Once again, I find myself thinking of, feeling for, wishing for my children. I speak to this feeling on this dark night as we move toward Scorpio New Moon. There is a time and a place for such a subject, and here we are, now.

It’s not their fault that they are who they are (ie, my children). They didn’t ask to be born, nor did they ask for the storm I called into being partway through their childhoods.

It’s true, I confess, at my behest a tempest tore through the fabric of my family, sundered children from ancestors. To become a better mother, I chose to face my demons.

I knew not what I did; I was not ready; they were not ready.

They raged like escaping a cage, or Pandora’s box. And lock, stock and shock, I was overwhelmed, underwater, lost in an inundation of pain, an avalanche of tears, a phantasmagoria of multidimensional experiences. I saw my schizophrenic brother in the hospital, and I knew that could be me.

I was careful, I channeled my crazy into songs, stories, poems, drawings, tears, personal growth study and creative conversation.

Still, it had to have been hard to be my kids. I feel for them. Not that it was so easy to be me, but it was their needs I most longed to meet, and I grieved as I washed away on waves of creation.

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I never cease to be fascinated with my own crazy brain (and I mean that in only the best way). I frequently stumble upon gems cast about my recent past which seemed no more significant than pebbles at the time. When I find them, I am dazzled for a while. Ooh! Me a poet!

Like this piece, found in a paper journal (I know, so last century, but I’m a product of my time). I wrote it early last summer. I thought might be a song, which would be exciting (and still might be), but I won the Story Slam last night at the Zocalo and now I’m all into the spoken word thing. So I tried reading it out loud, and liked it that way. Maybe I’ll enter it in the next story slam.

This was written in the breathy new beginnings of opening up to the love I’d believed to be over (the ending of which, faithful readers of this blog will recall, was recounted on these page in grim poetic detail). Time passes, and things have progressed pleasingly on that front. More than pleasingly. And yeah, we do still choose to live apart. We go home to different islands at the close of our visits. It’s good.

This is from safely enough in the past that I can dust it off now and claim it in the name of poetry. O mystery me! I’m a regular one-woman archeological dig.

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Thee and Me

chorus:

Won’t hurt, can’t hurt, how could it hurt hurt
Being what you’re feeling, feeling what you are
Won’t hurt, can’t hurt, how could it hurt hurt
show your inside outside, follow your own star

Born into a world of pain, lied to taught to be ashamed
feeling lost and different, none of us the same
our parents they were lied too, they’re not the ones to blame
no one to point the finger at, no one we can name
the buck stops here, the time is near, we’re going to end the game
chorus:

We are taught that we are bad inside, sinners one and all
Twisted wrong and dirty, we all hide inside walls
We’re taught not to trust anyone, ourselves the least of all
afraid to do just as we feel, we live like plastic dolls
This sickness real it’s time to heal, it’s time to heed the call
chorus:

We’re taught that we are born in sin, evil Satan’s spawn
and we’re taught that we’re God’s children and He loves us right or wrong
tied up in contradiction, can’t tell where we belong
It’s time we opened up to feel our inner truth so strong
We have a choice, we hear a voice, we recognize its song
chorus:

You, me, we are connected, inside we are the same
we don’t have to play this old separation game
We’ve all got a direct line to our Source that needs no name
we don’t have to buy those lies like sheep docile and tame
God’s not above but in and of, a picture with no frame
chorus:

So I’ve been writing lately, the good stuff–you know, poems (or at least poemlike things)–but I haven’t been posting. This is not like me, as my loyal core dozen or so readers know!

So, why haven’t I been posting them?

It’s just, well, what I’ve been writing lately is squirmy to admit to. These are confessional poems that give up stuff that I’ve tried to hide from myself, and only incidentally from everybody else. I’ve held back posting because I haven’t wanted to look at the issues. But I’m also compelled by a different imperative. “Wrote it, must post it.”

It’s an addiction. Can’t help it. Let’s face it: I’m a blog whore. That’s why I write about myself. I don’t want to embarrass anybody else. I’m really a very private person with a nasty public habit.

And the people I care about are also very private people. So I generally don’t write about them, just as I imagine they would prefer. This is not to be interpreted as, I only think about or care about myself.
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This is a test, this is only a test. What’s it gonna look like?

Please pardon the wank post; I’m trying to figure out a plugin that will let me post photos from my flickr account directly from the blog editor. And I think I’ve done it, finally, after much twiddling and hair-pulling. Don’t look at the time I posted this. It lies.

Oh, wait. It doesn’t even show the time posted. Nevermind.

The photo? Oh yeah. It’s the self-portrait from the 9th. Here in Chemainus the sidewalks have yellow painted footprints to show you where to go to see murals. And in this one spot, the footprint paths diverge,. What to do? Feels like my life right now. And there’s no way to predict which pathway will lead to what.

“These feet have lived in darkness, hear their cries for light and air
These feet are coming out to breathe, these feet are quite a pair
There’s a way to live each day in balance so complete
Yeah I’ve found my path to freedom lies in following my feet” – (from  ‘Pheet‘)

Every year it is the same
I wait at the starting gate
guarded, girded for the
graceless, uphill grind;
endless until I am surprised
by break-up with its
pell-mell downhill spill
and then the melt,
when springtime
slides into my life
like sweet water down
a thirsty throat

Between now (while it’s hard)
and then (when it becomes easy)
I have no guide but this fragile flame

It matches my flickring heart
By summer, will become the sun
Yet now is nearly drowned out
By the dark

A new song, not a moment too soon. It’s actually political for a change, which is so not my usual thing. I must really care about this stoopid election. Though truthfully I don’t feel much hope for anything changing just because of which one of the talking heads we vote for… myself, I’m voting strategically (www.voteforenvironment.ca) which means, for Jean Crowder, in this riding. It helps that I’ve met her, chatted with her socially about her personal philosophy and approach to politics and find her likable, personable and admirable. The best I can hope for seems to be keeping Strafin’ Harpoon out of the PM’s office. We’ll see how it goes.

Privatize Yourself

They can’t take your identity if you keep it to yourself
They can’t steal you away
Are you waiting for a signal, a message from an elf
The time is right today

Just say no to corporations
No to global control
All those crazy complications
Pollution of the soul
You’ve got boundaries, you can say no if you please
Now get up off your knees, it’s destiny
Privatize yourself

Draw a line in the stone or they’ll chew upon your bones
Move away from home
Bring your friends, hang up the phone, don’t tell them where you’re goin’
It ain’t nobody’s business but your own

Don’t ask them where we’re going,
Just refuse to go
Don’t buy what they’re showing
Don’t attend their show
It’s called boundaries, you can have them if you please
Now get up off your knees, it’s destiny
Privatize yourself

Who told them to tell me who and how to be
On whose authority
I did not give permission, you know, I was born free
And so were every one of we

We say no to corporations, no to global control
All those crazy complications
It’s just pollution of the soul
We’ve got boundaries, we will say no, if you please
We’re standing straight as trees, it’s destiny
Yeah privatize yourselves

question everything, yes
especially death and taxes
let mind relax its vigilance
release awareness of rules
let mind flow to find
new cool curiosities
unexpected upheavals
pole shifts of perception
evolutions of perfection

Disprove preconceptions
blind mind’s cluttered eye
dare to render it
kinder in its pronouncements
upon others
more compassionate in its
intent toward self

let’s nevermind other
for a change
let other be strange, but trusted
give other a break
from constant surveillance
give other privacy to explore
its own mystery
take time to know ME

Watch me
I’ll dive into my narcissus mirror
as deep as it goes
Watch me
I’ll become the most self-absorbed person
in the universe
Watch me
I’ll emerge from the otherside of Self,
into infinitely expanding All
Watch me, I’ll be
Shadow and Substance,
Spirit and Soul
Watch me go

out of control
out of sight
into the light

Watch me

I’ll go first
will you come?

and

oh yes
this is a test
only a test

Remember when we used to call it ‘the family jewels’? Now it’s ‘junk’. That doesn’t sound so attractive, somehow.

Don’t Put Your Junk in My Trunk

Don’t put your junk in my trunk,
This time, I am driving
I mean to make it home alive
I’m talking about surviving

Deal with your junk
no need to be a slob
don’t bother me with bunk
your junk is not my job

Don’t put your junk in my trunk,
I mean to keep it clean
I got junk of my own
if you know what I mean

Deal with your junk
and I will deal with mine
my storage space has shrunk
my vehicle’s divine

Don’t put your junk in my trunk
this is a pleasure cruise
bring only your best
what have you left to lose?

Gently, with feeling
pull back the peeling
of the wrapping on the package
you’ve been saving for someday

Then slide your gold into my hold
your sheep into my fold
slip your jewels into my bank
your tiger into my tank

and gently, with feeling
it’s time for revealing
show me what you’re worth,
and I’ll show you the way

to slide your rock into my roll
your funk into my soul
slip your treasure into my chest
your birdies into my nest
Slide your gold into my hold
your jelly into my mold
Slip your weary into my rest
your maybe into my yes

I have been reading a book called “Animate Earth: Science, Intuition and Gaia” by Stephan Harding. It inspired my new mission statement (“Speaking the Word For Gaia”) and this song (which I’m searching for a good title for):

A Song For Gaia

She is the ground that I stand on
she is the air that I breathe
She is the stuff I am made from
She is both mother and father to me

She is the stars in the heavens
for she is the eyes that I see with
She is all my relations
she is both mother and father to me

This wood is my father, this stone gave me birth
I will place no other God before her
This earth is my mother, this stone gave me birth
I will place no other God before her

she is this path we are taking
she is the poisons we spill
she is these bonds we are breaking
she is all the species we kill

she is our face in the mirror
she is the works of our hands
she is this green revolution
She has a purpose for man

This wood is my father, this stone gave me birth
I will place no other God before her
This earth is my mother, this stone gave me birth
I will place no other God before her

She is this crisis I’m facing
She is this song that I sing
She is my final salvation
She’s life and she’s death, she is everything

She is the stars in the heavens
for she is the eyes that I see with
She is all my relations
she is both mother and father to me

This wood is my father, this stone gave me birth
I will place no other God before her
This earth is my mother, this stone gave me birth
I will place no other God before her

She is the land where I’m standing
She is the stuff I am made from
She is the blood in my veins
She’s life and she’s death, she is everything
and she is both mother and father to me