Thursday, November 17, 2016

Baby Steps




Each day I pick a rune and ask for guidance. I think of it as getting my small self out of the way and trusting that there is something greater to guide me. Intuition? Subconscious? Odin? Who cares? The point is to let go of ego, the trappings of desires and fears, and just get to work. So for me playing my edge has to do with finishing, letting go of better, or even good, and satisfying myself with good enough. Just putting the work out there and moving on. There is a greater wholeness to this process. Only part of the puzzle can be published on a blog post. Sometimes I get confused about what I'm doing when I am taking care of the minutia. I don't know where to start and then I begin to worry about what the readers/students out there care about. I forget that the world is an intricate place and we are bound to each other by invisible filaments. They are delicate and yet pervasive, breaking and regrowing again and again. Without compunction, we are to weave them and rend them. There is a body of work that already exists, that I have been creating and destroying my whole life and will remain invisible unless I slowly reveal it. 

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Prose Poem: Life is but a Dream

Floating down the river. Sara and Asako and I. Behind 2 canoes of ladies. We three in tubes. Close to the surface of the water. Lazy. We are talking dreams and Sara starts. She says that she has been able to control things in her dreams lately. And tells us of her dream from the night before. A war is happening right in front of her and she raises her hand, “Stop.” And it does. We are tied on to ladies that are paddling. They pass us water and sips of wine in plastic cups. Sara and I draped across tractor size tires, while Asako is wedged into her smaller version, almost primly, wide brimmed hat and bug eyed glasses. She is an image from a Miyazaki film as she tells us her dreams. One where she knew Adam was gone. And there he was visiting her as a bee. And she cried. The other about Mira, telling her at 2, “I was only here for a short while. Now I must go.” Asako brushes her hands beneath her eyes as she tells the stories. And we are drifting along, life is but a dream. I joke about how the whole river is my bathroom, butts in, the rest of us out, as if we are in fact floating down in toilet seats. But then something changes. Our paddlers are paddling and paddling. Sara has left her tube and Judy has joined her in the water. Now they are swimming to get across. Everyone is trying to get to the shore, the canoes dragging us. All in slow motion. I am watching all of this activity, arms and oars and yelling, from the distance of a dream. The tranquility of my tube. I am trapped and realize that Judy, swimming right near me, may be struggling. That the river has become some other thing and is sweeping us along to where we don’t want to go. Sara is at the front of a canoe, hanging on. “I am helping!” And she is, as she had in her lucid dream, holding the danger at bay with the force of her pure will.