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..."

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.

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
I ATE 5 DONUTS
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.

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.

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.

dim sum and pot-bellied day dreamers

christmas woke me up round. dusted off my lashes and poured me a cup of joe as strong as a woman. i snuggled into wrapping paper, ribbons and bows. only , there really are no ribbons or bows at my house. lots of tape. and extra folds in the edges. no clean lines here - a rumpled pile of a gift. a present.
having given back sugar, these days of holy divining are so less sweet.that is not a metaphor for anything i say. simple isms. stevia. rice.
brother cooked eggs and bacon and bread. reminds me of a heart attack. i am drinking water like it is wine, and still legal. inside my own little courthouse.
did i mention love? tumbling from the branches of our crooked little tree - busting a toe in the newest stocking and onto the floor with a crash! his eyes are the richest brown. the insides of dark chocolate. espresso micro suede umph. we made 2 more - because of those eyes - and now there are 6. crazy saucers of radical delight. heavenly tortes.
yesterday J said "wait! i am pulling buddha out of my pants" so I had to idle before backing out the car. I am sure you understand......... he is 4.........so........ of course he is pulling buddha out of his pants! sheesh.
when i think about 20 years ago i am filled with great joy and also a slipping. wooosh.
and what will tomorrow bring. poetry? peonies? poverty? promises? plethora? polyoople lop?
pangs.
i am hoping everyone has little slice today - and yesterday and now and next week and tomorrow and in an hour and backwards and upside down and inside out and even in the places where there is no light i am hoping there is an eensy weensy teeny weeny lil' slice-o-love.

town council

it is hard not to want to run - either for the hills or for town council...when the belligerence of bureaucratic red tape leaves a little whip mark on your face. i eat chocolate and talk way too fast on the phone. i google legos, ramble through e-bay, craigslist, turn to email, chew. one house is too big, one lot too small. an ego excavated, another bent into tiny pieces of busy-ness that annoy. we tolerate with shrewd boredom the spinster and her allegations. i find half a pretzel and some string cheese at the bottom of my purse.....and announce it...at just the wrong time.
remember when we were just so in love with being in love that every act was a sort of celebration of the grace of being able to do it? i burned the pans with every artichoke, you ate my salmon lasagna even though by its very nature, it was inedible. i blushed when you looked at me. now, it is not the being in love with being in love but the loving the lover that's so irresistible. your warm hand across the small of my back in the middle of the night - the coffee in bed that always has too much cream but is the best i have ever had because you brought it to me. the way you wrestle with the boys every freaking night right before bed - winding them back up after i have just calmed them down with warm dinners and baths and books. how you cannot help but make me laugh when i am mad. all of this i come home to while i imagine the town criers are alone. these are the reasons for the incessant comments and calls to order, the fussing. if everyone could just see in the other the way he loves that one special person specially - with a roundness or a forgiveness or a soft heart, the war would be over. you know the one.