always so activating,
the summer months,
for me:
so much skin exposed,
flesh seemingly everywhere-
breasts
legs
midriffs
butt checks-
all as overwhelming
and stifling
as the humidity
and the heat
and that inner voice
incessant speak:
“cover up and hide,
yours is not a body
for display to the outside.”
Love, Now
In BeLoved relationship
now –
menopausal,
modern elder,
refined lines,
silvered hair.
More touch craved.
Intimacy curated.
Explorations of re-membered Souls.
Wanderings taken through dilated minds
and in bodies made soft, delicate
by the passage of time.
With gentle intentionality,
fierce penetration
catharsis
synchronization
of Hearts broken wide open repeatedly.
Conversations – rich, infinite, deep
while the wondrous sea
teases our entangled feet.
Meandering walks in The Untamed Woods,
silently communicating
as Kindreds are wont to do.
Nourished by
succulent food,
mystical tonics,
wild-crafted wines,
quiet evenings spent
luxuriously entwined
in sheer awe of The Big Sky.
A taste of Blessed Divinity at play:
you were always coming my way,
and I
preparing for you,
my wildest dreams
come true.
Marie’s Lamentation
The Mother gave birth
To three daughters
None of whom
Would ever bore another.
Two of the daughters –
The eldest and the youngest
No longer carry their uterus.
Two surgeries-
The one, reluctant to wake from Anesthesia’s deep slumber.
The other, she almost did not recover.
The only daughter with all organs intact,
Chose to walk a childless path.
The Mother
is sad
heartbroken
grief-ridden.
Blaming herself
for the end of the family line.
No legacy, only perceived decline.
“Why”” she asks, wailing at her Fate.
“Did I
in Life
make a horrendous mistake?”
family
family –
what does this word mean, really?
blood relations?
friendships?
resonance across space & time?
from the Latin word famulus,
denoting servant;
same root as familiar,
yet family can feel
more distant than stranger.
our people, our tribe,
our ride or die –
we so easily say,
but behave
often
in an entirely different way.
loneliness continues to rise
worldwide.
perplexed, we ask why
given so much connectivity.
might it be
because we
forget
how to be
how to do
family?
“Autobiography begins with a sense of being alone. It is an orphan form.”
― John Berger
human
human, you are multitudes –
elegant in essence,
an imperishable scent
and eternal resonance.
malleable and unpredictable;
always
shifting and morphing;
at once,
growing and dying,
unfolding and numbing,
emerging and regressing,
ordinary and exceptional,
embryo and silo;
an assemblage, one and the same –
yet, each unique, many different names.
human, you are
mystical, whimsical
curious, mysterious
practical, laughable
horrible, beautiful
radiant, tarnished
emotional, rational
gifted, stupid
immensely generous
and abundantly selfish;
transcendent and resistant,
so richly nourished
and yet stunningly famished:
trickster and teenager,
sages and fools –
humans, you are all
multitudes.
hold on
i am tired, Lord.
hold on.
hold on for what?
for Me.
i don’t know that i can…
you can; you have.
i am tired, Lord.
I know; hold on.
the white space
the white space
the Silence
in the edges:
an introduction
to further exploration;
deference to that place
of bliss-full ignorance;
a demonstration
of great humility;
a re-minder that
you
are not
exactly
like me;
the space to
debate,
deliberate,
contemplate,
re-evaluate
assumptions long made;
liminal space,
that white space
dwelling
seemingly innocently
in the unchartered edges.
humanity
.
why are we
in such a hurry –
always –
to leave,
to fix,
to judge,
to eat,
to “live”?
.
what is the origin
of the discomfort
to truly lean in,
to listen,
to stay,
to sit,
to be Still
in commUnity?
.
Alas, the contradictions
of a splintered humanity –
we say we crave
companionship,
that we are
profoundly lonely,
yet we tend to
scatter soon after we Gather.
we seem to be able
to contain only so much
life,
love,
time,
energy,
words,
presence,
silence.
.
why?
We Fall Down
I forget –
often –
just how much I am privileged
and blessed,
allowing The Darkness to rise
and My Light to then subside.
Ironically,
gratitude never ceases,
it remains steadfast,
knowing this resurrected Shadow shall too pass.
Surrendering,
I will remember:
we fall down,
become lost,
and are –
eventually –
re-found.
Letting go,
I slowly begin to dissolve
that desperate,
terribly frightened façade.
Breathing deeply
and in-tentionally,
re-leasing lineages of conditioning
and very old stories,
the tight knots
in heart and belly
begin to relax,
they unwind.
I return –
once again –
to some humble
Presence of mind.
a marriage: scene one (version two)
It is dusk.
Rapid rain drops forceful against glass, an angry wind, lightning followed by the thunder – startling in its force and depth.
From the outside looking in, a reflection of The Husband, standing tall, tense, erect.
He is staring, blankly, pass his reflection at the lights, skyscrapers, and rain. In the room, elegant and austere in its demeanor – only a faint light from a lamp to his right.
On his feet, tan burnished leather cap-toe shoes. On his body, a three piece impeccably tailored striped wool black suit. Hands in his pockets forcing his jacket open, reveals a vest framing a narrow waist; a navy-blue shirt is fitted perfectly to his broad chest and wide shoulders; a thick matching tie crafted in silk is expertly knotted around his neck, sitting just below a prominent Adam’s Apple. He wears initialed gold cuff links, an anniversary present from The Wife.
His face: serious,
Eyebrows scowling,
Jaw, tense.
Nostrils, flaring as he breathes slowly, deeply, deliberately.
Eyes, tender, sad, tangled in thought.
A loud sigh, then quickly and suddenly, his face falls into his chest.
Slowly, his hands slip out of his pockets and reach up to encapsulate his face.
His wedding band of silver and diamonds shimmers in the relative darkness.
“How did I get here?” he whispers. “How did we get here?”
A gentle knock on a door, luring him reluctantly to the present Moment.
“It’s me,” she whispers, her voice filled with joy and anticipation.
He looks up, turns his body as if by force, and fixes his gaze on the door, frozen.
Another knock, slightly louder than the first and a little less confident.
She hesitates; he deliberates.
A bit of a stalemate.
He finally gathers himself, walks to the door and – slowly – opens it.
Their eyes meet, their lips smile.
She exhales; he inhales.
Both relax just a bit.
He reaches for her hand and gently draws her in, closing the door.
As her eyes adjust, she takes in the space – a large, elegant living room occupied with two massive couches facing each other and separated by an intricate modern chandelier that hangs low from the high ceilings, a baby grand piano, coal black and glistening, is framed by a wall of windows, floor to ceiling bookcases, and art everywhere – paintings and sculptures – a distinctly masculine vibe emanates from both the room and her host.
She continues to study the room, beyond the couches, a bar comes into view as if an oasis. A sudden urge for drink, for calm and grounding.
He is studying her intently, standing still, by the door, hands in his pockets.
The only sounds in the room – rain against the windows, the occasional howl of the wind outside, abated breaths.
She begins to remove her coat (long, fitted, soft black leather). As if by cue, he is behind her, helping.
He takes her coat; she moves toward the bar.
Her attire: a shiny cobalt blue, two-piece silk tailored business suit – slim jacket paired with a pencil skirt that fell a few inches above her knees. On her feet, four-inch black pumps. No jewelry. Manicured hands, minimal makeup. Her dark black hair pulled back in a tight bun.
“What would you like to drink?” he asks, joining her at the bar.
She settles into plush stool, feeling its softness on her hands and the back of her thighs.
He is behind the bar, waiting and watching.
She looks fully into his eyes for the first time since arriving, searching…
“I’ll have what you have,” she says – never losing contact with his eyes.
They smile and blush. He breaks their gaze to pour their drinks.
Every move he makes, she notes and remembers why she is here, why she is taking such a risk for the first time in her life.
“He is worth it,” she thinks. Her heart softens, her smile broadens as she accepts his drink.
Their fingers touch and eyes soon follow suit.
“Cheers!” she says.
“Cheers!” he responds, himself beginning to relax, just a bit.
The potency and complexity of the cognac are a welcome to both.
Feeling somewhat fortified, he says: “I have never in twenty years, been unfaithful to my wife.” Another, fuller hit of the expensive spirit.
“I have never even considered a married man,” she responds, and quickly takes in a mouthful of the cognac, swallowing quickly, craving the subtle burning at the back of her throat.
Their eyes meet, anxious smiles on the surface, desire simmering underneath.
That desire propelled them here today, arising – subconsciously – from the moment they first met, three years ago when she arrived at his firm, adeptly lured away from a formidable competitor by his younger brother and partner.
She quickly became an invaluable asset, working long hours by his side – they, the first ones into the office, and always the last ones to leave.
Professional and respectful always, she had met his wife, and admired her a great deal – creative, smart, funny, and utterly fearless, she perceived His Wife.
He had met her longtime boyfriend and got along with him famously. So much so, there were many double dates. Fun, memorable evenings – hours filled with exquisite food, excellent wine, intense, endlessly flowing conversations, and so much laughter.
One day – exactly a year ago – it all changed. She felt it coming. Her boyfriend decided to leave, citing the need for a more traditional relationship, one where the woman did not willingly work twice as many hours as her man and earned substantially more.
Tethered to no one and now a vested partner in The Husband’s firm, she worked harder, giving her all to work she adored and found profoundly meaningful.
He, too, invested more of himself to work. They would often share late dinners and early morning breakfasts.
Professionalism and respect continued between them, although it was becoming more and more challenging – she grew closer to The Husband, becoming a confidant as he pulled farther away from The Wife, his first love going back to University, and the mother of his children – twin boys now in college.
One late night – just last week – as they prepared to leave the office building to their respective homes, there was a passionate, lingering kiss as if long destined, a wave they could not contain.
No words were spoken nor plans made aloud.
There was an impending and important business trip that had been diligently planned six months earlier.
And here they are now, at the bar inside a dimly lit hotel suite, silently taking each other in. Outside, a cacophony of sound and sight: rain, wind, lightning, and thunder.