phoenix

there might be a point at which a heart has nothing left to break
a fragile feeling, being made of crystal that used to sing
but only if touched gently and consistently...
i told her my heart had finally been broken too many times-
that truth resonated and filled what is left of me but didn't hurt
the world has too much suffering to be saved from human disrespect
the last seed of hope was crushed in someone's teeth instead of planted
the phoenix turned out to be a plain grey bird up close
there is no return or repair or revolution
only walking resolutely forward into the smoldering fire
anticipating pain, hoping for empty darkness at the end

estrogen day

I’m more than half in love 

with my imaginary portrait of you-

although we haven’t met-

all this time I keep noticing you

time and again convincing myself it is silly to wonder...

that you couldn't be what you seem...

that you work too hard...

and then my attention is caught again

because you seem to be looking for me

in words and books and poems

but when I wave you keep walking

and... that day I saw you see me?

I panicked a little,

lowered my eyes,

laughed with my friend…

of course you passed by

--I wondered what story about me your mind created

--since my friend was much older and male

--or if you even saw me at all

--but of course not, I didn't see 'you' either

--I haven't yet ever... has anyone?

I wonder if my eternal hopefulness

about a fairy tale (not necessarily you)

means I am delusional?

or bravely undaunted by previous failure!

(likely somewhere in between)

reminding myself this is entirely fantasy

while still hearing once upon a dream in my head…

{it is conveniently in my vocal range

so it seems silly not to sing it loudly and often}

ridiculous egotistical notions make me laugh daily:

I am different than other women,

and since I am so special, 

my daddy issues don't get in the way of reality...

[when I am different, but the same

I am special, as is everyone here

I am more mindful than last year

but still barely aware

I am learning to love

wanting to more than anything else

but encumbered by addiction to mind,

therefore terrible at it]

and so, in this realm of illusion,

I carry a little extra joy,

because you are in the world

and I am always wrong

about how my life will go

so I practice,

and keep waving

keeping my eyes open

for someone who dances with his mother

without codependence-

someone who is passionate

and works hard to help heal the world-

and for someone who might,

be interested, also, in knowing me

Krishnamurti tea

Hope is a belief that something will improve in the future. Despair is a belief that nothing will improve in the future. Hope contains a belief that the past and present are no good. Despair contains a belief that the past was the best possibility and the present is no good. We swing between both, ropes creaking, gripping tightly, burning our palms.

The mind adores routine, worships the known. It will perform all kinds of gymnastics to cling to certainty. Routines of life are built and polished, decorated and painted brightly to evoke permanence. Predictability is comforting because it supports the mind's story of what life is. Patterns of thought and reaction build, until the expectations created from the foundational beliefs the mind has carefully organized from its limited experience are perceived as needs, causing desire to become grasping and attachment.

Desire can only be tamed by that which cannot be named by the mind, but what might be known as love. Otherwise, desire is a wild power, and from what the mind narrowly perceives and has already experienced in the past desire creates an idol, a story. The image inflates into a mirage of epic proportions until all possibility of seeing truth is lost. Until it ends.

"There is always an ending to that which is incomplete."

And so I travel. Then I stay. Here I am silent. There I participate. I am inside and out, sometimes at the same time.

Some of us have trouble seeing clearly.
Some of us want truth so much (and also, clearly, do not) that will we again and again try to leave our certainty behind. And then we notice that we've brought our certainty-seeking along. The judging deciding organizing mind. We still use the mind with the will to discipline, define, illuminate, understand, control... and we still hope to understand truth with insight the mind can grasp.
Again and again we tear down the false walls we keep building so beautifully, and we dive forward past what we know to be illusions, seeking truth. While building a new structure each time.

But eventually we see that seeking is the problem. Hoping for truth means we believe it is not with us right now. Right here.

So some of us keep changing our here. Keep changing our now. Then staying here. Staying now. Then changing again. Inviting contrast, swinging from hope to despair, from certainty to fear, from illusion to devastation...

And in the space, in the brief moment where the pendulum is centered, clarity dawns.
And the mind overtakes and swings again!

But there is a space now open for truth.
In case at some point I want it more than the gratification of the search.