soft curls.
He speaks her language,
repeats what she says,
guarantees to play by her rules until
he doesn't anymore
and they flap their wings
in frustration,
like all mythical creatures,
it isn't all harmony.
suds curl like wishes back and forth on the water,
in her hand, carried like precious bubbles.
We wear hoods and huddle on cool sand,
await the sun through the trap of marine layer.
In the distance, the black shapes of surfers,
up close, two children who race and imagine.
I place my belly on the mat and
take my notebook out of the bag.
Mama! You said you'd help us with the sand!
Pretend you don't see me, I say.
And, as if by magic,
they pick up their pails and move down the shore.
I know there will be a time not long from now
when I"ll miss their endless demmands,
little limbs and hard heads in my space,
voices that travel through sand dunes,
across campsites,
over ocean waves,
Mama! Come here!
Mama!
Monday, August 19, 2013
Boys and Girls
Boys and Girls
The fan whirs above us,
the moon is full.
We lie atop the white sheets.
She’s still, on her side,
watching the last piece of orange sun
dip into nothingness.
Exhausted body, longer than yesterday,
she’s all scabbed elbows and matted curls.
Earlier today we treaded water in a mountain lake,
flew up and down dusty trails,
she guards castles with her fellow princesses,
dirt smudged on terry cloth capes,
silently sifts and
sorts memories,
new ideas,
so still on her side.
On my left his heart races through his smooth back,
through the crook of my arm, then down to my toes
and still straight to my pulse.
His head flops from side to side
fingers count the sky,
knee in my back
one, then another,
then huge, hard head in my ribs,
flop back, head at my jaw,
flop back.
He is all motion all the time,
has had too much and can’t stop,
the wild uniqueness of the day’s adventures,
stick swords, butterflies,
the July heat.
He can’t bring it down.
The moon rises
a bit higher.
She softly exhales.
His final thrash.
Our breath congruous,
becoming.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
birthday for real
Today she is six for real. They woke early, so, very early. Early and eager. For whatever reason I've been bone tired in the evenings lately. Single mama-ing takes a different level of concentration perhaps. Or maybe it's the heat. I feel like I did when I lived abroad in Spain at seventeen. Come three o'clock, I'm ready to siesta with the best of them. Unlike those days in Spain, I don't exactly rally at ten to hit the discoteque. Alas. My girl is six. And we had a heck of a day.
Somehow presents were done before seven thirty a.m. or so. Which left a whole lot of time for celebrating. Auntie Alison sent a Target gift card, so that was a first must stop. The Ariel bath doll was the first to speak to Els and, at long last, the prize for the basket. Soli had to have a big, red bouncy ball because the birthday envy was running pretty deep. We'd had lots of tears. Thanks, mama, for sending him a wrapped present for the first round of gifts. I think I've got it all figured out and then I remember how little I really know.
The day moved quickly from there. There was a stop for baby burritos before we headed to Splash. I was so dang thankful for our local water park, for our friends who were there to meet us, for the ease that is water and children in the summer sun. When we were finally waterlogged, it was the Big Dipper for green tea rolled in sprinkles, on the house.
When we finally got Soli down, Eliana and I were wiped. I have this new bad-summertime-mama habit which is Eliana asks to watch Arthur on the ipad and I say yes and read my book beside her. I just can't help it. I suggest that we write stories or do art or read books. Sometimes we do some of those things. Sometimes we bake or play outside. And sometimes, like today, we just chill the heck out. Am I just getting old? Lazy? Is it the heat? Why do I need to absolutely stop moving in the afternoons? I'm trying to let it go. I'm trying to say, dang girl, you're a great mama. So the kid watches a bit of TV. Go easy.
After siesta, Eliana requested sushi. High class tastes, like her mama. Sixty dollars and another scoop of green tea later (this time fried in tempura batter, topped with chocolate sauce and berries), we were heading back up the hill. Eliana's Ariel bath doll had been on her mind all afternoon and she was dying to watch her in her natural habitat. I love that girl. I love that she still loves Disney princesses. I have a hunch next year Ariel will not exactly jump off the shelf the same way she did today.
Oh these days. They are so very full. Full of feelings and ideas, frustrations and messes, stops and starts. Full of the love between a brother and a sister, a mother and her six year old. I was so missing Jeff today. Miss him more than ever. The air tonight resembled the air six years ago, the six twenty four pm that the girl flew from my body. The sudden storm and clean heat. The red sheets and the sleigh bed. The way we hesitated in the parking lot hours later, wondering how the heck to put this small creature in a carseat and drive home. A group of bikers revved their engines and it seemed so cruel to bring this tiny being into the loud, scary world. So began the extreme vulnerability.
Tonight as we walked back to our car through downtown, we ran into person after person that we knew. Eliana was able to hear happy birthday from a few more people. They asked her kind questions, engaged her, laughed. We headed up the hill and I exhaled a giant breath of gratitude for this valley that has helped raise my child. For the kindness of community and grace of open space. For the mamas who have modeled for me how to be, encouraged my best self, listened to all the moments of raw frustration.
They are finally quiet and I write in a new space. In a new living room. Candles burn low, my ladies shine on the mantle, my radio plays softly. Sometimes I can hardly believe it. How far I've come. How far we've all come.
Somehow presents were done before seven thirty a.m. or so. Which left a whole lot of time for celebrating. Auntie Alison sent a Target gift card, so that was a first must stop. The Ariel bath doll was the first to speak to Els and, at long last, the prize for the basket. Soli had to have a big, red bouncy ball because the birthday envy was running pretty deep. We'd had lots of tears. Thanks, mama, for sending him a wrapped present for the first round of gifts. I think I've got it all figured out and then I remember how little I really know.
The day moved quickly from there. There was a stop for baby burritos before we headed to Splash. I was so dang thankful for our local water park, for our friends who were there to meet us, for the ease that is water and children in the summer sun. When we were finally waterlogged, it was the Big Dipper for green tea rolled in sprinkles, on the house.
When we finally got Soli down, Eliana and I were wiped. I have this new bad-summertime-mama habit which is Eliana asks to watch Arthur on the ipad and I say yes and read my book beside her. I just can't help it. I suggest that we write stories or do art or read books. Sometimes we do some of those things. Sometimes we bake or play outside. And sometimes, like today, we just chill the heck out. Am I just getting old? Lazy? Is it the heat? Why do I need to absolutely stop moving in the afternoons? I'm trying to let it go. I'm trying to say, dang girl, you're a great mama. So the kid watches a bit of TV. Go easy.
After siesta, Eliana requested sushi. High class tastes, like her mama. Sixty dollars and another scoop of green tea later (this time fried in tempura batter, topped with chocolate sauce and berries), we were heading back up the hill. Eliana's Ariel bath doll had been on her mind all afternoon and she was dying to watch her in her natural habitat. I love that girl. I love that she still loves Disney princesses. I have a hunch next year Ariel will not exactly jump off the shelf the same way she did today.
Oh these days. They are so very full. Full of feelings and ideas, frustrations and messes, stops and starts. Full of the love between a brother and a sister, a mother and her six year old. I was so missing Jeff today. Miss him more than ever. The air tonight resembled the air six years ago, the six twenty four pm that the girl flew from my body. The sudden storm and clean heat. The red sheets and the sleigh bed. The way we hesitated in the parking lot hours later, wondering how the heck to put this small creature in a carseat and drive home. A group of bikers revved their engines and it seemed so cruel to bring this tiny being into the loud, scary world. So began the extreme vulnerability.
Tonight as we walked back to our car through downtown, we ran into person after person that we knew. Eliana was able to hear happy birthday from a few more people. They asked her kind questions, engaged her, laughed. We headed up the hill and I exhaled a giant breath of gratitude for this valley that has helped raise my child. For the kindness of community and grace of open space. For the mamas who have modeled for me how to be, encouraged my best self, listened to all the moments of raw frustration.
They are finally quiet and I write in a new space. In a new living room. Candles burn low, my ladies shine on the mantle, my radio plays softly. Sometimes I can hardly believe it. How far I've come. How far we've all come.
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