It’s a Helluva Place

Thoughts at home…
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visions
Sort of having this vision of the sixteen acres of my parents’ home becoming a retreat/healing center (as my father works to complete the sauna he started years ago). A place for intentional community for people of many faiths.
This is some sort of variation of a pipe dream to start a school or to start an organic farm we bring up now and then.
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I find this deep respect for my family as they are spending chunks of their retirement tending to our property as well as volunteering for a Christian mission group that works to bring Syrian refugees to the US/Canada. As liberal urbanite who seems to be surrounded by lots of fellow Trump-bashers seemingly “woke” folks, I can kind of think “well duh” but I forget all of the fraught biased politics surrounding this as they live in the middle Trump country (1)
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Driving home I see a truck that says TUMP 2020 in 10 ft tall letters sitting across from an elementary school where I used to shadow ESL classes. I remember meeting kids from Mexico…China..Thailand…etc. Sort of makes me think the Latino children I worked with at least had each other and their communities to fall back on emotionally when the hate speech started to spew from the mouth of the ‘most high,’ but these kids are alone, maybe the only one of their countrymen in that town and having to see that propaganda every day on their walk to school.
(1) Ryan Dueck, “I’m Sorry, Christian, but you Don’t Get To Make That Move”  https://ryandueck.com/2015/09/16/im-sorry-christian-but-you-dont-get-to-make-that-move/       
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football and crybabies 
My friend reads my blog and sends me a wonderful meditation by a Lakota grandmother but I do not play it at the dinner table. Shortly before our family prayer, I hear my father saying to my uncle and brother “I don’t get why people are such babies these days, wanting to be so politically correct, crying about how the name of the football team is the Redskins, give me a break.”
I keep a lot of thoughts in my head. It takes me some time to process things I find, and I am already conditioned to keep my mouth quiet. Maybe why I’ve turned to writing as a means to expression, as what I usually want to say is not understood, or received well, by the people around me. It’s a gift and a curse, sometimes, I’m sure.
So I’m silently replying … “Maybe they are ‘crybabies’ because of genocide..then suffered centuries of conquest, relocation, boarding schools, etc. etc. and peoples and now have to be reminded of it by it everytime they see the logo that perpetuates stereotypes (1)…not to mention it harms the brains of men, maybe even men who have DNA of their descendants with concussions (2-3)…and not to mention the ones at said sporting events refusing to stand for the anthem in act of protest and to stand in solidarity with opressed peoples.(3)”
But then again, what would a girl like me really know about football.
(3) Antonia Moore, Vice, “Footballs War on the Minds of Black Men” https://sports.vice.com/en_us/article/eze4gj/footballs-war-on-the-minds-of-black-men 
(4) Edmund DeMarche, CNN, “Kaepernick Participates in Unthanksgiving Day on Alcatraz” http://www.foxnews.com/us/2017/11/24/kaepernick-participates-in-unthanksgiving-day-on-alcatraz.html
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social consciousness and the children and the generations and the going on 
Question: Does our social consciousness shift as we age to find “belonging” within the political consciousness of our peers the current trends of politics? (My dad going from sweat lodge builder to a more conservative view on ‘political correctness’?)
Question: Or do those remaining bits of what was not understood or manifested by the previous generation pass on to their children – like me, now caught up in my own research and my own life-playing out in some spirit lotus wrapped up in healing ‘whiteness’ as an identity and how it can be healed in order to seek more expansion and freedom for all peoples. Are we the ones left trying to sort out the parts of us we left behind in previous generations?
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ancestral dreaming
We played a game at the dinner table that my mother and I made with creative self-reflection questions and the first one my grandfather picks up.
Describe heaven.
“It’s a helluva a place,” he says.
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Today I’m talking to my mother about my previous school year as a teacher in urban DC, fraught with all kinds of things I can’t even begin to explain in a simple post. My mother was a teacher and so was I.
I show her the slideshow I made for a project I did with a colleague in the music-biz to try and get statues erected in DC of local women and people of color who made an impact on the city’s history. She’s editing my work. I’m showing her the slides of a local DC artist who played with folk musicians of the 60s and participated in the Civil Rights movement. “You spelled Pete Siger wrong…It’s Pete Seeger.” I know mom, I know. Typos are inevitable.
Then I show her videos from the poetry slam I attended of my old students, Latino kids who wrote poems of unity,  dreaming, how hard their parents paved the way for their world of success. One of my best friends from my old school coached the team and wrote the culminating poem. I helped her edit it.
The kids stand up and say “Unity, we stand for a better tomorrow, but now you tell me no more dreamers?”- these children descendants of a generation of immigrants denied access to opportunities before the DREAM Act and DACA. The stuff the Puppet and his minions are working to overturn. Now the bilingual children of the ancestors are on stage shouting out what their parents are still denied from saying in the public space.
Note from self: Remember this isn’t the conditioning of your white savior complex or need to prove your worthiness shown through your dedication to the children of color over other children because that is still a manifestation of racism.  This is trust that individuals will free themselves as individuals communities will free themselves as communities and this is the healing of our century that we all must take part in as a whole. I have called you to participate.
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We watch old home movies of my grandparents on my father’s side. My father’s baba, who didn’t really speak English at all but he and my uncle remember telling them to eat. Standing next to beautiful flowers in her garden. Chickens running around the backyard in front of the outhouse. Always wore a babushka and a dress, they said. It’s all that they’ve remembered, they said.
I sit to wonder. What the ancestors have asked us to carry on. What they have asked us to change. What they have asked us to heal. What they are watching us be.

 

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Dream Stones

Dream Stones
Stream of Consciousness, Ethnography, Personal Narrative, Travel, Drugs
Dog
I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, because I don’t believe in writer’s block and even though I’m an expert at naval gazing I know I need to get out of the house and be around people, but no I don’t really feel like talking to them, I just need to watch them and their habits, kind of like how I watched this dog all week, who would wake me up in the middle of the night licking her wounds, a bad habit she’s acquired just like I have of picking my ears, so I’d yell at her to please stop and blame her for the reason I wasn’t really able to sleep but eventually I figured out she actually needed me to lift her legs onto the bed and then she took up all of it but at least she was peaceful.
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So I went out and I watched, I watched, I watched the whole world like I was traveling. I don’t have any money to take a trip but I can pretend that instead of those thoughts on is the path I always take and these are the same people I talk to rather to think this is the first time I have ever set eyes on this place and who are these people and what sort of culture do they have because I remember the time I went to Beijing for the first time and it felt like one week lasted me a whole year because nothing made sense but at the same time everything did because I just saw everything around me and felt free from wanting anything at all.
Dream stones
There’s a certain freedom when traveling but I can’t travel right now so I’m staying in this house with a meditation room and burning Chinese incense that reminds me of when I lived in Dali, Yunnan – the province of the Southern Clouds – and I am almost certain without a shadow of a dreamer’s doubt that in fact the people shaped the clouds descending over the mountainside with their thoughts and memories and dreams and hopes because the marble they mined from the mountain had the same look of the clouds and they sold that marble they called it dream stones.
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When my father came to visit me he went to every little just so he could stare at dream stones for hours before he decided to buy a whole suitcase full and I suppose they activated something in or I suppose it was the kind of shit he saw when he was high so maybe that explains why am I sitting here at breakfast Googling pictures of Ayahuasca for my desktop background because I remember that day after church we came back and ate bagels and talked about Jeremy Narby’s The Cosmic Serpent: DNA and the Origins of Knowledge for hours and how everything the Amazonian shamans told the anthropologist made complete fucking sense to me and now I hope every time I open my computer I can get activated and be reminded that life is not actually this but really that and be reminded there are some trips you don’t actually have to buy a plane ticket to take. 
Bus Stop Jamaica 
Sitting next to a Latina woman sitting at the bus stop, we are both watching the man across the street putting on a tie before he takes out two cases of bottled water from the trunk and I’m trying to remember that word…corbata…la corbata de civilization, it’s something like that, something like a choke hold that puts its arm around your neck and chokes you to death when you are just a man just a simple man and you surrender your whole head to the king of capitalism.
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He’s in front of a tire shop it reminds me of the kind in Jamaica because its yellow small and has some people milling about outside and when I went in 2010 with my jazz band it was the first time I could recall not knowing if I was awake or dreaming and it was the first time I could recall not having access to technology so I couldn’t call my boyfriend for a week and thank god because he called me every day ugh a way too co-dependent relationship I broke free from for a while but so I ended up cuddling with by the piano player in a hammock I couldn’t tell if it was okay to do that even though I really wanted to because there’s a certain way you can connect with people when we played music under the stars and the other piano player almost bought a ‘shroom from a guy on the beach but instead all of us when out to a trampoline on the sea and looked up at the stars and got high and thought maybe they made the shape of a cannabis leaf.
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The bus isn’t coming so I think maybe I should call a car but then I remember how I noticed the people who have white skin like me who have any bit of money don’t actually ride public transportation unless they are going to work, but at some point I learned that I’ll always get where I’m going anyways and at some point I learned time doesn’t actually exist and have you ever noticed that people think they need to be stressed out in order to get anything done and have you ever noticed people here use that word productive a lot but they don’t actually produce anything and at some point I removed that word from my vocabulary. 
Your Unreliable Ethnographer  
What thoughts are mine and what are not mine? I don’t really know anymore. 
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When you observe a different culture, you assume the people you watch are genuinely happy to be together. 
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I picked up a biography of Margaret Mead in a free library on the side of the street today and I don’t know anything about her much other than I agreed with her when I heard she said adolescence might really just be a sham invented by Western culture so why did I ever have to be a teenager I’ll never forget my remembered my first year anthropology professor who told us that when he was in Papua New Guinea the people worshipped sweet potatoes and even ate enough of them that they women used them as a form of birth control I have an IUD and people have all kinds of feelings about it but actually I probably eat like five sweet potatoes so I think I’m good.
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I went out to watch the world like the world wasn’t watching me
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When I got here I joined the spiritualist subculture because I started doing a lot of Kundalini Yoga too many days of the week until my body was beautiful and blissful and I had a killer set of abs but it’s about being spiritual right not the superficial way your body looks after a year of training so after I left that community I still found myself just as disconnected from people as I was when I lived in a place where I couldn’t speak the language.
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So turns out your manic pixie yoga girl thinks fondly of her favorite anarchist Christian anthropology professor who had us question multiple interpretations of movie Jesus Camp and who told me to read David Graber when he met me in the park for a beer and who had us read an article called “Spiritual but Not Religious” which always sounded good to me but it seems that anytime I really sit with myself I remember I was still raised in the Presbyterian church and turns out so was Donald Trump and so fuck you Calvinism and your theory of predetermination and welcome to the terrifying side of something I need to come to terms with. 
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I’m just here. Writing in a notebook and helping children climb up on top of the statue of Joan of Arc. Remembering no matter where I go in the world, this is what I’m destined to do every day. 
Yoga
There’s a man with white skin walking past some women with white skin lying in the grass on yoga mats and he laughs to maybe a woman who is his wife and says “Look – I could do that, just lie there” oh to just lie in the grass for a moment off my feet, it would feel so good, oh it would feel like I’m going home.
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Now watching this couple a smaller man maybe of Asian descent and a woman with brown skin and I’m not sure if they’re not a couple couple but the very adept yogi man doing handstands is helping this taller also beautiful woman try one for herself and you can tell it’s hard for her so then he shares his watermelon with her and she looks nervous sort of to have this gesture of human kindness but at some point in her life someone told her to just follow her heart and for some reason she thinks to share some fruit right now just really feels right and good and loved.
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Later I see her dancing around with two white flowers in her hands in sort of a freedom dance and she’s I wonder if this like a mating dance she’s thinking of that yogi guy from earlier and how he helped her with her handstand.
Drum Tribes
A lot of the people here have different colored rainbow hair as I imagine the Capital in the Hunger Games while on the inside I know they are caught up in an Arena of the heart, competing with each other to be sexier, slimmer, more booty shaking style smooth. 
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There are two drum circles and one side people say these are the real musicians who are commemorating a man who died and on the other side people are just banging really loudly and there is a guy playing a drum set and from this statue I can just see everything and it’s the best seat in the house and I can hear feel smell taste the palo santo burning 
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A woman with blue-colored hair is dancing and banging on a pot with a spoon and dancing with a guy who was spinning sticks with the people who reminded me of some traveling clowns I met in Argentina once who could juggle and had teardrops drawn under their eyes and the girl with blue hair is having fun and looks like the way I felt in a dream once. 
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A man with white colored skin is playing djembe pretty well and sitting next to him a girl wearing a black wide-brimmed hat with a button on it and she’s cute but looking kind of bored so I wonder maybe she’s a poet so I’ve noticed a lot of girls around here wear hats because so a few months ago I bought a black hat to make me feel like a New York Patti Smith or maybe a New Mexican Georgia O’Keefe and to make me feel like maybe someone would pay attention to me while I read poetry.
Bathrooms
I buy a cold homemade drink from a girl with brown skin wearing a black value hat selling juice from a cooler and it makes me have to pee and I can’t believe there is only one public bathroom for all of these people plus I don’t want to wait in line so I go back to observe the human phenomena even though it’s not going to leave and will still be here once I return but I keep feeling like I need to see more feel more be more do more
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I check my phone to see when I can catch the metro and I start to walk towards it but I can’t even last that long, and when I walk back and I girl walking with a boyfriend says I like your outfit! to me it seems like a friendly version of anonymous female-to-female catcalling, so I go back to the park to pee under a bush and it reminds me of that friend in college who insisted of peeing every time we went to the park to drink or get high and I walk back to the stairs and see this interesting inlet in the stone stairs and two women ask me if I’m looking for the bathroom because apparently this is where it used to be and I say no I just find it interesting looking, I just peed anyway in the bushes and they don’t reply back so is that appropriate for their culture I don’t know. 
Prayer
When I get back the drummers pause for a moment of silence for the man who died and I wonder is this how the tribes pray together? I’ve never seen anything quite like it except for in this temple of air. 

Simone’s Diary

(***trigger warning – graphic sexual imagery)
I feel so delicately intertwined with him, like a fly caught in a spider’s web. In the web of all life, she believed, lead people together, even into entrapment and venomous harm.
 
April 7th
It’s been a week since I’ve seen you. I expected you would call me today, but it appears that you are out of town on a business trip to the coast of Southern California.
Instead, I called my cousin, Maryanne, who isn’t really my cousin but the daughter of my aunt’s first husband, who killed himself when he jumped off the side of a bridge in the 80s. We don’t talk about that.  Maryanne comes over with a J, and we sit on the front porch. I tell her I’m not going to smoke because of the interview tomorrow, but I do anyway. We start to discuss things like how miserable we are at our jobs, the weirdest sex positions we’ve done and how the pyramids in Egypt align with the stars in Orin’s Belt. I tell her a read a book by an Egyptian author recently for my translation class. As always she nodded her head and scrambled to change the subject and not focus my college education. I know she resents me because of it.
“Do you remember Aladdin?” she asked me.
“Yeah, sure, but that’s in Saudia Arabia, not Egypt…”
“Remember the time where I put your Aladdin Barbie doll next to a hamster cage, and he bit it’s nose off?”
“Yeah, Mom thought that was pretty horrific.”
“She never let me forget it.”
“Yeah.”
“And do you remember the part when Jafar traps Jasmine inside of an hourglass? At the end of the movie.” 
“When she can’t get out and she is crying for help? And then Alladin comes and breaks the glass so she can escape.”
“Yeah. You know, sometimes I felt like that.”
“Oh yeah?” When I reveal something about the how I feel to Maryanne her eyes perk up, as if she wants to know more about me to confirm that something I feel about myself she could feel too.
 
“I never told anyone this, but I used to think about sex before I fell asleep. And not the usual kind of sex. After seeing that movie, all sorts of torturous devices came inside my head. I couldn’t fall asleep without thinking about it. I used to think of a woman inside of a spider’s web, the spider’s silk slowing wrapping around her body so that a man could later have her. I never really knew what it meant I just know I used to think about it.”
“Yeah, yeah, kind of like subliminal advertising. It gets in your head and makes you think things that you don’t wanna think.”
    
“I never told anyone this either, but our godmother’s son used to touch me, while we were playing video games. I was only nine when it started. I don’t know for how long it went on. Maybe I was only seven or so, but I think nine. He was thirteen. I remember sitting there with a controller in my hand and his arms wrapped around me, feeling me. I forgave him. I remember a voice in my head saying ‘Maybe he doesn’t know what he’s doing. ‘Maybe he thinks it’s okay because someone did it to him.’ I thought my parents would be angry if they found out, so I never told them. ‘Maybe it does feel good,’ I used to think. I learned to forget about it so quickly. He used to invite me to play board games with him under the covers of his bunk bed. I remember thinking ‘Maybe if I asked my little brother to play with us, I would be safe.’ My brother shielded me. But then there was this time, I think at my dad’s work, in the childcare room at his office, and he pulled me into this rocket ship made of cardboard and pulled down his pants. All I remember was his Ninja Turtle underwear, and maybe something happened, maybe it didn’t, I don’t know…I guess I’ve blocked it out. It stopped, I think one of the teachers walked into the room or something. I remember wanting to tell my mom so badly about what was going on, but I told my best friend at school who convinced me I had to say something, so I did. My mom was shocked, but I don’t think she ever told my godmother.” I started to cry. “I know I shouldn’t feel bad right now, but I do. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t be wasting our time together telling you about this…sorry, yeah, I don’t know why I’m telling you about this.”
“You’re not wasting our time together.” Maryanne sat there pulling in a big puff of air from her the J. “I just think that it’s pretty fucked up.”
May 22nd
You asked me out and took me to my favorite art gallery where they had poetry and jazz and paintings and everything in the world that I loved, maybe, including you. We took a walk back in the cold, and you gave me a piggyback ride and I could tell you wanted to kiss me but we had to pee, so I said I had the keys to the store where I worked and where we met. Maybe my boss would be mad but she would never find out if I didn’t tell her. You kissed me and said come over, then you drove me home while the radio played a song I knew, and I ended up on your soft mattress, and I made the bed the next day after you left for work and you texted me later to say thank you. I went to work late. I think my boss was mad. But I didn’t care because I felt so happy.
June 30th
While on vacation you asked me to send pictures of the beach. I sent you a picture of a face I made out of leaves I made while talking to my father on the phone and then a picture of me wearing a mermaid’s dress made of scales. You replied hm, that’s sexy.
Today went for massage because I felt like it. I thought about how men always get tricked into a happy ending massage. After the masseuse had left I noticed the size my tits in the mirror for a bit. They used to be so firm and perky when I was in shape, but now they seem heavier and rounder. I pose in the as I imagine a pin-up model would.  I go into the bathroom and give the happy ending to myself.
July 31st
I came over hungry even though I already ate dinner and devoured some peanut butter cups you had leftover while you taught me to play chess. We watched the news, and you said wow shit is seriously messed up out there, cops killing people. I said Maybe they shouldn’t carry guns. You said Yeah, but we don’t want cops who are pussies you know. Later you ate me out on your kitchen counter-top beside the chess set.  In the morning you left for work, and I ate the rest of the peanut butter cups while I watched TV alone. You texted me to tell me you ran into the homeless lady that we fed and housed a few weeks ago outside your workplace on the other side of town. While watching TV, I learned something about those indigo children on Ancient Aliens. Then I read an entire book by Herman Hesse. It felt good to be fed by you and be given the to keys to your empty house.
August  14th
Let me tell you a little bit about the way we have sex. I don’t feel like I need a shield with you. You talk about things I use to fantasize about often, like getting spanked or choked, saying please before I came or do anything you asked me too. It scares me a bit, and I think you know it. I had a boyfriend who used to do things I never asked for but he’s in the past.  You changed your tone a bit one day and instead started saying “May I touch for my own pleasure?” and honestly I had never felt so liberated by a question. To be used for your pleasure and knowing you would be pleased by it without having to communicate that.  Knowing I could use you back too in any way I choose.
You asked me How do you feel when you watch porn? I said that I don’t. I used to I always felt kind of gross afterward. You said Yeah, me too. That’s why I don’t either anymore.
It never felt like we had a separate transition into sex. It was foreplay, all of it. I would look at your body, all of it, even the light bluish glow that surrounded you from the motion light from the house across from my window.
I had a lot of beliefs about myself that would simply disappear from my mind. 
“I’m nothing more than a sex puppet cashier from the store you frequented.”
“Sex with my ex- was better.”
“I’m only attracted to your material wealth.”
“I never really thought I was sexy until you said it.” 
You clung to me afterward. We moved to separate sides to sleep then embraced in the morning. You asked me what I dreamt about, and I always told you. Sometimes I dream about you and sometimes about you and your mother. And then I asked you what you dream about and you just said Your dreams were strange. I made your bed again after for you after you left for coffee with your friends. I sat on your porch and read a book that my mother sent me in the mail about love while I combed my hair. 
Between the things you tell me, I suppose you are seeking freedom for yourself too. I have a question for you. If you too are a seeker, who knows God’s power constantly and asks God consistently for guidance, and with whom I feel God’s love considerably, why do you still reject anything that resembles intimacy?
August 20th
After work, you said I want to take a walk with you. I took you to a log I liked in the woods. You said I can’t help but feel like something is missing between us. I said Yeah, Maybe we need to end this. I straddled the log, and then I kissed you. You said Okay, maybe we can keep trying for a little bit and see where this goes.
September 18th
Took a bath in your tub after your house cleaners let and you left and read this DH Lawrence Poem.
 
THE DEEPEST SENSUALITY
The profoundest of all sensualities
Is the sense of truth
And the next deepest sensual experience
Is the sense of justice.
Then I tried to send you a picture of me naked in your tub, but I don’t think it went through to you.
I never read DH Lawrence before today, but he reminded me of my uncle who wrote a book about him.  When we traveled together, he would look at the advertisements in the airports and tell me which models were also porn stars. I asked him how he knew that (because I didn’t think he had the Internet) and he would say Well, I’m a man so of course, I know that.
November 11th
It’s a holiday, and I text you Do you have the day off?
     I am about the head into the woods.
     I am in the woods right now.  I said. Come chase me down.
     Let me know when you’re out of the woods. In the meantime, I’ll come try to find you.
     Okay, see you in the meantime.  I wrote. But then I changed my mind for some reason. I write I mean, see you then.
Ten minutes later I saw you pass me in your red sweatpants and we went down to the river together where we sat and watched a little boy skip stones into the water. I held you on a rock where we sat and I said I think my high school boyfriend may have emotionally and mentally abused me and you said If I ever had a kid I’ll name him Nico like the boy who was skipping stones.
December 11th
I had a dream that you put a ladder against my window and climbed in. You joined me on my bed on the floor and cuddled with me amongst my pillows. You seemed safe and cozy in my arms. You put your head in my lap and cried started to confess everything to me until you changed to topic to my mattress and said I’d like one of these too. Even in my dream, I remember thinking how That’s so like you, to change the topic to a material object like the mattress before you got real with me. And then to put everything you desired in the future tense, and never think of the having of it now.
So I just said Thanks for coming over.
January 4th
When I remind you all shadows need light, you asked me Okay, what do you mean by that. We suddenly hear two cats screaming, and we look out the window to see on a patch of grass a black cat and a white cat staring at each other waiting to see who will back down. You remind me animals never hold on their fight or flight response.
January 20th
I brought you over and said maybe we should end things and you said maybe we should just be friends without sex. You said that You’re really messed up in the head and I asked you how. You said it’s hard for you to see women as people not just sexually.  You said Your mother never said anything nice to you.
I said that reminded me of a story I heard once about a man who watched City of God and then couldn’t get the thought out of his head that he wanted to kill his wife for months so he started meditating so he could stop thinking about it.
I thought That sounds like something I heard my aunt say about my uncle and why he never slept with any of the women he worked with.
February 2nd
You held your palm to my head one morning while I verified the meaning of the soul.
“Your soul is that part you loved when no one was around, when you were free, when you did the thing you loved for hours and felt like you were lost, could never get out of it, felt like you were at peace, like your parents didn’t even exist, and you were pure.”
You said do you know what that is. I said Yes, of course, it’s writing and working with children and I can never doubt that.
You gave me a hard kiss, like the kind of kiss that says damn I love you, and then you hurriedly wrote something down in your notebook.
I got dressed. For some reason, I couldn’t find my bra. I walked out, and you said I like your bright red pants.
February 4th
On your birthday you sent a car for me. I could taste a bit of alcohol on your breath, but I liked how you weren’t sober like usual.
In the morning you asked me Why are you bothering to stay here with me? How do you not find me annoying? And you looked like you wanted to cry for the first time.
I said because I guess I care about the people in my life. And you are someone that I care about. I am there to emotionally support them.
I thought When I met you I felt my whole heart open. I draped myself living room couch unable to move and my roommate saying I’ve never seen you so happy.  I wanted to listen to voicemails to hear your voice and now I have it hear.
A month ago I decided by the end of the month I’ll stay or go. We decided to be just friends and not sleep together, but did we really decide that? Now you want to open up even more, but your mother never loved you, you never felt whole as a child. I thought What’s that all about? what the hell am I supposed to do about that? I spoke to you in a way I had never spoken to anyone. I never told you I made a promise to myself to fall in love this year and maybe that’s why I’m still here.
February 22nd
I came to your house to retrieve the bra I left and watched you do your work. I sat across from you at a safe distance and drank the water you offered me. I don’t believe we leave the things behind by accident, a part of us always wants to come back to claim more than the object itself.
I’d listen to you type away furiously. I needed to sit near you. I needed to read all you had written, some critical report you had completed yourself. Seemed to me to be more about the economic fate of some developing country with no option to opt out.
You began to massage my wrist delicately  Suddenly I knew why were hurting me. I said I need to talk to you. I need you to see more.   I asked What value am I to you? You said I don’t know.  I thought maybe I am just a whore to you. I said Look. I really like you. Look. You are hurting me. I couldn’t even look at you. I started to cry. You said nothing. I asked you What are you thinking? You said I’m thinking I’m worried I’ll run into you again at the store where we met. I said You know I don’t work there any more. You just stared at me. I said Why are you looking at me like that? You said Well, Why are you staring at me? I said I’m sorry for taking you away from your work. I thought Why the fuck am I apologizing? You said You don’t need to apologize. I thought I just want you to say you love me. You said I’m glad you were brave enough to do this. I said I need to leave now.
At the door, you stuffed your hands into your pockets so tightly that your veins were protruding and you hung your head down. You asked me Do you want a hug? I said  Yes, I do. I started to cry over your shoulder. I said Look, I know you are a good person. I thought I don’t know how you managed to be both an abuser and my healer. You said Tell me how I’m a good person. I said You think about it. I thought You know it’s not my duty to heal the depth of self-loathing you’ve had last April. Your roommate was coming in the door and I didn’t want him to see me so I left right away.
When I got outside, I folded myself in two on the stoop next to your house. I started crying. In the dark, at least ten people walked past me before a man wearing ragged clothing stumbled past.
“Yeah, the same guy just did that to me too,” he said.
He moved forward a few more feet before turning over his shoulder and looking straight at me.
“Do you think we need to go back there and tell him how we feel?”

The Child

我要让孩子长成的样子

而不要我期待的样子

因为我知道孩子并不属于我

他只是经由我来到这个世界

去完成他自己的梦想和使命

I want the child to grow into the way he wants to grow into

Not what I expected

Because I know the child does not belong to me

He just came to this world through me

To complete his own dreams and missions

Civilization Concept

\\\ Civilization Concept \\\

I am here in awe of my own humility
In gratitude of what remains
Holy supper, simple flame
I have known you for only so long
Yet you have been here my whole life
From boundaries of this house, not solid
I found doing nothing is doing something
Oh, oh, so much more than something
Rather, the process of becoming everything
~
The lights of autumn they bow to you
And fill your cup
But now is the time for mine to fill thine
To undercut and rewind
Ages of second-guessing
Who was the one to come, to save us all
Rather known, inside of us
Then he spoke about glory
About Hallelujah
But who are we?
We are no bodies of belonging
~
I sat, forsaking those
Given names
Weighing heavy on my heart
You know them well perhaps, after I
Left to become a local celebrity
Returned to nothing more than
flattened trash, blackened asphalt
roadkill, Saturday shopping sprees
Shreds of nothing
Why such then do I live
~
“I found my own self-worth when switching to Geiko. Namaste”
And suddenly the rage of 3 armies
from a heart so small
It is not true.
It is not true.
It is not true.
To denounce the church of a
    mighty capitalist is one thing
To leave him is another
When still need your money
   if I am
To walk on solid ground
But what then, if the ground
never invited me to remain
  if I have perhaps
always been able to float?
  Fly, even?
What then do I make of
 your eyes
     your pyramid
          your martyrs
     Now I know
You only told us that to
     Justify your
    civilization concept
Comprised of indentured servants
     and African slaves
That never agreed to build
         your holy homes
From the roots of sacred ground
Of course, the wanderer asks
  what if we had only allowed
their children to
  play?
Away from silk submerged greed
   In what light then
would we write
   our creed?
One could only hope a true beginning
I need the Atom for my Eve
A molecule to send us off
on some trusted noble steed
🐎🐍🌸🌻

Fly the Dreams

Life in an awakened state.

Writing on marble counter-tops taken from a torn down government building, or so she said.

A cup of coffee with a little bird on it.

I’m on a bus from Binchuan to Dali. Dry mountains hold fistfuls of grapes and white buildings iced with blue paint and characters that meant something. In meditation I am riding that bus. I am listening to this song. I am sweating and taking off my backpack at the bus station. I am coming off my post-trip haze at the next bus station. It’s the journey to nirvana. I am planning what to have for dinner. I have lived inside for two hours. I have understood nothing, but I have understood everything. I hold people dear in my heart, no, actually in my bones. When I close my eyes they are here with me, as I travel through my muscles their spirit is released – because I am all of the places I have visited and all of the people I have loved. I want to fill myself with all of our stories and passions. There are feet that I don’t control that take me on this journey and I’m not sure why.

Why did I buy this mug?

I bought it because it reminded me of that one time I was high and saw the cave paintings in a Warner Hertzog documentary when I felt like I understood the evolution of human kind. How we have gained so much, but never thought about what we lost. Like the knowledge and spirituality it took to paint in these caves with human hands and horse hooves. They are our hands and hooves too. And here lies a small piece of that, something that I traded time and money for and holds my energy inside.

  1. Prehistoric archaeology and paleo fads of today.
  2. Cults vs. religion
  3. The Places You’ll Go for adults
  4. Global Collapse vs. Personal Collapse
  5. The man sitting in the shade of a pine tree across the street
  6. Acronyms vs. Om

We have entered an age where we have an understanding of the past. We have evolved far enough to understand “then” was “better” than “now.”  So now we remove developments, like wheat from our diet. Language becomes syllabic chanting.

In only a number of years – or imaginary time – all human life begins to shrink back to a single-celled organism. Actually, the “past” was the future. Parts of our bodies like the appendix are useless. Humans are shrinking.

In Brazil, a microbiologist stumbles across a GIANT virus, another and another. The names continue – Mimivirus, Mamavirus, Megavirus, another and another. How did we miss these until now?

So I search:

microbes

The virus will grow and become all that exists. A new world and the cycle will start again – perhaps it won’t end – as fatefully as the last. It doesn’t matter because all devolves ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and there is all reason it can just be recreated again as soon as it dissolves.

Dreams are pieces of that re-created world we sometimes come into contact with through our primordial junk.