Touch-hungry ... (Holden 2022)

We decide to be alone

For now, and we know why:

Most at peace when life is simply

Give, give, give and die.

We shrug off incoming praise,

with its trail of expectations.

We feel uncomfortable

In a celebration's afterglow—

We're first out alone when a roof-fall

Buries the church door, though.

Pink fingers melting a shovel handle's ice

Scoop and lift, scoop and lift.

People say “thank you,” walking out

And that is enough.

They welcome us in,

And that is a gift.

We long for their touch,

Everybody we love.

That's the wet in our eyes,

Shovel-head diving in

With “can I help?” “are you okay?”

A sun-cracked smile and nod.

Someone might touch us someday,

But we leave that work to God.

True story, this morning ...

                                                                    (2022 November 22)

I asked her if she was okay.

         She told me I didn’t care.

I opened my arms; 

would she like a hug.

     She threw a ball of dirty tissues 

           into my chest.

                          I asked if I could throw them away.

                                               She said go ahead, 

               then screamed in my ear as I passed.

I screamed back in her ear 

“don’t scream in my ear!”

There’s the real You, 

                      she said.

You said you'd ... (song)

You said you’ll water my garden.          But you do-on’t…

And yet you wanted the same.

You want to stand where my heart is.   But you won’t—let it roam—where it's home—

Your nerves crack—when I roll—        On my back—in the grass…

So you call back my name.

And if you wanted so bad,                     In a life that’s so hard—

You want to love your own body,         And the weeds in your yard.

Well, I- can’t- give that to you.

          [Drums: Pf, ch-Pf, ch. Pf…chhh]

You said you’d grow open-hearted.      But you’re closed…

I’ve pulled that door everyday.

You said "let’s go to the party…"

So I hugged—all my friends—you said "no!—not with them—

She’s a bitch—he hates me—oh I’m sure…"

And so you pulled me away.

But I am going back in,                         You hear them playing my song?

I feel thunder in my feet, and                 You can please come along

But baby: my- heart- has to move.

          [Break]

Im in love! with the look in your eyes!

When you pick—up a wrench—and you twist—'til the engine hummmms. 

        Braap, braap, braap, brrrap…

I’m in hate, I’m in sad with myself,

When I let someone else—even you—choke and stall me frommm…

I `know you `don’t mean `to, but …

          [Back]

You said “I know I can get there.          Can you wa-ait?”

so/I set down my attaché.

You said “Can you rub my neck, dear?”

So I did—both hands in—'til my thumbs—needle-pinned—

Then I switched—to my fists—how are you…

Still so tight every day?

We’ve been under this sheet                 Hiding out from a storm—

But there’s no moisture in the breeze, 

And the light feels warm.

Baby, I think- the- storm's in you.

          [No Drums…]

I so believe in your strength, dear.         And your beau-ty.

Even when you’re afraid.

I have this singular duty,                        To the earth—and the trees—who I feed—

With the breeze—from my face—to keep looo—ving and breeea—

thing 'til my flesh falls away.

So I’m letting go your promises,            And filling my lungs—

I forgive you and I carry                         Every moment of us.

You said “Don’t- lie-" (Well) that’s the truth.

          [Drum break: Pf, ch-Pf, ch. Pf, ch-Pf, ch.]

          [Coda]

You said you’d water my garden.          But you do-on’t…

And still you wanted the same.

And if you wanted so bad,                      In a life that’s so hard—

You want to love your own body,          And the weeds in your yard.

Well, I- can’t- give that to you.

Camera phone ...

                                                  Taking a       picture                       of my face, 

                                             to remind    myself I                           still exist. 

                                     No one asked          “how are             you?” today,

                                So I posted “I'm here!”;   they’ll at least know this.

                   And maybe they’ll      judge me—           but I hope not. 

            And maybe they’ll     {heart} it,     and that’s like a “hey”?

       I could call all the hearts on my phone: {Like} that thought

(“Um, hello?” I would never—but it gets me through the day).

Ps ...

                                 OK, I think I got it:

       Do you remember when you were a kid?

                  And you met somebody you really liked,

                                                          who liked you too—

                                              And it feels like this bubble

                                        that you’re both blowing air into—

                    And you really want to reach out and touch it,

                                             but you know that it will pop.

                            So, even while the wind sweeps it away

                                         to spit-splash on an old swing,

There’s a weightless, breathless, tingling always about

                                   watching a thin rainbow smear,

                      stretched wide on the intangible air,

                                                  just floating?

                                          That’s it

                 That's why

            a note all

             blank

      signed

        my

name

Dog vs suicide ...

                                                                 Alarmed at about how relieving I found,

                                     in the kitchen, the dream of driving

 the skinny knife through my neck

                                                                    (toothpick through a sausage)—

           even the “Uh oh! No! Undo...”

          and warm choking on

            blood-spill through airways,

                    blip-blipping down a blue sweater, 

                              slipping under     a warm shirt,

                          beading in my belly button, 

                  pooling on the floor,

lightheaded falling into that pool—

                                                                    But really, I just wanted to eat, 

                                                       enjoy a state holiday afternoon without work.

              So I asked myself,

   Not at all a therapist,                     “Where does this self-harm dream start?” 

   Mm, wanting to escape?                           “Escape what.” Loneliness.

                                                                                “Say more” 

    I feel not connected...

                                                                  “Well then, DEFINITELY 

                                                                 eat your lunch outside today.”

   Okay! That was easy

(I’m such a good therapist)

                                                                             I go outside: 

                                                             neighbors are walking Morrison

                          (8months old—not puppy... not dog...)

       “My buddy!”      

  I say,

and set down my plate/cup on the porch slab

without even asking 'may-I.'

Then he sits                                                         “Good sit!”

Good sit, his moms say too.

He shoulder-melts down to one side,

rolls belly up                                               (little skyward sausage) 

                                                                       “Awe, my buddy”

I start petting him.

I can feel his energy amping,                      so I bring mine low:

                                                             “I get excited, too” I tell him—

I don’t want to die.

I want the world to rub my ears

And brush hands over my 

half-closed eyes

forever

  or as long

        as you 

               can  stay

Cat vs technology ...

You make me get off my phone.

       Protesting my non-presence,       driving

Sides of your                                defibrillator face (vrrrrr)           into my hands—

A call back                                from the cold depths

Of eye-glazing                        glows, button-press          trances,

          Focus-fraging                dings.

You don’t see value in this                   technology.

                       You don’t have       to say it:

       Rubbing              your head    against 

          the corner                of every                  screen and pad

         Like it’s best                   use is                              scratching,

                        And                                                      walking across—

                       flexed                                       glass, mashed buttons.

                                I                       have no counter-argument.

                                            You spent your days outside—

                                              long vision, warm skin.

                                   You never directly shame me,

                                   But never join in:   

                                   my red-eyes itching, 

                                        brain blue-light dazed.

                                                                                      Toe-pads        

                                                pressing  into my shirt, my belly goes soft.

                                                     I can’t          type this         and rest with you.

                                                              So I'll rest with you.

Haikus on Emerging (from confined spaces) ...

Eye pouch hangs—dark flesh—

Above ripe belly, around

Budding limbs: next comes soon

                    Clay cracks, spilling wet

                    One root—leaves a swollen pot,

                    Thins and dries, seeking...

Bands of light combing

Rows of faces in steel tubes

Skating down dark holes…

                              Low to high, quick wicks—

                              Heat warps, cracks; lungs fill with smoke

                              Smooth as air, but black

JK Life Principles - This Chapter's Additions ...

Rise for the fallen; dance for the solemn.

(We are privileged—as a species, as people with homes and friends, by our money, by our education, our ...—savor it and use it well. Sometimes actively in service, and other times inwardly in grateful memory of those who can't or won't. 

                                                                  This is honor.)

Always be saying goodbye.

(I once read a study—where children were asked to rank how thankful they felt for their parents; then to write for several minutes as though their parents were not alive, and they were remembering them; then to rank their feelings about their parents again...those scores went up markedly—to imagine something gone, is to remember concretely how precious it is. 

                                                                 This is gratitude.)

Oh no! Oh well.

(Feelings of fear or loss or regret or urgency... are spiritual trampolines. Not designed as pits to sink down into, but as collectors of energy to spring off of: into acceptance or farewell or repair or transition... 

                                                                 This is resilience.)

Give what you are happy Giving as a Gift. 

(How challenging is the simple act of saying, unconditionally – “What I have here, I give to you in trust and love, may it benefit you.” 

                                                                 This is kindness.)

Don’t promise future feelings.

(And don't ask for constancy in another person's feelings. Emotion is our body's health-response system: meant to move us toward or away, into circumstances that nurture our current equilibrium. To be safe, fed, restful, connected, fully alive and engaged—requires the constant change of emotions. It can feel terribly unsafe to believe that anyone's heart can turn away from or toward any cause or place or person, at any time ... but that is also the start of letting our own heart free with its wisdom to guide us to place where we will grow and be fed, spread roots and flourish. And genuinely wish others well on that same journey to find a home that feeds their spirit.

                                                                 This is respect.)

Be kind; be real; be honest.

(Unconditionally kind ~ even painful truths and forceful actions can be delivered with nurturing hands and toward healing outcomes. Unconditionally real ~ do you know who you are? Your motives, your passions, your patterns, your addictions/ afflictions/ intensities and your interests/ superpowers/ sensitivities? Start there: know that, admit that, embrace that, and share that ~ because no one has ever needed a false smile or bullshit praise or unlikely-to-deliver promise, who would not have benefitted more from just being in your genuine company. Unconditionally honest ~ of course, first considering that other person's readiness in that moment to understand, accept, and benefit from a truth; then considering how and when best to convey that truth; and finally being silent and holding to our center until it is ripe time to express this truth—be as honest in all company as we can be. 

                                                                 This is wholeness, 

                                                                     faithfulness, 

                                                                         integrity in character.)

If it’s not worth tackling outright, it’s definitely not worth moaning about under your breath.

(There is a time to actively engage against the forces in our environment: to speak out, to raise arms, to assert a power. It is a small portion of time. All other time is for being: to commune, to learn, to appreciate and enjoy. 

                                                                 This is equanimity.)

Care, accept, understand—all of that, together, is love.

(Love is unconditional. Anyone who places conditions on their love for others, has let go one of these parts: that witnessing your true fulfillment brings a joy and peace into my own heart; that believing in your innate capacity to thrive in our world relieves me of any anxious desire to control or limit your path; that seeing how deep your spirit goes, and how little of that I truly know, fills me with a curious desire to observe and learn you better. 

                                                                 This is compassion.)

It’s not what you do; it’s how you do it.

(For god or science, on the welcome stage or in a back room, mapping the journey or making the boot straps...

                                                                 This is kinship and 

                                                                     communion.)

Loving the burger ...

                                 I                                              don’t know about you,

                           but                                                             for me personally,

                       I do love hamburgers         in the deep & full sense of the word:

                             I love them       overcooked                     or underdone,

                           One hour        too long                                       in the sun,

                             With pickle juice seeping                            into the bun

                                  And dripping across         and     down my hand.

                             I love         the spirit                                  of the cow,

                        That once      grazed a field     (moving through me now),

                 With the wheat         and the lettuce leaf             that wholly shroud

                                    This         creature                 of the land.

                          I mean, I                            love you too,  

                          doubled over sick       and                     at a loss for words

                               or shining-eyed  and       head-over-heals sociable—

but also 

hamburgers.

Therapy in 10 years ...

                                           (Watching a life coach raising his 7yo daughter.)

“I have an idea—for an activity that we can do!” I said.

                                     He replied       “Daddy-Daughter time is at 4pm.

                                                                                  It’s not 4 yet.”

                                     It was 3:56.

                                    Dad set up a golf course for daddy-daughter time.

                                    Because he likes golf. 

                                    Then he took a phone call

         On his daddy golf course.

While I waited.

Dad times me when I brush my teeth.

         Once, he played a toothbrushing song; 

                                   I liked that better.

                                   But he said I didn’t brush my teeth well—

         and brought back the timer.

I told daddy that I wanted to pee. 

  He said

                                 “Why don’t you wait until later, then try to poop.

                                   Your farts smell like you need to poop.”

              So I waited.

I offered Josh some fruit from my lunchbox that I didn’t eat.

Dad said “I did a lot of work to cut up those fruits.”

I felt excluded by the kids next-door and screamed-and-cried outside.

         Dad took me inside and told me how

         embarrassed that made him

         in front of our neighbors.

I had a night terror. I don’t remember screaming the words

                           “Nooo, daddy, I’m sorry!!!” But

                                           Josh heard me. I have

                                                  night terrors a lot.

Dad ate a special brownie one night. 

      In a trance, he cut a watermelon,

      then just watched me and smiled 

      while I read a story to the adults in the room.

        For a few hours, 

              he forgot about time, 

                      and so did I.

                                  We were just—     together.

Dad said “Honey” 

40 times this morning.

         It doesn’t sound sweet

         when he says it

         like that.

Dad said “I want to acknowledge that you put your toys away.”

         It doesn’t feel warm

         when he says it

         like that.

I asked daddy

who’s on his phone

                                    and he said  “That’s not

                                                          your business. That’s my business.”

I was talking to Josh, 

and dad interrupted to tell me what Josh was saying.

                                   So I said     “I’m talking to Josh. 

                                                      And that’s my business, not your business.”

         Dad seemed really upset by that—

         I'm confused about why.

I ask permission 

Even with my free time,    “Dad,

                                          what can I play with?”

I put a 1-minute timer on my friend

         while she was eating a

                       mango.

I am always looking for ways to bend the rules, in a system of strict controls,

         to get more of what I want.

I am anxious, apologetic, and demanding. Home is a clock, a directive, a debate.

I have trouble feeling out what is genuine. “I hear you.” “Take it to completion.”

Dad sends me downstairs to “re-do” my knock    before I come up to his room.

As I leave, 

         he calls me back up, 

         to order me back down

         to *quietly* close his door.

Between controlled and loved—I don’t know which I feel more.