Wednesday, February 24, 2010

True Art

When I was at the Tea Pot Shop, I found a spiral!  I maybe should go back, so I can find out the name of the shop, and purchase this handsome pot.  Imagine the minty, happy tea that could pour forth.

I do not believe that this painting is really this green.  I am considering entering it in a show called "Still Life."  I like the ethereal quality that develops when I let my eyes soften.  I am not sure if I am done with it.

I love red.  Red everything.  Especially red paint.

And extra especially, red ribbons in Mary's hair.

I will have to see what Hafiz has to say about red.  But that will come later.  Right now, evening has slipped in, the frogs next door are crazed with hollering.  Come to think of it, I believe they sang all day, too.  We had another wet storm yesterday and last night.  Leaves, flowers, bugs are popping out everywhere.  Yellow is actually what's happening, but I didn't take my camera out today.  Left it in the basket.

Hafiz says this about art:
Art is the conversation between lovers.

True art awakes the

Yes, red is the applause!

Friday, February 19, 2010

Carrying All the Ingredients

A disconcerting morning: we lost Emerson.  His little cries called me out of dark sleep. I flailed around trying to disentangle from ropes of sheets, blankets, groping spots on the comforter where he usually is stretched out.  Wayne was gone, the light in the kitchen was on, I could hear the fire roaring.  It was a nightmare, except it was 6:12 a.m. (a nightmare to me, who rises in comfort somewhere around 7:30).  I got out of bed, hurried to the back door, in dread that he'd been locked out with those killer cats; he wasn't there.  I went from room to room, called him, said, "Where are you?"  No answering whines.  I burst into the bathroom, where Wayne was shaving in relative quiet, "WHERE'S EMERSON!" He looked at me, and assured me that the pup was in the house somewhere.

What must it be like, to be so calm?

Why do I trace my steps backwards?  Back through the living room, the bedroom, the back room; I have been through them all twice already.  Back out to the porch, to make sure that the cats hadn't hurt him, sliced him open, maimed him.  Whirling around, back in the kitchen I notice that the door to the pantry was cracked open, not latched.  Ha!  I slid the door open, and out he came, wagging.

You see, he is invisible at dusk, and at dawn.  He disappears into the shadows.  He follows at our heels, and when we make quick U-turns, pop out, and close the door, he is stuck.  To complicate things, he cries out in a pitiful puppy voice, and then sits patiently, quiet as a mouse, waits for me to find him.  He even leans on the door, and falls inside when you open it.

Too often I awaken in a panic.  Sometimes I crash back into this plane, after a night of traveling to various solar systems.  It seems as though I spend too much of my allotted time too far away, then need to rush to get back into my skin, arrange the freckles in their familiar designs, begin the waking up.

My boys loved the books, "Where's Waldo?"  So does Mary Alice.  The boys and I spent many evenings before bed, staring at the illustrations of hundreds of thousands of beach-goers,  or villagers, looking looking looking for the weird guy in red and white striped socks.  "Where IS that Waldo?"

Oh, you will love this:  I am wondering, what would my friend Hafiz say about panic stricken awakenings?  About losing your puppy inside the house?  About forgetting to put your freckles back on straight?

Here it is...

To Build a Swing

You carry 
All the ingredients
To turn your life into a nightmare--
Don't mix them!

You have all the genius
To build a swing in your backyard
For God.

That sounds
Like a hell of a lot more fun.
Let's start laughing, drawing blueprints,
Gathering our talented friends.

I will help you
With my divine lyre and drum.

Will sing a thousand words
You can take into your hands,
Like golden saws,
Silver hammers,

Polished teakwood,
Strong silk rope.

You carry all the ingredients
To turn your existence into joy,
Mix them, mix

Hafiz is so good to me!

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Taking Care of One's Self

No, this isn't a self-help blurb.  Maybe it is about taking care of one's self, with the same dedication, attention to detail, and love, that many put into their children, other's children, pets, even obsessing on all of the the things we "do," making the world right, etc., etc., etc.  Making a list of "2 do 4 me!"

Ooohhh.  Today I received a massage.  My body/mind/spirit says a huge "Thaaaaannnkkk yoooooooou."  My mind is wondering, "Why; why Honey, do you wait so long?"  I cannot even imagine an answer to that one.  Guess it just takes a while to get into the swing of taking care of one's self.  Perhaps I have administered a thousand or two massages in a 21+ year career?  Being too lazy, or incapable, at this point to do the math, it is a curious thing to plot my own self-care.  I totally respect my clients:  Many have come for their massage, weekly/monthly, and have done this for themselves, for much of the 21+ years, honoring a commitment to their well-being.  They inspire me.

These photos were taken last week on my 'Artist's Date.'  The sky kept low, splashing me now and again with spatters of rain.  The surf was rolling and breaking with long, whispered booms.  I love spending this kind of time with myself, walking along a bluff, breathing the saturated air, listening to sounds indigenous to the edge of the Continent.  I like how the colors enter my senses, on a day like this which appears gray.  I experience viscerally.  The colors are subtle, enter my world as the smell of Bodega Bay at low tide; creosote, salty, fishy, Brown Pelican-y.

  1. Put feet up.
  2. Pull in chin.
  3. Fluff feathers.
  4. Poop.
  5. Stare at the horizon.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Guest today: Hafiz

  1. Open eyes.
  2. Close eyes.
  3. Take a deep, deep breath; clear to your toes.
  4. Let the breath go, just so gently, easy; let it warm your nose.
  5. Open eyes.  Notice.

I Saw Two Birds
by my friend, Hafiz

Both of our mouths
Can fit upon this flute I carry.

My music will sound
So much sweeter that way

With your breath and my breath
Poking each other in the ribs
And kissing.

I saw two birds on a limb this morning
Laughing with the sun.
They reminded me of how 
We will one day exist.

My dear,
Keep thinking about God,
Keep thinking about the Beloved
And soon our nest will be the 
Whole firmament.

Forget about all your desires for truth,
We have gone far beyond that,
For now it is just---
Pure need.

Both our hearts are meant to sing.
Both our souls are destined to touch
And kiss

Upon this holy flute
God carries.
Spring, today.

Monday, February 15, 2010


My computer was down, unhooked, transported to the shop and examined from one file to the next and so forth.  Being home alone, I wandered the halls, unsure that anyone loved me, because of course, I could not check my email or FB.  Alas, I was left to my own spinning.  So, I flew at it.

Bush after bush I wrapped with silken threads.  I crisscrossed and tangled.  I swept and dusted leaf over leaf.  I cooked nothing, because I prefer my bugs raw and kicking.

For my Valentine.

I'm back.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Stubborn as a Mule

Having no experience with a mule, I have no idea of whether or no they are stubborn.  Of course, I have had this epithet hurled at me now and again, to no avail, as of course, I am always right.

This girl looks pretty to me.  She is tall, athletic, strong and obviously very intelligent.  What would it be like to sit up there on that volatile animal?  Seriously, she looks like an explosion about to happen.

Who is this?  Imagine seeing this in the mirror every morning.  Hmmm.  Maybe I do.

Sisters.  Spirit Sisters.  Friends.  Goddesses.  Aunties.  Girls.  Female.  Fierce.  Formidable.

These mules live on a ranch near by.  At a distance they all look the same, and I was surprised to see the individual characteristics appear as they moved towards me.  I have heard that they kill dogs, coyotes, anything which appears threatening.  There may be twenty or more in the pastures.  I love their noses, and the mud all over them.

The sky is gray today, with some rain spattering around.  A friend called, headed home from the North County, he says the wind is so strong that it is bumping his truck around, and he is parked.  I believe that is the storm headed this way.  My day looks full of the usual, with a smattering of unusual.

Yesterday I had an appointment with Tobytheacupuncturist, for my sprained ankle.  He told me that my wrist is(was) still traumatized, as though I had been injured 10 minutes ago.  He told me to put consciousness there, to spend some time with myself, to write into the traumatized wrist, ask it what is going on here.

This morning I am considering this, and giving my body/spirit/mind space in which to answer.  I believe these sister mules may have something to say, if I can crack the code of silence.  Crack the code of the stare.  I have begun.


Monday, February 1, 2010

My Driveway

Another storm on the way; yes I am looking forward to its arrival.  Even while Winter continues, I notice that the evenings are lengthening, and the narcissus greets us with heavenly scent and cheerful demeanor!

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