Saturday, November 27, 2010

who are you? (originally posted in february 2010 on

I am the hero of my story.  I walk through this phantasmagoria.  I go the places I must go.  I do the things I must do.  I feel that I am waiting or searching for something, but I do not know what the something is.  I wait.  I search.  I wander.  I sit still and listen.  One day, your path crosses mine.  You smile at me.  I smile at you.  You give me a key.  You give me a clue.  You give me a gift.  You give me a blessing.  Perhaps, for awhile we walk together, you & I.  Someday, you go your own way.  Your ship sets sail.  I bid you adieu, with a tear in my eye and a smile in my heart.  They tell me you are gone, but I still feel you.  They tell me you are beyond my reach, but I know, that it is only illusion.  You are still here because you have become a part of me.

You are the hero of your story.  You walk through this strange world looking high and low, inside and out.  You listen.  You wander.  You laugh and cry.  You wonder if you are waiting for something.  You wonder.  One day, my path crosses yours.  I smile at you.  You smile at me.  I give you a key, a clue, a gift, a blessing.  We walk together.  We play.  We dance.  We laugh and sing.  Sometimes we just sit together quietly.  One day I go my own way.  I fly with butterflies and multicolored birds high into the sky.  For a little while you believe that I am gone.  You search the sky for me.  You wonder when I will return.  And then you realize that I am not far from you.  You know that I became a part of you with that first smile and more again when I wiped a tear from your eye.  You remember that we are not separate.

She is the hero of her story.  She has a path to walk, a song to sing.  She goes along.  She wanders.  One day our paths cross.  We give each other hope, friendship, fortitude.  We give one another affection, inspiration.  We walk together for a time and then we go on separate paths to look in other places, perhaps other times.  We think of one another.  We wonder.  And we know, that we are not alone on our journeys.  We have the gifts from one another, carried in our hearts.  We are not alone.  We are one.  I am you and you are me and we are she and she is he and we are all together.

He is the hero of his story.  He has ambitions, tasks to carry out.  He is on a mission.  Perhaps to rescue you or me or she.  One of us crosses his path.  We give him a wink and a smile.  We show him a hidden way.  We give him nourishment for his journey.  He continues on.  We do not know how his story will end.  But he takes a part of us with him and leaves a part of himself behind.  Our colors blend.  Our tastes create some new taste.  Our textures are changed because of a momentary meeting.  We are quantumly entangled.  There is no he without me or you or she.  We remember and so we are free of the pain of the illusion.

(Can you tell I have been listening to heartbreakingly beautiful songs, sung by one who has left this plane?  Can you tell I have been reading, "A Blue Hand, the Beats in India"?  Can you tell that I have been wandering through dream land in between episodes of Lost and Interview with the Vampire, The Last Emperor, The Ellen Degeneres Show and Slumdog Millionaire?)

Can you tell that I think life is beautiful?  I offer you whatever gifts have been given me and I accept those gifts that you have shared with me.  We are the heroes of our stories.  We walk our paths and sing our songs.  We dance our dances.  We dream our dreams.  We watch.  We listen.  We work.  We rest.  We become sick or injured and we heal or die.  As we live and die, we weave the tapestry, each a thread.  Without each of us, the tapestry would be incomplete.  Without the dark, how would we know the light?  What adventure will you have today?  What color your thread in the tapestry today?  What taste have you to offer to the mix?  Bitter, sweet, salty, bland?  What song do you sing?  In which tongue do you speak?  Which step do you dance?  How do you alter the lives yours touches?  It has occurred to me once again that I am not responsible for the entire tapestry all alone and that yet, by contrasting and mixing with the threads next to mine, I do indeed change the whole.  There is no me without you.  Today my deepest purple needs the contrast of your bright yellow and your cobalt blue, her blood red, his emerald green.  I thank you for being, for touching my heart.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

bedtime stories on the radio and a prayer for peace

headlights move along a lonely stretch of 3 am highway somewhere in the western United States.  behind the wheel of a vehicle that burns gasoline to propel it forward a girl listens to the radio.  she hears stories told by men and women with strong BBC accents of a fight for democracy in Burma, disputed territory in the West Bank, election speculation in Ireland, an exhibit about the evolving English language at the National Library in London, and also a story about the President of Uganda rapping a children's story.  snow falls softly on the frozen highway, not enough to need the windshield wipers.  the individual flakes sparkle in the headlight beams.  the girl marvels at the strange beauty of the world and prays for peace. 

Thursday, November 11, 2010

gratitude, joy, love

I am overwhelmed with gratitude.  I'm so overwhelmed that I cannot type why. 

I am becoming something new, something I have no words or images to describe. 

I want to describe it, I want to tell what's going on inside of me, but first I have to experience it, to feel it, to live it. 

I'm living and loving in a way that feels new and good and indescribable. 

I'll share in words and images as soon as it is time.

Right now, all I can say is that I have deep gratitude, deep joy, deep love for the amazing universe of which we are all a part and not the tiniest little bit of fear.  This is new-- but also ancient. 

breathing in, breathing out, bowing in awe.