Free & Clear ...

You can always run away.

Just one more time—

                                         Like when your family moved,

                                              Miles beyond your reputation.

                      You worked out every day,

                      Until “Remember me?” made her eyes go wide.

                            “I didn’t recognize—you look…different.”

You swallowed spotted fungi & paper tabs,

Then crawled to the bathroom, sucking air as loud as an ocean cave,

Looked over the sink and introduced yourself:

          “That’s an alien; that’s an animal. I don’t think we’ve ever met.

            I. Am. Thisss.         {breathe} Are you too?

                                               Heh—right on.”

           You left a relationship,

                     heart flaking scabs, identity half-custody, soul geriatric,

                               And so dazedly climbed somewhere stinging hot/deadly high,

                               here traded smiles with another sweat-salted pair of cheeks and

                     remembered “Wait, I’m still 23.”

                               You drank numb your anxieties,

                               Until every moment not drunk was a buzzing tide-foam

                                         of “OhshitOhShitOhSHIIIT…”

                                         incoming.

                                                   You ate only vegetables and meditated,

                                                              Until every moment was Simple, still—

                                but that was unfamiliar, weirdly peaceful, lacking monsters, SO!

                 You went downtown and got in a fist-fight,

                  started talking politics and debating religion,

                          Until everything was a war of Right and Wrong.

You shaved, grew a beard, shaved again, ate bacon-wrapped IPAs,

ran off that bouncing sub-naval skin purse,

           Until you didn’t care what anyone thought,

           as long as you liked you—

                     and you weren’t 23 | or even 32 |anymore.

You can always run away,

Just one more time—

But what if?

What if you were free & clear?

Can you even imagine

Being fully you?

In every direction:

                                There is no kiss long enough,

                                       No sunset orange bold enough,

                                No loud laugh limb-jiggling violently enough

to convey

Everything in you, at any moment, conscious or auto-driven,

with and through the

once-you/will-you…

So pick a day.

Someone will call you crazy.

Someone will put you in jail.

Someone will laugh “that’s refreshing”

And if no one posts your bail…

           At least you were real.

You’ll sit on the cold floor.

Slow down all your dream wheels to nothing.

And feel.

—just one more time.

Sonny...

Sonny Liston. American boxing titan. He stood up for himself, took care of those around him. The public didn't like his brutish power or his desperate criminal past. So they made it his future, his fate, and his death. In private, with trusted friends or children or his wife, he was warm and gentle, smart and humble. May 1932 (Sand Slough, Arkansas) - December 1970 (Las Vegas, Nevada).

I don't look at you until I have to,

                                                             and then I use both hands.

On predators with gloves, or microphones.

                                                                          I wear scars on my back

                                                                        From when father thrashed

                                                                                   So I'd pull his plow.

Look at me now.

                                                           I rode tracks to another city

                                                                 at 13, on my own.

                                                 Where kids laugh at me,

                                                       quiet and solid—

dwarfing books.

                  Thugs and thieves smile at me.

                                  They like

                     my looks.

                                                                For God, I am rooted in the ground.

                                                      Jab a left,                                    throw a right:

                                               Press the air,                                    make them sway.

                                          Then hard stares,                       tight jaws

                                           all go soft.

                                            If I just lean into them

                                           in this quiet, honest way.

                                                                                              You don't trust me,

                                                               fixed on owning my path to survive.

                                                                                   Don't like me either,

  sliding home with                                          both hands on the prize.

But I am your champion:

                        I rejoice at                         unbroken children.

                                  I take                  the policeman's gun.

                                    Her                  gentle man.

                                Your              outcast son.

A Moment of Silence to Breathe ...

after the murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery and so many more, and the uprisings sweeping across the country ~ 2020 June 2 (also pictured: Emmett Till, Tamir Rice, Alex Pretti, Renee Good, Geraldo Lunas Campos)

It is a deeply human, and valid, response:

To feel pain, in our bodies, for others' pain;

To feel fear, at witnessing the mouth → fist disconnect

Of those whom we most desire to trust

(our neighbors, peace officers, national leaders);

And to feel anger for others' experiences of unnecessary loss.

It is understandable that people are rising up,

Using the language of riots where simple and direct words

Have proven time and again to be too-little, too-late

In that dire moment (“I can't breathe,” “I'm unarmed,”

“I am not who you imagined”):

So bodies and voices are amassing before the next ___ ,

Desperate to protect

Citizens we do not know yet

From becoming more unwilling martyrs:

Who mark on the road

How unsafely far we'll need to go

From where we are to where our cities look

Truly by and for us: our faces in the halls of power;

Our alarm calls answered before they fall silent

On our streets, in our homes.

Let us take a moment of silence

Together, in the midst of this

Terrifying turbulence—

And breathe.

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 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. No demands attached.

(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. Knowing that anyone's heart can turn away from-or-toward ANY cause or place or person, at any time, can feel terribly unsafe ... but that is also the start of letting our own heart free with its wisdom to guide us to places 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, you 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 others' 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 time is ripe to express this truth—but in that time, 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 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 a public stage or in a back room, mapping the journey or making the boot straps – you can do that singing or raging, with open ears or stubborn force, to support others or to control them. So, of key concern is not “What's your flag/label/creed/identity by choice or circumstance?” but “Where is your mind/heart/spirit when you raise your hands to act?” If you're walled up in a lone tower of delusion and control, then your separateness and desperation will spread pain through yourself and others. If you are doing your best to stay sensitive and responsive, then you can be gentle and useful in this world ...

                                                                 This is kinship and 

                                                                     communion.)