Viene Aqui

Come to me

My beautiful unknown

Come to me

And I will feed you

Pomegranate Seeds

I will lay out a picnic

On these golden, grassy hills

And invite you to dine

On apples and clemetines

We'll read to each other

Feeding hearts and minds

We'll be drunk on laughter

But I'm still glad I brought

Apricot wine

Come to me

All that I can not imagine

Come to me, and I will feed you

Pomegranate seeds...

Exercise 3: The Absence of Play

I notice the absence of play when I mourn the past. A deep darkness, slamming my head against the wall. Heavy in my chest and in my bones. Like permanent low blood sugar. Everything is an effort. My throat is tight and sore, my eyes want to cry. I am missing someone, some time when life did feel joyful and fun. The feeling is of no return. The absence of playfulness is somber, mournful and heavy.

I notice it creeping into my consciousness in small, insidious ways. It's my mom's voice, admonishing me to tone down my jewel tones and paint the walls of my house beige in order for it to rent for the most money. It's my dad's voice, telling me to get "a real job", preferably corporate. Become more conservative, take out that nose ring, cover your tattoos. The absence of play is very beige. Or grey. Greige.

It is ugly, plain, boring, humdrum, the taste of metal file cabinets. It's forgetting to make things beautiful as well as functional. It's the feeling of I have to do it all by myself - all the decisions, all the phone calls, all the chores, all the errands. This feels plain ol' tiring.

The absence of play is the absence of joy.

The absence of life.

Onions and Pearls

"Opinions are like onions - The both make weep"- Retreat participant

Those 3 famous words
"In my opinion"
With their weight, authority
Testimonials and reviews

I can be satisfied
With my own opinions
With my body's messages
Of what I truly value
Even cramping right now
Serves a purpose

True serenity comes
After grinding grit against the mother
In my hands
I hold the pearl of wisdom now

Stepping off my pedestal
I let go of self judgement
Moving easily along my path
Discriminating, discerning
Choosing each step carefully
If not fussily

I notice letting go of the opinions
Of plum trees and small violets
Of spotted lillys and green mosses
I even let go of the opinions
Of this particular circle of women
Criticizing my writing now

I write slowly, I read clearly
Raising my shaky voice
To tell the world what I think
In my experience, in my opinion

There will be those who agree with me
And those who don't
Either way -
They'll know their own truths

Longing for acceptance is paradoxical to
Being center of my universe
This ugly ducking
Is ready to be queen of her unnamed pond

There are times I am sweet
And times I am sharp
The Rose
is always protected by the thorns

You might think I'm eclectic
But I am bursting with life
You might think I'm eccentric
But I'm bursting with joy

I soften my sharp tongue
Coat my words with honey
Choose to be engaging
Come be on my team

I pay attention to the details
Loving all my many qualities
I pay attention to myself
This is all I have to do.

Exercise 2: Archiving the Alien

 Part 1: Write down a childhood memory

I am in the 4th or 5th grade, living in Kirchberg, Luxembourg. I am my best friend Vicki's house, and we are having a sleep over. Each of us are in our own seperate twin bed, with the covers over our heads. Our feet are pointed straight up, making a tent with the blanket. We are playing space aliens, and these are our space ships. We are each in our own little tent world, and we excitedly communicate with each other about shooting down UFOs and making spectacular landings. It is so fun to engage our imaginations together. I want to craft a consol for my space craft out of cardboard.

I feel so bonded in the moment to my "American friend", after feeling like such an outcast at the European School. Vicki's mother makes a big deal out of bringing us hot chocolate, but my mom's hot chocolate is better. I am so aware of how old her parent's are - twenty years older than mine. Vicki has a grown up brother that she never sees. I love going to Vicki's house because she has all this "American" stuff like Barbies and Archie comics. She's bored of them, but I am fascinated and want to play dolls all the time, even though I am "too old". Vicki's mom collects porcelain dolls dressed in Victorian clothing that we are not allowed to touch.

 Part 2: How does this memory relate to today?

This childhood memory relates to my feelings of being alien, the foreigner, of feeling alienated from my community over the last few years. It relates to this moment in terms of my searching for true companionship - that feeling of being in collusion with another human being. We are each in our own craft, our own body, but we are communicating, creating a consensus reality. I muse on the words communion, come union, and communication.


It relates to my feelings of looking for acceptance, of where do I fit in, of no longer feeling like the outcast. I relate it to longing for family, for hot chocolate moments and the creating of traditions. It's a longing for belonging.

This memory serves to remind me of the feelings of "here is someone who gets me, who understands me and encourages me, who supports my wild imaginings. Someone who really wants to play with me." It relates to me being open to what new relationships bring - new toys! New games. More fun. The joy of sharing. Indeed, shared beliefs, shared joys, shared laughter.

It relates to my search for a new best friend.