air made manifest

what height, what height this light comes streaming through the window, the full-bodied pulse of the collapse of ego; the golden light of the winter day peeling through the atmosphere – the surface of my brain a foggy chapter of promises and gifts – the love i have to give like an army in my chest, ready to march — i, a small winter bottle of light and branches — sky, just let me see the sky — love, just let me feel my heart inside my body;; pumping blood, like so many fangs of the sky tilting forwards – reaching towards clouds, towards the flesh of the air made manifest in me — i, a little buzz of love;; i, a little question never knowing the answer;; i, a foolish warrior endlessly rowing ashore, towards the hope i am not forever blind

 

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minucia by minucia

maybe there isn’t anything definitive – just balls of light and energy and what you make of them and may be all we are given is the gift of light between bodies and then you can contort it and shape it and work on the work of evolving and speaking the right words into existence and letting your words be magic // words shape your consciousness your perspective ;; perhaps we are all just consciousness and perspective and that little tiny neuron battle that we fight to choose the right choice is the whole of our life and it’s in the minucia; it’s in meditation; it’s in letting go; in the small, small choices we make on a daily basis; on a minute by minute basis; and yet somehow there are no choices at all and love is a force of light pushing forwards and near and quarks  and gravity and strong and weak electromagnetic forces and pulling things and we pull through them and that is all really that fate or God is – just these forces pulling on and around and through and we go through them and push upon then; we are acted upon by them; we are part and parcel of it; We are the universe perceiving itself // and yet we have inertia; we have momentum; we have will; we can do better; we can evolve; we can make the better choices every day; minute by minute, minucia by minucia – we can change the world with our consciousness – because we are consciousness – we are gratitude, grace; what we give, what we forgive, what we let go of, the way we perceive and the way we allow ourselves to change;; perceptions are the mind and we are also not just the mind -we are the mind and the body connection and we are the forces; the balls of light

there are no choices;; there is no right path; there is just a path unfolding / there is no wrong choice you can make; there is just what is presented to you and what you can learn from it and how you can grow from it; you can challenge yourself; and somehow when I really pay attention I am always being given something that I really truly need to learn (sometimes it’s chaos) and sometimes it’s clear in front of me and sometimes it is wild and clouded; sometimes the path towards growing up and growing outwards ; towards evolving and towards being your best self is a complicated jagged one that doesn’t make sense until it makes sense;; sometimes the path towards your life is chaos and magic and confusion and mystery and sitting right in front of you (but all we perceive is the tiny steps we take) — and the mystery makes it all

and the mystery makes it all


and a new year. sacred day; sacred turning of the wheel for me.

to 2018. to west side story. a crusty old back room at the kelsey theatre. to san diego and seals on the shoreline of the pacific. to spring awakening and breaking my foot. to purple light washes and love. to the death of my grandfather and einsten. to ohio. to taking refuge. to our 10th anniversary. to may, glorious may. my birthday, my world full to the brim. to all my sons, langhorne little theatre and hair pin curls. to police in the late of night. to frendly gathering, nahko, vermont, roadtrips, june air, june bugs. to american idiot, and the crazy little room in the back of trenton social. to all the bursting of love, love, love. creation and chaos in the backroom. to august and adventures and upstate new york, and maryland and long island and more love. to growing and learning. to jamie turning 4. to death by chocolate. to the philly fringe festival. to september – back to school, class at princeton, performing spoken word. to curtains. music mountain theatre, lambertville, laughing with karl, dancing my ass off. to spain. birthday rainbow for halloween. to keeping jamie, protecting him, facing the dragon. to lion in winter. back to actorsnet, michael, matt, friendship, love, hardship, fighting through. to christmas, snuggled in a bed with my two brothers. new years, trouncing through the streets of philadelphia with old friends and new. to love, to love, to growth, to activity, to movement, to writing, to creation, to dancing, to acting, to giving, to receiving, to working on an inner practice, to making friends, to keeping friends, to loving the world, to the pain of the world, to the hope of the new day, the new year, the new possiblities. to changes and stability and ups and downs and ins and outs and the new, the new, the endless unfolding and rooting. to the rooting down, the growing out, the growing up, the learning in, the loving in all directions. the loving in all directions. to the light in all directions.

for a moment

they were all here for a moment; for an elapsed, shoe-string collapsed moment – pulled between two parcels of stardust in the universe – family hung like a decadent ornamentation — laughter, brotherhood — not all of us, but the ones still ready to laugh // the day clung like taffy – elongated; elegant, hazy and covered in light – twinkled words, ageless tucked prayers to the moment hung under ever dazzled evergreen — evergreen, it was evergreen; golden hued and pearlescent // i love my family, i love the memory of everything we’ve ever been crashing in to one another over and over again;; i don’t know what i have done to deserve such a family : i don’t know what i have done to deserve so many useful parts clanging against one another in harmony — i know only that i am grateful and that my life should be a love song to this gratitude i have inside — to the wonder of magic that clings to every dappled bit of atomized oxygen around me // and jamie, the little ball of laughter and light, mopped with angel hair and giggling all through the night, dousing me in kisses and perfect words ; the grace of my life, the thing i am most grateful for — thank you for this day, for all of the days that have led to this day, for the year unfolding with unbelievably beautiful wings, for graciousness, for kindness, for care, for brotherhood, and for motherhood – a merry christmas to all, and to all – dappled haziness and the magic of love and how it feels pressed against your ribcage – to all ribcages opening endlessly – if only for a moment (a small, elapsed eternity)

to building

like flame i catch disease; i catch bones in my eyes, i swallow heart for breakfast — like love i capsize on occasion;;

i try to find compassion for you, find the most human parts — i look past the brittle surface — i find the motivation for your movement, for your callousness and corrosive words — i look past the fudgey lines of the way we all present, the forms we all form in – i try to see the best in you, in each, in all

up and out and away – i hope for the glow of creation, for everyone, at all times / the past few weeks and months have reminded me of what i really want – love for the other, compassion, creation for everyone, self-actualization for everyone, and the manifestation of what sets us all alight, so that we may all glow – that we may all inspire one another, so that we can all create more beautiful, more meaningful things together. sure, it’s easy to call me too idealistic, but this is the one of the only things that truly matters – all becoming alive together – a world full of people that are fully alive and full of light and love

to building that world

little everythingbox

my heart, it’s always about my little water wheel of a heart; little flutterby, caging wings and servicing kings; little wind chime chiming out of tune; little everythingbox containing more matter than could possibly matter to one person // little everythingheart i cannot be stopped; i thump towards the horizon; dragging myself through the wretched air and the branches that peel themselves from their leaves ;; bringing themselves solidly and singularly back to the surface of themselves – the utter indistinguishable truth of their barrenness – blank page on the sky’s horizon, aimless arrows in all directions — pointing everywhere, leading nowhere, aching endlessly — like my little heart, it’s always somehow a metaphor about my little heart

little gratefulness tune — i keep myself above the water, i take the high road, i ride the tumult of waves, i peel through your pressure, i promise myself the life without judgment of ridicule or mean-spiritness, i promise myself the higher light within shining, i glaze right past your glare ;; i love through the rotten air ;; i punish myself enough ;; i get stuck in my own head enough ;; i recognize my own mistakes, i pray endlessly to know my own faults better and with more veracity and honesty

and still the glow of eyes on eyes and words laying on top of words thrills my facile brain, still the pump and pummel of the stage curls my toes in my shoes and sends my spine serpentine and satiated — still i love the creation, the joy of meaning in words and the fullness of emotion in implication // still i love the full-bodied rapture of the thing, the way the body feels against all the motions, emotions, fabrics, wooden benches and handles of pewter // still i love the full-bodied rapture of the thing

towards wholeness

“Later,
if you have endured a great despair,
then you did it alone,
getting a transfusion from the fire,
picking the scabs off your heart,
then wringing it out like a sock.
Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow,
you gave it a back rub
and then you covered it with a blanket
and after it had slept a while
it woke to the wings of the roses
and was transformed.”
and your rage like a fire in my throat; my twittering bird’s wings fluttering in the shade of your black temple. i stand, the firmament / you rattle the cage // the meanness of intention slicing through the atmosphere / daggers displacing gravity and the molecules in motion around me

i lean in to the friction of the light, the courage of boldness in my bones that reaches towards the higher self, towards the deeper love, towards the love we all must have for one another. i find that love never fails, in any human, body or blanket of cells / i reach towards friendship, towards the lust of reconnecting atoms flying away from one another in space / i reach towards breath, i reach towards myself / i find myself staring back at the end of my hand, myself, myself. you’re okay, bundle of atoms. i pray towards wholeness, towards people that lift other people up, towards finding the best in one another, in each other’s words, in each other’s intentions, i pray towards wholeness.

lift each other up

 

“They sang don’t waste your hate
Rather gather and create
Be of service, be a sensible person
Use your words and don’t be nervous
You can do this, you’ve got purpose
Find your medicine and use it”

alight

and here the ice rattles towards me like a promise. here the tree sparkles its ancient eyes like flecks of gold and silver hulking away from the branch. and here i see you again. and here i see you again. and here the minutes that live inside of my eyes pass like endless webs – like a melody in reverse, back again, back again, the words akimbo, like soft soldiers looking for a war. and here i break towards a new day, towards an endless horizon; here your eyes are like a patchwork of ash and curled nevers; stuck inside the sideways partitions between seats in a row; here you lie inside the little theatre of my heart, forever playing scenes we’ll never write

but the delivery of these half-imagined lines still kills me

DYFS in the dining room. whoever thought my life would get here? whoever thought i would be inside of these kinds of days? whoever thought my life would unfold like this – a bag of marbles and a rolling set of ramps and bridges — i submerge myself in the bathtub, all the way under the water, i know not how this day arrived on my doorstep // i peel back my curtains, i know not what i am supposed to do, but place one foot in front of another forever and ever, thanking each day for each splay of beautiful moments, thanking the light inside Jamie’s eyes for still glowing, thanking my feet for knowing how to walk, feeling my skin getting thicker every year, every day, every crisis / there is always more life coming for you, and there is always more strength within you you haven’t met yet /

i pray to keep you safe, little one, i pray you will not be damaged, you will know wholeness, you will not be afraid, you will not cower, you will not flinch upon approach, i pray you will stay alight through the dark night and all the flames ahead

Halloween. And tumult and trauma and upheaval. Again. And the cycles, the seasons, the endless age of the earth age-ing backward. And laughter and holding my baby tight. But fear everywhere. Fear in the child, fear in me, fear of the future and the steps to be taken. Fear of the words and the truth in between. Where do we go, where do we go from here? Where do all of us go? The battered, the flinching, the scared of the darkness and the light? Where do all the children go that don’t have advocates? That don’t have people speaking for them, protecting them? What happens to all the children’s whose voices are only theirs against an adult’s? I am worried and weary and without a map, but I have my boy, and I have my bravery and I have the light on my side. And I have the light in my heart still flaming. Halloween and let the shadows come. Let the darkness come, let the haunting scare us. We have light enough to kindle. We have light enough to see our way through. Small and only enough to see one foot in front of the other, but we have enough. We have each other.

some amount of neon

three years at the same seat, the same pearled purple and green smashes across the glass as the cars wheel by, the midnight glow of horns and guitar strings, some harmonica no one has learned how to stop playing, some amount of neon that always glows — bliss game and a furrow of brows getting older, getting wiser, getting deeper in the depth; in the art of the world flowing by — you tell us you’ve written something new, you curl your brilliance through a voice pipe, out through the parade of bones dancing in the right order, through the finger army of musical esplanade — we clap, it is the only feeble jungle we know how to enter — we know not how to trace the elegant animal from the line of brilliance to the fuse of firelight and kindling, we see only the flame, we eat only light – all evening long we soak in each other’s fever dreams ; we fill up each other’s sutures with imagined melodies ; a wish for an unending splash of fleeting light – the sparkle puddle electrified in the misty autumn pavement rain – the glow of 1am filling the gutters with a gulp of dreamtime nightflesh : sputters and splatters of all the condesencing condensation of the consideration of conspiracy, coalescence and consciousness;; we here keep hearing, keep listening, keep creating long after the night has turned to morning, long after the clock tells us to tuck in for the night; we here keep hearing each other; keep making in the morning light

to many more years of making, and letting the night turn to morning, and morning turn in to new dawns, new dreams, new songs