May 26, 2010

Two dreams last night. Both court dreams.

The first dream there was a man who had cut up a deer very badly and had gotten something out of the deer’s flesh that was illegal and immoral. Actually, I think the evidence was found for this one. He had greasy hair and eyebrows which proved that he did it.

The second dream was the actor Andy Serkis but he was dressed as Rigo from Little Dorrit. He did something bad and seduced Jane Austen’s Emma from the most recent film. She found the evidence in his glass eye. It was a glass orb that had water in it. It looked like the bottom of the ocean floor. And floating among the coral was a sewing pin.

July 2010

My mom had written a speech for a little boy’s funeral. There was a dental circumstance. I think the boy had wanted to be a dentist. Anyway, I wrote down what my mom said for the speech. During the funeral, I was the one who got up and gave the speech. But the paper had turned into a wooden scroll of some kind made up of numerous, beautiful wooden beads. I didn’t know what meant what. I said whatever I could think of: “Hide in the beautiful box where love and hate and life rest.”



Working for the Wedding Store

July 01, 2015

Today has been a bit of an odd, weird day. First: It’s Wednesday (good name for a movie…present self says, “Not really. Try again.”) and I normally do not work on Wednesdays, but the District Manager (DM)…we’ll call her Bee was going to show up today and so they needed a Stylist to open the store since  Bee and the Manager would be busy discussing things.

Bee reminded me of someone who is overly intense and overly serious–in other words a “professional.”

She was all smiles and buddy-buddy, but I could tell she had a heart of ice. She was so icy. I felt mentally numbed and my creativity and freedom sucked out of me.

An Athena in flesh–ready to defend the Patriarchy and Corporate means and goals–a business soldier sent out to give her opinion and for her opinion to be taken seriously.

Sorry, lady Bee, you’re going to have to earn my loyalty.

I wanted to ask her about the sweat shops in China making our wedding dresses.

When the wedding store refers to China: See here, it’s made in China, but that doesn’t mean the quality is poor. (At least that’s what they might as well say.)

She says to me so serious, “I see here not every bride purchases a veil. Why doesn’t every bride have a veil? Why doesn’t everyone apply for a credit card?!?! We should be doing our best…!”

Our best to what?


Bee had drank way too much cool-aid.

If the bride doesn’t want a veil, what do you want me to do about it?

Find out why she doesn’t want it, of course. Pry your nose into every detail of their lives–get to know them so you can take their money!!!

Credit? Debit? No problem.

We want numbers so that the store is quantitatively measurable. And then we will make quality judgements based on the data.

Get Happy! Life is about to be simplified and reduced to below, average, or above a pre-defined goal!

Yay!!! Life is so easy to fix!!!!

I wanted to laugh in her face and tell her that her job is a joke. While she was talking, I stared in amazement. Is she for real?

She probably thinks fun means roasting a salmon and eating on fancy fucking China plates.

She makes me want to rebel.

Dammit. I can’t find my weed.



The mango trees and bamboo shoots
Grow thick with jungle light,
And yellow-blue birds flash their wings,
Cascading into night.

The stars that glitter deep above
Surround a dark-skied moon
And glow like silver instruments,
Humming light into tunes.

Sitting next to silk-tangled plants
the two immortal gods
Man Adam and the woman Eve
Passed days in sleepy nods.

Crowned in vines on green-gilded thrones,
The gods drank mango juice
While naming every animal
And giving each a use.

But one day Eve went for a walk.
With curiosity,
She pushed away the jasmine and found
A simple apple tree.

Its branches softly limped with fruit
That glistened with the wind.
Its little leaves floated whispers
Of light with every bend.

Behind the gate and summer leaves
Where life is short and harsh,
The first real human-being was Eve
To lead them through the dark.

A Dandelion’s Metanoia

Spring is born. The exhaling of winter
Into the thick grace of flowers and weeds,
Who grow from memory: silent splinter
Of inheritance, exulted crowds of seeds
One by one leaping from their old mothers
As unique and universal as Mars
And as broken and complete as lovers
Abandoned to the winter full of stars—
Their darkness-filled history like torches
In corridors with muted, longing flames—
Half-beaten, half-holy with scorches,
Forgetting all glory in frosted chains,
That breathed them in and smothered them in cold
To try and break them or make them be bold.

Having a Prophetic Dream

Is like being coaxed out of the shell
Butt first, hands pressing against the walls
As if wrapped in cotton, sliding until
Reaching air. Eyes blinking, gulping
Like gills in myopic waters,
The ebb and flow of memory before
The tension from being pulled
From the brown, familiar-smelling shell
Of wandering dreams, and though nothing
Or no one is to blame,
There is also nothing or no one to praise,
Looking left and right like an experienced doe
With her young before crossing the road.
A return to sleep, but uncovered
Open—seen and seeing like the Earth—that teeming,
One-eyed blue wilderness viewed from outer space
So at ease in herself with purpose
Like a friend, over lunch, letting you know she is pregnant.

Explain vs. Understand

Thoughts are like prayers.

Are you asking prayers of “Why?”

I did some thinking on the drive home after seeing a film, which I felt had no real emotional depth to it–no honest expression of an answer as to why we are here on this earth…

In my dissatisfaction, I saw myself as being a worthy person, rich in experiences of suffering–of rock bottoms. Someone who demands power in art. I want healing and catharsis.

If I don’t have an outlet to express the understanding I have from my own experiences as a human–a woman, on this planet, why did I have to go through so much?

But asking why is in reference to the past and the answers you get from a why question will also be rooted in the past. Potential is stunted. Asking “why am I suffering?” implies on a subconscious level “because I deserve it.”

This is the only sense a why question can bring with it. It’s a logic that can grow deep roots in our psyche and continue the patterns of suffering.

Logic is not the only answer. Our emotions are also important. And this changes the nature of the question we ask.

And that is how.

We are complex, but simple creatures who want to feel connection to ourselves, to come home. Asking “how” includes emotions in the conversation.

And asking, “how” provides a rich ground for realizations, insights, and wisdom–things that make life not just explained but instead understood.  And from understanding there is meaning and purpose to the suffering. There is the transcendence.

A God or Goddess will always be silent when you ask “why did this or that happened to me?”

Because “why” does not require you to embody your highest self. “Why” does not give meaning–only chaos, only more victimhood.

Instead of asking “Why am I suffering?,” ask:

“How am I suffering?”

It’s a gentle turning inward–of finding answers within because that is where your highest self lives and grows.

Perhaps it is just a matter of semantics.

But “why” can only give you answers of “because.”

Yet “how” can give you answers with all sorts of beginnings. Answers that are unique to you and your experiences.

Don’t Call Me Civilized

I should just admit it.
The Faith has worn off
Like sliding fire.

Do I want it back? To again build
Layer after layer of prayers?
But some storms will always wear away
A few layers, will knock in the roof.

And I must endure some months
Of a dripping ceiling, cold and wet,

And the beating of my heart, wild.
I must keep it from running out of the house.

My heart wants to chase
The thunder, rain, and wind,
To howl a prayer at every
Star, cloud, and moon
That I can.