Responsibility

Another truck-type vehicle drives by, and the drive to write accelerates. Vibrations. The shopping cart pushed along old pavement. Another vibrational frequency. The hum of the car's engine. The pounding of the feet on the sidewalk. The scream of the parent in search of his child. The laughter of a ten-year-old. The crashing waves of the ocean. Thoughts. My thoughts. Your thoughts. The collectively combined thoughts. It all reverberates once independently before colliding with everything else, merging into one tremendously powerful wave that we are riding and are forever impacted by.

What is a girl to do when all sound waves are coming directly at her, crossing over, piercing through, sending her being for a wild ride?

Planes, trains, and automobiles are only the beginning. The faces, the thoughts, the intention. This is where true danger lies. And the true gift. I choose. You choose. The collective chooses the vibration that becomes the world created, and the world that we bathe in.

A lineup

They simply line up, uncertain how to be, or what to think. Just drawn. Simply drawn. Unexpectedly drawn. Helpless.  And something else, which is beyond intrigued. In diapers and wrinkled, rolling in cash and barely eating. It doesn’t matter. The same chemistry runs through them all, lighting up the incomparable desire. That one thing is just so…. It’s just so…. It flows. It shines. It glows. It’s radiant. It is just so….alive….gentle….subtly beautiful….and moving farther away. There is nothing to be done. Nothing can be done except to line up. And watch. Simply watch. Joyfully watch. And drink in all that remains of the original.

Getting Out

“It’s the getting out part.”  The phrase keeps repeating itself. “It’s the getting out part that’s the problem.” We think we want X. We get X. We no longer want X.  And now….what now? The exit strategy was never outlined. The trap. We have officially entered the trap with no apparent way out. Deflating, this space is. Trapped, with no way out, with no door to open, and no fresh air to breathe.  How is it that we are fed those things we are told we are to want, and given no tools to evaluate them, or even let go of them when our experience tells us we’re singing the wrong tune? And so we flap our wings violently, raise our voices to the highest pitch, re-paint the colors of the people and places, and… shrink. Slowly but assuredly.  Tender may be the night, and yet how daunting. To be in the darkness, when all falls asleep, and face that which cannot be ignored: the inability to see. And the exit strategy still needs to be found, and the execution still needs to take place, and the grace with which to do both is yet to be embraced. It’s the getting out part that is the beast, because the getting in part is from a whimsy. And a whimsy is just that, whimsical. It stands on nothing lasting.  Perhaps, we have two possibilities: realizing that nothing is lasting and realizing our lives are largely comprised of compulsions. Both may give us the freedom we seek to get in and get out. Only this time with grace and beauty.

At Least I think I do

At least I think I do. It certainly feels like truth, and so I’ll take it as that. I think I do. Feel the depth of them. Emptying myself of the thinking mode, opening myself up to receive, and listening with my entirety. It is calm and soft here. The noise in stereo fades or disappears. All attention is on the subject in my personal space. I am reading the contact, the nearness of the being inside the personality, inside the body, inside the thoughtless words. I reach behind the obvious. I touch the real. It is calm and soft there. It is loving and kind. It is in timeless longing to be held. To be assured. To be accepted. That is all I see. Focus on. Acknowledge. And remember.

She Confused

                                                                                                                    10/28/11

In a workshop for women. Women only. On how to understand men, attract men, have good relationships with men. In walks She. Strong! Strong legs and shoulders, mini-skirt. Black. Tall boots. Also black. Parting air as if it were made of hardened cement. I retrieve into my soft shell, as she pushes herself in front of me and sits down right next to me. Honestly, I am a bit scared and fearful to be this close.

In a restaurant with only two other tables occupied. The table on my path has become the walking grounds of an obviously all-knowing and all-powerful Her. Disgust for the rest oozes out of the perfect skin, make-up, body, and hair. Words formed and articulated with conviction, with no room for rebuttal. Not a millimeter. Honestly, I am a bit scared and fearful to cast my eyes in the direction of her.

On an airplane. Her hand softly unlatches the lock, as she pulls out a brochure. Her palm glides over the door, her arm dances through the thinness of air, as the object is delivered to the appropriate receiver. Her smile drops pearls of the feminine, as she floats to the next task. And honestly, I am a bit enchanted and unable to avert my eyes.