Regrets

I wouldn't change much, but I'd have
liked to have done two things differently:

I'd have made a boat with you. & I'd have wheeled 

an early morning soup cart along with you for the 

hungry homeless. I'm sorry I didn't believe these 

things were possible or good ideas. I was wrong. 

They were good ideas, and fully possible.

I see that real clearly now

because I'm seeing how utterly possible it all really is

progress

...and today we sat in an excavator and talked like real serious fools about really serious fool stuff, we're inventing, planning, chuckling, and trusting God to keep us wise. hung out in a grungy van on some camping chairs, ate some almonds, decided to squirrel together.

that's pretty huge and beautiful and strange and good. then we amped up our huckleberry ragamuffin goon squad and jumped up some bricks and sat on the overpass, and spit on cars and you dropped your crock down into the road and we waited a whole 20 minutes to go get it. You have a good attitude. You don't care what other's think. You played that song, of the cow poem that started all of this, at the open mic, just cus, casually... I never want to go back to awkward pier icecream, ever again. Thank God we've remembered how to be humans, and thank Him that he's never to be doubted.

I thought of you, it should be said. I cried a tear sitting on the overpass - because I loved you like this once, too. It was true then, and alive true now. This seems where life has brought me, and it's most magical and right, but how strange still for you to not be in it.

seems bout right

suddenly my huckleberry dream boy is in my grocery store in the neighborhood I grew up in, jokin about eggs with my best friend, with the dirtiest fingernails, and a dislocated shoulder sling, and the merriest attitude, and positive outlook, and sweet tender innocent goon tattered rags, and ernest desire to serve orphans and widows, and do well by others, and for some reason, he says I'm great, and gives me a hug, right there in front of the kefir, and I think maybe I could love him.

A very old draft I found here, from September 4th 2016 (Verdict: I was right)

Twice now, I've looked into your eyes.
something magic was shining inside them, like your iris's themselves were grinning wide. But I caught my breath, because as I continued to gaze, I began to worry, and wondered if I was actually just seeing the light of stars that had already died.

I searched; my voice saught to find your inner parts, but...
perhaps kinfolk friends is all we ever were intended for.
You're like a mirror to me, reflecting much good, and a bit to question.

I just really hope my stars are still alive and burn brighter w/ each year, and their warmth grows. I wish the same for you, but I doubt our lights will meet anywhere in the cosmos, more than they already have.

I closed my eyes and held your hand, and it felt like we were running through the twin towers, so many offices and stacks of papers. Perhaps they've all already crumbled, burned and become ash, and it's silly for us to pretend like we can still go all the way to the 100th floor.

Plus, I never wanted New York.

this day

maybe someday i'll write about the catalist, but for now, i'll just leave this here to help me remember

Chanel is in the bed, half asleep.

"Oh Darlin' It's your full moon tonight," she says, to me.

I get up from beneath my blankets, "oh, I better finish writing my poem, then." I sit and type, and stare into the void of space, and feel and think and taste and cry.

but then she tosses, and from her stuper says: "will you get inside my brain and write one for me, too?" 
so this one is for her...


I looked
so deeply
into you
like a whitewashed fence
in summer sunlight
you glowed
too bright for my eyes
a nakedness
nearly too
glaring
twinkling
shimmering
shivering
a white cold light
it turned
shone upon a black wall
is it fair and silver beaming,
I can't tell now
the eyes of my heart only hurt
exhausted, scarred and scratched
they used to see all form and focus shape
so trusting
but now i ask
if they ever even escaped
the shadows at all
were we ever even outside
on a boat speeding through
the windy waters
feeling splashes on our face
of freedom thrills, leading onward
perhaps the gutter held us all this time
we both wanted the sea
in this our sinus touched
but now the fence is dark
and grey
and projects a dimming shade
upon downcast conscience
eyes wondering how
a blinding light
could turn to such a
dusky haunted ache

the 11th day of the 5th month is approaching

...and it means something to me.

remembering our origins, our place in all time

12.12.15

a birthday began in bareness

buns on a boulder

overlooking bright sunrise

beacon of warmth

beautifully caressing flesh

all of me, vulnerable

and strong, still breathing

breathing stilly, strong

with 100 brothers of Taizé

and the order of all

Nations belting into earbuds:

"See I am near,

says the Lord...

See I make all things

new..."

the oceans and mountains

embracing me from every side,

I was born a breathless baby,  

let me not forget my small 

brevity as my body bursts

with bewitching beating blood

baptised in the breakingdawn

On: wanting

Today I asked, weak and wobbly: "Give me a sign. How much I now need one." Afraid the tides would pull me too far away... So I went a' wandering, asking, listening, waiting, expecting. You gave me no thing to point to as symbol, but you gave me yourself, reminding me that it's been in my weakest states that I've been most aware of your nearness.

Of course there was the giant field, and rackshack trailerhomes, and lingering mustard, and mustangs, and streetnames, and sky, and the songs, heard, weaving so many meanings, all beautiful and each a gift... I've been hungry, and I'm not ashamed to admit my cravings. But You've told me that you know them all. You understand me, and you're enough.

so,

thanks.

human

I'm in love.
with fresh spaced old places
the crooked path to
this coffeshop sunlight, freedom
kind strangers, crazy yelling drifters
cold winter, melodic spring
San Fransisco. soundtrack of hippies
flowers in their hair, in the park,
thumping through my imagination
windy walking love, heart-break,
m
  i
   s
     t
       a
         k
           e
              s
written in the cracks of sidewalks
late night drunken lost trippin
searching, all the finding, finding finding
being found
home
my dad told me he wandered these streets
over and over
i am here
my shoulders feel his footsteps
carrying a heavy load
but free barefoot dirty bearded handsome
searching
i am here, finding.
love for a father grows and grows
all souls need medicine
and here, I see it all around.
this world is too beautiful
thatched
entwined humanity breathes in together
the planet spins
sun and moon so perfectly balanced
peace, the strongest force, daughter of love
sustaining all, I lean, and sinues feel her
in the sighs of strangers
in the swirl of this latte
not the best I've ever tasted
but perfect
in this moment
so the best,
everything and nothing right now.
this lot is goodness.
saturday.

Please don't be afraid...

For there is no sin that would make me unlove you.

hiccup surprise cheese

The amount
of love
that fits
right here
so close to my
(wait...
inside, beyond
like,
maybe another
universe sitting
right inside my)
heart,
(to the left
and down a corridor
a few thousand
billion miles
and then free fall
down deep
into a
cave
yeah, that's where
this love
i have for you
hangs out
and sometimes
it burps out past my face
and i see it square on
and I can't
help
but
smile)

Taking time to say it better...

As the sun began to peer out

from the darkened valley below,

two souls wandered and saw themselves

in each other's eyes.

It was a good springtime moment

in both of their lives... the depths

of darkness that lay behind

enabled them to gaze afresh in

wonder at the small miracles of life.

lightness, excitement and hope

took thier place in a renewed

foundation underneath thier feet,

assuring the sinues of their 

knowing souls that life would be

good, no matter what.

surely there was a good flow.

and surely the hopeless

romantic is no stranger to

the human heart.

Good vibes + good connections are

not annulled simply if true-love

is not, in effect, sprouted from them.

The fact is, gifts were given.

Material ones, yes; and in them

deep significance and symbolic

value. Overwhelmingly in fact. and

on top of that, the gifts of thought,

consideration, time attention and

the gallant sacrifice of vulnerable risk.

These things were not overlooked

or taken for granted.

However, there is forever a

mystery to love;

the way in which it's formed,

and the manner to which it lingers.

Try as we may, our human ventures

can only go so far, 

until they're picked up

by an unearthly wind,

a sacred and irrefutable spirit

that let's us say: yes;

without hindrance,

unharnessed to step forward

in peaceful passion

- this is something precious and mystic and pricelss - 

and there is no counterfeit will 

that can ever do this justice.

there can be sadness 

when things don't go as we'd have hoped...

but even in sorrow,

there rests the optimistic anticipation

of consolation and deliverance.

The bitter parts of life

can enrich the sweetness when it comes, 

and if we surrender to being honest to 

our own hearts and accepting of the seasons

as the pass across our pastures.

It's difficult to 'turn someone down'

when you believe that "LOVE IS WHAT 

MAKES THE WORLD GO ROUND"

It seems paradoxical and I'm not sure

how to feel good about it.

But I do beleive you are a person worthy

of immense love, unbridled and whole.

And I ernestly hope you find it.

I'm sorry to say it cannot be me.

I've been more than flattered by 

all your undeserved kindness.

I feel you've given me much,

and for that, I thank you.

I want to give you: 

A most favorite book I've ever read.

I hope you too, can find comfort

and beauty within it's pages.

Not every story can end the classic fairytale,

But in each story, we can find beauty.

You shared a great amount with me - 

and I hope our friendship doesn't have to end.

with sincerity.

Madeleine

on: persuit

These specific days and hours find me longing for the sacred more than anything. I'm finding it in the cracks of windy willows; while embracing strength and sensitivity all in the same breath. It's standing firm and letting the spirit sway you all at once. What wonder. It's splattered everywhere.

I sat amongst 3 other girls, but I could not join them in their activities this time, because I desire the right timing, and a holy moment more than escaping, more than numbing. I'd rather feel all the hot tears run down my cheeks, while feeling invisible to the world, but know I'm seen and known in a way deeper than the soil knows a root and deeper than the kelp knows the sea.

I never want to grow a shell so crusted shut around my heart. But saying fuckit is different. It's healthy, I do believe. Because you need to give the finger to your fears, or you'll miss out on so much.

But wouldya look what the messenger brought me this morning. Such a collection of sacred meaningful things. Even a peach, he couldn't know the significance they hold for me. But no amount of orchards of peach trees, or bowl of berries, or feathers, or crosses, or ukuleles, or sunflower seeds, or collages or concerts will make me love him the way he wants me to love him. I'm sorry. You are a wonderful refreshing human. But it's not gonna be me.

To: Dakota

You were just a boy, a magic one, with green eyes and spitfire soul. Your whole body and brain bursting with talent and humor and life.

And here you are 21. But you seem 41. All burnt out and depressed and worn, and droopy-eyed, acting so tough. Back busted from bucking broncos, and car wrecks, and long hours installing factory sprinkler heads in hard hats, and all you care about is money, and things, and trucks and speakers, and gators, and girls, as they come and go. You play them and they play you, and you don't really invest yourself, even though all of you wants to and actually you do - but you're dying a little every day, more than any man should. And yeah -  I called you a man. But I knew you as a boy. And I loved that boy. In a way I rarely have any others. You niched a special place of belonging so deep in my heart. I always wanted so hard to someday have a son just like you. I don't wish we could go back - cause we were kids back then - and now we're older. But life has not bruised me like it has you. Well, I have lot's of scars, and tender bits, but I'm still hopeful, and I see life's magic still, and it keeps me going, and really just makes everything better. I want that for you too. Maybe you're more resilient then you let on. You always had that. Who are you pretending for? Stop that. Stop looking for love and meaning in all the worst possible places. I pray that someday your eyes open up, and you see the Maker of things, and you know exactly how much you're loved.

I watched your eyelids curl around those glassy peepers, and I saw slivers of your soul. Praise God that He let's us love, sometimes like this. Unconditional, and seeing. He must see us this way. On the edge of his seat, cheering and excited because he sees us as the best player on the t-ball team, and can't wait to see us succeed, cause he knows we got it in us. You can still succeed, buddy. You just gotta realize happiness doesn't come from things, and you will - because you were one to teach me that - all those so many years ago.

On being empowered.

How can I do the most good?
I can feel things... and support women, and children, and humans, and men and grandfathers, and aunties, and receptionists and neighbors. I can be with whoever I am with at any given moment. I can hear their stories, I can listen with my eyes and mind and heart, and care. I can be moved - or not - but I can accept them, (just in the way I accept all that has happened to me). Not turn them away - not judge them. I can search every crack of their face til I find the worthy part of them that exists because they were made by love.

I'm not saying it' not complicated. Cause, Good Lord, it is. But often complicated problems can have simply solutions. Really really.

And I can cheer by myself, alone in my room, because such a good song fills me with such beauty and thankfulness. I've listened to Gregory Alan Isakov twice this year. Once walking down a hill in France, and once tonight. And just wow.

All kind of cirlces of healing are happening. Healing, like not starting over, just moving forward, stronger. I know more that what I am doesn't matter so much, as what I choose to do with the days God has given me, and what good ones He has made. I mean, just gee.

I love so dearly this moment of life. The three most precious little boys living in my childhood home, my family, my friends, new friends... old ones too - we are all knowing each other and failing so much, but making it all the same. Good job, humanity. We are the collective, there is strength and sense in finding our place in the greater collective, of souls all gone through hardships and bliss, knowing we are one. Sometimes we have to stop and give credit where it's due. Imagine if God made a planet without music? And without boats, and sunsets, and growing grass, and steamy soup, and ohmygod coffee, and blankets and eyeballs, and the sweetest single mother who fell in love with a german popstar, and we eat burritos on the beach, and watch her baby be fatherless, even though sparkling waves crash in February summer warmth... but no, there is always forever hope. None of us are quite finished yet. We're just supposed to trust in happy endings - because there is one for all who choose to believe.

Oh man.
Unedited rambles. but so true to the spirit in this deep evening.

The Good Going, Illumination of Slab City

I took an old dusty book off the shelf, and read the first couple pages...
These words were written January 27th, 2014, two years and a few days ago.

He wrote: "These were our people. Drunken drifters and messy blonde babies. Ecstatic hippies with dogs. I took her in my arms, and she, me, in hers, and we danced under the moon. We were alive. Free. Far from conviction of man's judgement, and God spun us in the desert gale to the strum of a guitar. We missed the concert in LA, but instead had a hell of a night, swinging each other, and visiting all the vagabonds, looking at the stars and taking leaks in the bushes."

At then end of my page, I added: "I didn't want to go at first, if I'm being fully honest. I was afraid of what I didn't know. I'm so glad you persuaded me, for it would have been a great beauty to trade up for a small fear.  
The light that sparked in your eyes caught in mine and shone bright as the moon above us. Hopeful grace led un in a dance beside the smoke drifting up to heaven, just like our prayers, asking God that we'd only ever grow in love and that our eyes could see as clearly as they did that dark night."

...that's why I haven't been able to date other guys...

Hey!

Today was a really good day, and I want to always remember it.
I woke up and wrote some Dr. Suess poems, and listened to public radio as the sunshine hit my white, hairy, single legs of glory, and futzed around and cleaned the bathroom, & built a fence of old plywood and yarn with my neighbor boys in the backyard, then walked to the little church in the woods, and was shadowed home by a singing sunset. It was a mellow day of contendedness and good rememberings. Now, I'm eating icecream and thinking back to the farm in France where Oliver squirted goat milk into his children's mouths as we all laughed together.

There are such a great many good things to live for, you know.