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.

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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

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

For my big-hearted Ryan ;

i woke up this morning hoping this was all some horrible dream; My thoughts spiral in-and-out, it’s turtles all the way down, for sure — it comes and goes in waves — I can’t do anything without thinking of you; I can’t stare into the silence without feeling like a zombie ; everything I do is a momentary band-aid ; every distraction only lasts for a brief moment ; I keep hearing your laugh in my head

River warrior; smile-keeper , you were always a fire, always a lion, always full of grace and laughter, generosity and heart; the first night you met me you asked me to marry you; // you were in the room when i found out i was pregnant and waiting for us at home when we got back from the hospital with baby jamie (having fully cleaned our house while we were gone), you were there the night i left jeff; the highest highs and the lowest lows, and always with such kindness and openness ; you were my son’s uncle, his love ; i will miss your smile, your poetry, the love and faith you greeted everyone with, your lack of judgment, your mischief, your bravery, your fight, your spirit

I don’t really understand / i don’t feel motivated by your death yet – i feel senseless and entirely lost for meaning

I pulled the beautiful journal you gave me for my birthday some years ago off the shelf…I’ve never written in it – it was too beautiful…but now the empty pages feel like a promise i should keep…i’ll try to fill them up – i’ll try to keep creating, i’ll try to feel the beautiful day around me and not think about how much you would love it, i’ll try to keep my chin up, i’ll try to see what you saw, i’ll try to find you in the falling leaves, i’ll try to not give in to despair, you were always aglow, always bright enough to keep fighting through ; i’ll try to keep breathing and finding the light…but i don’t understand yet. i don’t understand at all. and i miss you. and i love you very much // i’m not ready for this week. for the facebook posts and the funeral proceedings and the horrible conversation we’ll have to have with jamie // but one minute at a time. one foot in front of the other. one breath then another. i’ll try to turn your laughter in the back of my head into my own. i’ll try, i’ll keep trying. i’ll try to be alive for you, because i know how grateful you were to have to your life. to have your life back. to have had life at all.

unearthed light

The pastoral past passes through me like a passage of pressed flowers beating like a heart ; like wire ; like strings frayed ; like the unafraid rings of a tree expounding outwards ; like a drop on a pool, on a lake, on a bed of watered flowers spilling over the edge like a nourishment / like a nuisance / like a novelty read for the first time

August hands, and love // i cannot speak of how vast the love, how deep the chasm spills into all the empty spaces; how full you become when you begin to breathe // How all the pockets between your bones and all the chinks in your armor fill with oxygen when you let the carbon dioxide go ;; how all the spaces fill like capsized balloons floating in reverse / how gravity will lift you when you let it no longer be a grave; How August cloudscape will wipe across the shallow frame of your seeing eyes / how unearthed light will fall backwards away from gravity towards the upended trunk of the atmosphere exposing the earth’s rings ; like rings ; like trees ; like water droplets ; like angel breath on clouds // like circles within circles // upside down the light comes spilling through the center of the Earth ; the magma of your heart like a beacon

 

let words come like a fortune of grass stains ; i am a cupped heart still trying to catch light, still trying to photosynthesize;; always failing in patience, always working towards the right words to fill the right moment with the right grace, but sometimes i am just a little human and my boots are filled with rain and my courage is hollowing through my brain and the only response i have is a messy tumble of emotions that come seeping out between my teeth, and sometimes i try to breathe;; but breath is shallow when you don’t have a belly-full of trust in yourself and lungs are tiny when you feel like you don’t have the time to let them expand // but the illusion of nightmare dreamwork is just frame-work, is just a faded etch around the edges — the door is new, the door is chestnut, you can open it, you have hands. scratches, dings and whistles line the edges like a parade of decadent molding; brain frosting (things still frozen in the ice) still comes on top of every jerked-fear-rattle-response — but your trauma is not your structure, your house is more than wood, your parts are more than math;; you do not need to keep apologizing. you do not need to keep apologizing. you do not need to keep apologizing.

a masterpiece of air

To let the August air waft around me like a thousand brittle eyes:: seeing; everything and nothing all at once ;; to let the windmill of flower scent come petaling towards me like a destination / to say I am here / I am here again // to feel the chips on your shoulders, to let them become grooves, shallow graves for any sense of judgment your ego ever wanted to hold on to ; to release, to always release, to work on learning how to know how to learn how to release ;; Something is always trying to hold on ; something is always trying to let go, to lift the latch up, to ratchet against the gear valve, the jammed wheel screw wrench socket; you have to lift it up before you can release ; you have to push it yourself ; you have to use your neurons to push against the hard iron weight of gravity in your brain ;; The little latch on the gate : you will nudge it, it will budge;, your brain will not want to but you can release it, with a tissue clock force of your mental elbow grease, you can knock it, with the right little left little neuron hiccup ;; little teacup full of fistful full of willpower; full of sunflower ; full of reaching ; full of sunlight, full of brain reaching towards the rain, towards the sunlight;; plants grow against gravity too; you can pull towards the sun like a bulb, like a flash of elegant effot; you can try;, You can try to try ; you can convince yourself you are trying and that is it — that is the simple trick on the latch : all you have to do is try to try to convince yourself that you are trying ; to release yourself ; a sunflower ;; you can breathe yourself there, to a place where you can believe in beginning; you can release yourself there; the valve is a gauge, your heart is an animal, your strength is in the surrender, your power is the willingness to watch the day around you like a masterpiece of air and grass sentience and the sentences in between the trees ; in the breath between your ego and your will, in the life burning in your stomach, and the unrest you wrestle out from inside your soft tissue of a brain puddle ;; and from (fuck the brain) the inside of your chest;; the lacework of your ribcage ; the motor of your lungs ;; you can release, you can release, you’re ok ;; you’ve got it, the air has got you; your lungs have got you

Your brain is just a little thing, you see – and you,, you are a wild thing growing towards the sun

to rage and love

brain so hot, wires so frayed, muscles so weak // but heart so full and mind so wide and love so deep and screams so reverberating, and bodies so rich with so much to give, to offer, to pour out, to funnel in all directions at the same time;; wild abandon ; the rapture  ;; the animal drumbeat that fills your feet up with fire ;; to the parts of yourself you never knew you’ve never met yet – to meeting those parts of yourself on the stage, in the arms of others

how many more times do i get to be blown away by the wild unfolding of magical momentousness // how much more does this life have to enchant me with? when is my turn enough? how come so many don’t get to bask in the beauty of loved ones that laugh around you in a resounding song ;; i am too honored, too grateful, too astonished at the wild world and my gift upon gift upon gift of the magic of love and the joy of creation that floods the world around me ; that i get to stand in it – in the glow of mutual creation, of collaborative vulnerability ; of hearts held out like balloons, bright to the point of bursting, and unafraid to give

grateful i am ; to the rage and love of musculature and grit ; to the fire-burned capsized hearts of fullnesses tipping over ; to the echo song of stereophonic ferocity that blurs the distinction between body and bliss ; and movement and dance ; and music and rain — to the fearlessness of rapture — to the rapture of leaving your heart on a stage — to the blood i still get to carry, that runs hot with rage and with love / to the ability to create art / to the art that creates us / to the creation that keeps wrapping around you in silent harmony / to the harmonies we all sing for each other / to the ways we fill in each other’s broken bones, our shattered skins, our bruised knees / to the way we support one another, little seedlings planted together // i will never stop being grateful, i never want to forget the gratitude i should have buried in my ribcage, lacquered over my lungs, singing out of every note / that we all got to do this together, that we got to create, that we got to grow in love, that we got to rage and love / thank you for this, thank you for this, thank you for all of this

“our energy would simply prevail”