This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meaness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whomever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Jalal ad-Din Rumi
Beloved Persian Poet
Friday, March 6, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
gratitude
happiness is a choice and I have so much to be thankful for...let me dwell here for a while.
I refuse to allow him or the saddness of my world poison my spirit.
"Let us be grateful to people who make us happy;
they are the charming gardeners
who make our souls blossom."
~ Proust
I refuse to allow him or the saddness of my world poison my spirit.
"Let us be grateful to people who make us happy;
they are the charming gardeners
who make our souls blossom."
~ Proust
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Cancer Horoscope for Tuesday - 2/24/2009
Although you may have recently run into a formidable adversary, your secret weapon today is your willingness to clearly express your emotions to get what you want. Others may be blown away by your uncharacteristic boldness as you deftly take over a situation that appeared to be beyond your control. The New Moon is in your 9th House of Big Ideas, but don't just talk about what you're going to do; make it happen.
Although you may have recently run into a formidable adversary, your secret weapon today is your willingness to clearly express your emotions to get what you want. Others may be blown away by your uncharacteristic boldness as you deftly take over a situation that appeared to be beyond your control. The New Moon is in your 9th House of Big Ideas, but don't just talk about what you're going to do; make it happen.
Monday, February 23, 2009
parched
like dried blood
caked in the corners
my trust has retreated
emotionally assassinated
by the shadows of your soul.
drops of what was once wet
now stains our frayed fabric
into patterns of neglect
into a masterpiece of failure.
and I am feigning
starved and seething for
life in this death
love in this hate
tenderness on your breath
give me more…
sell me less
salty lies
caked in the corners
of your truth.
caked in the corners
my trust has retreated
emotionally assassinated
by the shadows of your soul.
drops of what was once wet
now stains our frayed fabric
into patterns of neglect
into a masterpiece of failure.
and I am feigning
starved and seething for
life in this death
love in this hate
tenderness on your breath
give me more…
sell me less
salty lies
caked in the corners
of your truth.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
optical delusion
"A human being is a part of the whole called by us “the universe,” a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something separate from the rest – a kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening the circle of understanding and compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty."
Albert Einstein
Albert Einstein
useless - jul08
On the tip of my tongue
Life freezes into an unexpressed breath
while the wind still blows through my lungs
Like butterflies
Alive,
But trapped and pending death.
On the tip of my tongue
Change has tainted my taste buds
Electric feels dry and high strung
Sweet renders bland and passé
Like sappy odes
Alive,
And in love.
On the tip of my tongue
The moment waits
But gets lost in the wait
And the words vanish
Fall into the void
Overall, they just lose.
On the tip of my tongue
Family insanity
Lingers
Hoping to catch a phrase
Without pointing fingers
but,
she let herself die
playing the victim
and I have no more lines
to throw out to save you.
Its all on the tip of my tongue
playing in my mind
tempting the creation
taunting the change
stuck without words
from my mouth or my pen
I feel useless.
Life freezes into an unexpressed breath
while the wind still blows through my lungs
Like butterflies
Alive,
But trapped and pending death.
On the tip of my tongue
Change has tainted my taste buds
Electric feels dry and high strung
Sweet renders bland and passé
Like sappy odes
Alive,
And in love.
On the tip of my tongue
The moment waits
But gets lost in the wait
And the words vanish
Fall into the void
Overall, they just lose.
On the tip of my tongue
Family insanity
Lingers
Hoping to catch a phrase
Without pointing fingers
but,
she let herself die
playing the victim
and I have no more lines
to throw out to save you.
Its all on the tip of my tongue
playing in my mind
tempting the creation
taunting the change
stuck without words
from my mouth or my pen
I feel useless.
stale -jan08
the air I breathe is full of naked moments left behind in a fire,
charred, the journals of my once inspired mind fell to dust
now more of a nuisance
a nagging tug at my inability to create magic
it falls around and lingers on every breath
choking the whispers of my forgotten intuitive prose.
the neglect I feel from myself is glaring
to offer myself upon the letters that produce words,
which build lines,
that create pieces of me
is no longer a part of the air I breathe.
the science of my charm sits un-soothed, blistered and raw
the urge ever present, but the flow never expressed
defeat collects in the absence of encouragement
it pools and assembles war against the pen
using insecure tactics and bindings that pinch your nerve to try anyway.
I yearn for the community that previously made me whole
full of likeminded artists who filled the air I breathed with vibrant colors and imaginative rhythm
sated my lungs with purpose that bled to my fingers
instinctually possessed with the need to release and engrave my emotion on the page
but not today
not in this fade that has become my insipid existence
starved for oxygen
greedy for a view outside myself to rejuvenate this stale air I breathe.
charred, the journals of my once inspired mind fell to dust
now more of a nuisance
a nagging tug at my inability to create magic
it falls around and lingers on every breath
choking the whispers of my forgotten intuitive prose.
the neglect I feel from myself is glaring
to offer myself upon the letters that produce words,
which build lines,
that create pieces of me
is no longer a part of the air I breathe.
the science of my charm sits un-soothed, blistered and raw
the urge ever present, but the flow never expressed
defeat collects in the absence of encouragement
it pools and assembles war against the pen
using insecure tactics and bindings that pinch your nerve to try anyway.
I yearn for the community that previously made me whole
full of likeminded artists who filled the air I breathed with vibrant colors and imaginative rhythm
sated my lungs with purpose that bled to my fingers
instinctually possessed with the need to release and engrave my emotion on the page
but not today
not in this fade that has become my insipid existence
starved for oxygen
greedy for a view outside myself to rejuvenate this stale air I breathe.
well then
first post on blogger...
so I've had an easyjournal blog for almost 8 years and used it as an outlet that I shared with people online that I knew through a few writing boards. This journal gave me the opportunity to create without judgement...like exposing yourself to strangers was somehow less invasive because they never met me face to face. I made a mistake a few years ago, I fell in love and gave this person a link to my journal. I wanted him to read my poetry, I wanted to be honest and vulnerable with him, I wanted him to know my thoughts and my thought processes. But, a lot happens in love doesn't it? We are still together, but trying to create on that journal has made me mute...I can no longer freely express myself there. To make it worse, he shared the link with friends and now they occassionally read...so how am I supposed to pour out my emotion on our latest drama? How am I supposed to be verbally intimate with myself and my fantasies when people take things literally and want to know whats going on with "us". I haven't been able to really write creatively in over a year for many reasons. I miss the anonymous abandon of my old online journal and so...here I am.
so I've had an easyjournal blog for almost 8 years and used it as an outlet that I shared with people online that I knew through a few writing boards. This journal gave me the opportunity to create without judgement...like exposing yourself to strangers was somehow less invasive because they never met me face to face. I made a mistake a few years ago, I fell in love and gave this person a link to my journal. I wanted him to read my poetry, I wanted to be honest and vulnerable with him, I wanted him to know my thoughts and my thought processes. But, a lot happens in love doesn't it? We are still together, but trying to create on that journal has made me mute...I can no longer freely express myself there. To make it worse, he shared the link with friends and now they occassionally read...so how am I supposed to pour out my emotion on our latest drama? How am I supposed to be verbally intimate with myself and my fantasies when people take things literally and want to know whats going on with "us". I haven't been able to really write creatively in over a year for many reasons. I miss the anonymous abandon of my old online journal and so...here I am.
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