Regret

You heal me—
burn bright
behind my eyes, each holy kiss
rearranging the cells,
all the molecules of a body
that has forgotten love.
This secret chemistry
heats inside us,
boiling at nuclear precision,
firing exactly
as predetermined instructions read. . .
iron of my blood
and oxygen of my breath
combine carbon
and silver rings around each finger—
encircling the lobe of an ear
and turns the mysterious
into solid, shining gold.

Purple flame, magic flame,
I have invited you in
to the sacred space of my heart.
Thankful transmutation
moves what cannot be moved
in one lifetime
into the spirit world.
This is not the lavender
or lilac of spring, but the eternal
color that permeates my soul.

You bring me closer to God.

I am a witness of your power
standing still at the entrance
to Nirvana.

Mark me with that white, cleansing heat.

* * *

How I resist this bond now,
the one forged in gold
that sits, staring in judgment
at me each day,
mocking the promises
I’ve made,
my hand heavy with regret.

Who was I then,
the woman with such certainty
of a future filled with abundant laughter
and a satisfied heart?

It was folly to wager on happiness,
knowing what I knew
about the statistics,
the imperfected formulas
for this kind of chemistry.

Today I want to cast off these invisible chains.
No one else can see them anyway.
There is no loss
that cannot be healed
by freeing myself from a false hope.

There is only freedom in the acknowledgement
of constant change.

* * *

Each waking these days
I am more and more aware
of what is right in front of me.

Each breath
a meditation.
Each step forward
an opening up of the universe--
to change that brings peace and hope to my heart.

If I concentrate with my eyes
on the dew forming into droplets
on a blade of grass
sliding down,
soaking deep into the earth
right outside my kitchen door,
or if I direct my heart
to open
to letting love rush in
like a great thunderstorm
waking me from my sleep

it is all the same.

I can’t ignore the calling to this prayer,
this place of steady, smooth sound.
I am a singing bowl
perched lightly on an elegant, red pillow
calling what can not be seen
home to the fire,
home to rest
for an eternity of knowing.
This is the truth
each soul is searching for
in a thousand lifetimes of searching.

I open my mouth,
smile,
and I am filled again
with undeniable love.

Transmutation

Transmutation

Come and find me
when you discover
where love begins,
where love ends—
when the elements
that make up your body
and my body
are not a betrayal,
but an opening to the great
knowing of all the ages.

Run to the dark corner of the universe
if that is what you must do today.

It does not matter. Love
will find the opening--this door,
in this life, or the next,
or the one after that.
It is then that the atoms
that make up your spirit
will understand
who you are
as a great lover,
the bringer of some small peace
to a world confused
by the expectations
of a false pride.
There is no ego here.
There is only the transformation
of the world from fear
into the golden flame
of love.

Love

I can’t do it today. I can’t make my face look happy. If this were my last year, this would be a sad weekend of loss. I should have been overflowing my joy for celebration of my son’s second birthday and for digging up the ground to get ready to plant. I just couldn’t get myself to that place.

What is it about life. . .when everything should be wonderful, happy, content and it doesn’t seem possible to get there. So much of my life, when it is unhappy, is about being confined by people’s expectations or the norms of our culture. Left to my own patterns and opinions, I’d be happy most of the time. If I could ignore what other people tell me I’m supposed to think and feel. . .I’d be left without that veil of doubt.

Let’s talk about love for a minute. A friend recently asked me about being “in” love. I told him I didn’t really know what that meant any more. As I learn more about the world . . .there’s nothing I know about American “love” that fits. If I am left to my own thinking and feeling, I can often get filled up with love for my children and for my friends. I can find good boundaries and outline this life with lots of love. But “in” love seems to be something more of a function of our cultural expectations. . .Hollywood. . .In love for me is about being so filled with love that I start to overflow into a spiritual/sexual/physical expression that is about an unexplainable connection. This love can’t be contained in words or a common life of adoration. . .it spills over into the passion of creation and connection that can only be absorbed at the spiritual level. I think I’ve been “in” love a few times in my life. I am just not sure my evolving definition fits with anything I meet these days. There’s no definition that fits in our culture for the person I become when I think of that kind of love. It isn’t who I am as a wife. It is more of who I am as a mother or a friend. It is much more expansive than one relationship—sexual or not.

Today I want to tear down my expectations. Today I want to take down barriers and untie myself from any kind of rule that makes love smaller. I want to be open to the possibilities of something much greater that what is available to me now. I want the universe to rush in to all the empty places and fill me with joy that knows nothing of fear or disappointment. I want to be ignorant to everything but love.

I applied for a job today. It is a position I think I’m very ready for at a college community I’d like to be a part of . . .I’m pretty sure it is my dream job. I really wasn’t looking for jobs yet. I was hoping to be done with my comprehensive exams. It seems like I need to focus on that process and then start my work again. Sometimes the universe works this way. I was feeling a little impatient with the study period I’m in. I guess this is the universe in action.

Tomorrow my youngest child turns two. I just love two year olds. The people around these amazing human creatures are given such a gift when we take the time to pay attention to the beauty these small ones discover in the world. There’s so much fun there. We’re doing a little party. I should probably make the cake tonight. The family chocolate cake recipe is so great.

Let me go find that and I’ll post it here.

Buddha's Birthday

Buddha's Birthday

You find me kneeling
on the alter of this spring,
on the alter of a love bigger
than one life.

The color of the leafing trees
makes me drunk
with a joy that has no words.
The thirsty earth
longing for a slow,
soft rain to touch her skin
reminds me of how much
it means to find you here
kneeling next to me,
watching as the planet turns
toward the sun.

On Buddha's birthday
a thousand years ago
you lay with me like this too.
We had other faces
and bodies then,
but I recognize your soul
as we find these red threads
encircling our open hearts.

How can we deny ourselves
a happiness that keeps finding us,
century after century
discovering the truth of love,
disguised, at first, in the form of a stranger?

It is meant to be shared,
this opening of the lotus
to the sun by day
and the vast darkness of the moon
and her sister stars each night.

Buddha is smiling,
showering his blessings on us
as we find our way back
to a loving embrace,
saying, on his birthday,
"It is right, always, to love."

The Coming

The Coming

It is coming
the change all women wait for.
The passage toward the next life
away from our children
and youthful surprises.

My blood has started to speed up,
coming and going
the flood gates opening too often now
as if to drain my memory
of the pain of labor—
willing my well of crimson dry.

Just yesterday I nursed my babies,
felt the milk flow out of somewhere deep
in my bones
bringing up ancient iron ore
into their soft pink mouths,
the filter of sweet love
quivering inside each nipple.

That love is not gone,
but only waiting to find a new home,
perhaps at my collar bone
or in a smooth rib
or at the tips of my fingers
as I travel the edge of a sleeping face.

I have taken notes for years now.
Not from my mother
whose perfect little body
sighed itself shut
without at word-
save the warm waves of goodbye.

Not from her sisters—
who still speak in code about the change
and giggle at the loss of their girlish figures
to thickening thighs
and rounder curves.

My words come from others
who know how to speak of loving themselves
full into grey and brilliant mornings
of first sun on crisp sun
where each foot planted,
though sometimes slippery,
leaves a distinct mark
of gravity.

This is the story I want to tell
as my daughter watches
smiling, marveling
at what my body can still do
as it opens and awakens-
lightening the load
for the next leg of the journey home.
I will gladly hand her the map,
the legend,
and speak out loud
about the view from my side
of the horizon.

May Day

When I was a little girl we made May Baskets out of Dixie cups and pipe cleaners and filled them with candy treats for the neighbors. The trick was to deliver them by placing them on the stoop of the neighbor, ring the doorbell, and run away so they didn’t see us delivering them. What great fun for a 2nd or 3rd grader!

Today I got to have lunch with my good friend Mary who has moved away from New England and lives in Kansas. I got to remember the surprise I get when a friend is suddenly back in my midst and the amazing joy I felt getting to hang out with her even if just for a couple of hours over lunch. I have had so many amazing people come and go in my life and today I got to be with Mary who was the first person who was my friend alone. She wasn’t connected to my children or my husband or anything other than my own circle of influence. It was so wonderful to get to claim Mary as MY friend. My Mary and all of her quirks and beauty.

Who knows when I’m going to get to see her next. . .but today was wonderful and I’m so glad I had that time with her.