Thursday, October 7, 2010

The Tamed Dragon

Taming the Dragon sounds so much more interesting that actually having tamed it.
Sounds like the fire is gone. All the magic - poof.
That's what it feels like inside the absence of a compulsion to write.
Easier was it when the finger, connected to the pen, spilled the not so metaphorical blood of the heart.
Now, there are highways between need and want. Long stretches of road that separate the flame from the campfire. How do you warm another person with matches soaked in minutiae?
Understanding the distinctions of that word, which is incidentely the name of this blog, adds very little to the overall effect one can have on the world, but it makes something interesting - just what that thing is, I'm not sure.
i was very disappointed to find out the e.e. cummins already had some sort of a monopoly or at least claim to the little "i". I thought I had really stumbled upon something when I began to use it. Expressing the tiny insignificance of my me - a reversed solvency of the soul. a bounced pay check.
there is certainly some disdain for CAPITALIZATION - not that the liberal whimper in me has something to defend - it's just so formal. So run of the mill. That it is expected and suggests a lack of attention to detail in its absence ruffles my feathers - makes obtuse my particulars.
Can one imagine no longer using the first person singular? For a minute of conversation? A day? A week. One would perhaps need to seek refuge from an awareness of self-centeredness through silence. Try it. Do you understand of what she speaks?
SO - the recovery business. Working in recovery. Drunks, meth addicts, heroine junkies, bingers. purgers, gamblers, coke-heads, pill poppers, inhalers, gamers, sex addicts, klepto-maniacs, cutters, my brothers, sisters, saints.
      I i I i I i I i I i I i I i I i I i I i I i i i I i i i I i i i i i i I i I i i i i I  I i I I I I I  i i i i i i i i I I I i I i i i

A whole bunch of enormous and tiny me me me's running around inside a broken heart. Having been there makes the trouble almost endearing. I want to squeeze a heart of joy into the broken drum. Sooth a million sorrows with a whispering. Patch back up the brokenness with a nod.
The question now is do I break the silence with some detail?
What is the imaginary line that one might cross between sharing and spiritual extortion?
Where is the listening?

Puff lived by the sea. It is not a happy ending. Like so many fairy tales and children's stories, with awareness comes the realization of the great tragedy involved. Is this the point? To break the heart as early on as possible? That we might understand each other? That we might learn to defend the weak? That we might build a wall around ourselves? What? Why?
all of them.
Something huge is taken away by something bigger.
And we act as if.

I suppose this is where god comes in. God. god. GOoD.
One enormous amorphous unnameable sigh
holding up the umbrella
marshaling us home.

*Minutiae (pronounced /mɨˈnjuːʃɪ.iː/; sing. minutia, /mɨˈnjuːʃɪ.ə/; both also /mɨˈnjuːʃə/) are, in everyday English, minor or incidental.
In biometrics and forensic science, minutiae are major features of a fingerprint, using which comparisons of one print with another can be made.

Friday, September 17, 2010

minutiae: B Sic

minutiae: B Sic: "I want to start an AA meeting called B Sic which stands for Being Sober is Cool but I am not sure that it really is or whether any of that a..."

Thursday, September 16, 2010

B Sic

I want to start an AA meeting called B Sic
which stands for Being Sober is Cool
but I am not sure that it really is
or whether any of that actually matters at all.

It is possible to have your heart ripped out of your chest
beating pumping beautifully bloody
and alive
and then, through the immaculate beauty of sorrow,
have it handed back to you
in tact
effortlessly free
and re-covered.

Being rescued is lovely
all these little islands of despair
where the ship of some larger horror shows you your grace.

I thank god every day for showing up inside of you
and reminding me
that we are the same.

I have not seen my boys since 8:23 this morning -
when I watched them walk in a single-file line
into the school house.

I hit AA and recovery and belligerence and faith HARD today
squirreled it all up
inside a cupcake
with a friend
on a street
in LA.

All I am saying is that she is beautiful
those newly seeing eyes
all green and hazel and glorious.
We sat side by side and were thankful
to know each other
and be a friend.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

i am in love.
there is no more meaningful way to say this.
he comes home with his sweater on inside-out
smelling like cigars
calling me chuchi.
i want to open the door and say
but instead i open it
give a kiss far from the lips
giggle at the tag on the outside
and say nothing.
we carry the boys to their beds.
we yawn.

i met a man from cambodia today at Miss Donuts.
he liked my blond hair.
The Red Carpet he mentiond. America.
8 Years in America and he has his own business.
The American Dream.

But always working.

I want to go back to not capitalizing.
so i do.
thinking i will invite him to dinner sometime. to yom kippur or christmas or kwanza or tea.

my boys went crazy for him. this smile that went on and on for miles.

they asked to be his friend. yes. he said. yes. i am happy your to be a friend. what? huh? i am happy -
i understood every single sentence he spoke today. and even the ones that he did not utter.

there is nothing like los angeles.
i am telling you.
there is a miracle here - ever uncovering itself.

there is some kind of bizarre and honest hope.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

lost angels

and so i suppose we are.
living here amidst the lights and the traffic and the busy buzzing bumbles.
the quiet rage.
the sparrow.
i want to reach out through my windows and touch the walkers.
people huddled over their bags at the bus stop.
an old man with no cane on the sidewalk leaning east.
inside the heart of every person
is a riotous knowing.
a belonging to something unspeakably grand
yet still....unspeakable.
i do not look far for god -
brooding in gray eyes on sun-beaten faces
or hurried whistles chasing a bus
or you.

Saturday, February 27, 2010

broken fingers

perhaps it is the fingers, more than the heart, which are broken. disenchanted or disengaged - who would know which(?) - they remain motionless in the midst of a spiritual riot. nothing to note. no typing to do.
long fingernails, born only of neglect, break further into the fluidity of connecting heart to screen. blood-pumping passion to the digit's tip. when my dog died I wanted to name everything "Finger". She wore her name like water wears oxygen and simply was. no meaning made of it from her. simple joy. love. i thought if i could place her in the title of things - a web-site, a blog, another dog - a squirrel....then maybe the legend of "Dedo", el perro, would live on beyond the loud and quiet places of my soul.
i throw too many words around that defy interpretation - soul, heart, love, spiritual - deciding at times whether to become a preacher or a natureopath - a surgeon or an envelope - a noun.
i will tell you from where all my broken promises come....the written word. you could not imagine the times i have given my solemn oath to write - every day - every week - every month - every every one can put in front of time - and every every i have also failed to do the same. liar. cheater. slug.
psych 101 sys fear of failure fear of success fear of blah blah blah blah blah
but i say fear of nothing more than. that's right, ".". period. lazy tired bored indulgent gluttonous weak. time steals nothing but what we offer up to it and it would seem so much easier to go with the flow of molecules around me than to fight back down and into the heart of the matters being avoided and dislodged.
i am no philosopher so i quit right there.
move to eat some mangos - correct a typo. chew.
i think it would be so interesting if the world were as full of good listeners as it is with good talkers.
musical earrings on golden ears. the flowering lotus inside the drum.
my mouth is a marathon runner. my ears, the 5k. occasionally a sprint.
even here i have babbled a thousand darlings
not foregoing fear
and i have forgotten to mention the earthquakes.
god bless one and all - this beautiful planet, our brothers and sisters,
one's self.