Family

chilling

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could not get warm,

could not sleep.

body stiff,

clinging to itself.

mind, racing;

heart, broken. 💔

parricide –

in what state of mind

is such a thing possible?

over and over and over

to rip into the flesh

that bore you,

to hear their cries,

screams,

pleas,

to feel their warm blood,

to witness

Life

leave the forms

from which you came.

chilling.

what we are capable of,

we, humans,

chilling.

the fragility of our psyche,

stunning.

we all walk on delicate ice

internally.

what is considered reality

can –

does –

suddenly

crack!

we fall in

deep,

become frozen.

and there

commit acts

so devastating

they ripple

far and wide. 😢

Message Blocking is Active

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blocked 🚫

mere months

after The Transition

of he who was The Force

keeping family afloat,

tethered,

ever so delicately.

without him,

shedding,

the masks came off,

niceties abandoned.

“Love” disintegrated

to the point of blocking 🚫

take nothing personally.

still, sad,

feels abrasive,

like a middle finger 🖕

borne of deep hurt

a sense of disrespect,

expectations unmet.

The Circle 🔵 dwindling

by death

and, now, blocks 🚫

everything

so tender,

tenuous,

ephemeral.

Yolanda

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“Are you homeless?”

she asked,

penetrating my self immersion.

“No, why?

I responded, a tad vexed.

“Because of your bag,”

she said,

pointing to the shopping cart

I was wheeling behind me.

“I am homeless,”

she shared.

I stopped,

emerged from my shell.

We stood

face to face

under a first quarter moon,

meeting each other.

Yolanda was her name –

engaging,

loquacious,

deeply rooted in her faith,

enamored of the Celestial Realms.

She spoke of harrowing experiences in the local shelters,

of the inconsiderate and dangerous conditions  –

especially

for a woman

alone.

Just a year ago,

Yolanda had a home,

a husband,

was employed with a car.

A divorce rendered her without,

leading to her sleeping

outside

for the first time

on a frigid and blustery night.

Yolanda alluded to

grown children,

yet gave thanks

only to the kind strangers

who kept her fed

and still alive.

“I will pray for you,”

I offered humbly.

And I have,

and will continue to

pray for Yolanda

and all in our human family

on their own

out

in the bitter cold.

This is not the way it’s supposed to be!

We are each other’s keeper!

Indeed, we are each other!

When did we forget this?

No mere coincidence,

my time with Yolanda.

Divinely orchestrated,

potent seeds planted.

An assignment awaits.

The Wisdom of Innocence

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she teaches me –

my Little Niece–

a Guru from the day we met –

months into a pandemic.

she taught me

then

the feel of unadulterated Love –

startling in its immediacy and potentcy!

she continues to exemplify

curiosity and Surrendered play.

Innocence demands cultivating

patience and acceptance;

necessitates

being

there

fully

now

in Its Presence.

Innocence is exquisitely perceptive –

cannot hide for long

behind the “adult” masks.

she humbles me,

de-constructs me,

my Little Niece.

forever grateful 🙏

forever changed 🙏

Mother is Husband

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“I am your husband,”

said The Mother

to The Daughter.

Not entirely an untruth, 

as Mother dwells in household

with her eldest Daughter.

They share expenses

and secrets.

They are each other’s “somebody”

the unspoken priority,

the new nuclear family,

the what remains

when what was The Core

splinters off

never to return.

Pop: Year Nineteen

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nineteen years

since you transitioned

to The Other Realms

no father, no more

like yesterday

when you left

in the arms of the woman you Love

on the bed of your and hers first born

a massive stroke

quickly

dramatically

graciously

commenced your way back Home

your Heart the last to go

fittingly

as It defined you

and, hence, me,

your namesake

thank you

for coming to me

in dream

recently

a rare occurrence

so cherished 🙏

you are missed

here

your Presence still felt

here

there really is no ending

simply a change to the scenery

ode to Caregivers

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many reasons
the choice
to care
for another –
love,
guilt,
greed,
obligation,
tradition,
expectation.
regardless,
this work
takes much
in and from.
it tests patience
and frays boundaries,
can become
all encompassing
and, at times,
heartbreaking.
critical, caregiver,
to care for yourself
in equal measure.
fill your cup
to then pour from,
eat with abandon
to then feed
with boundless compassion.
.
🙏
.
❤️

family

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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

Iron

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I will not carry your Iron,
I will no longer bear your Burdens,
I shall not strive to Redeem you,
I will only Thank you,
for being the vehicle of this birth,
the channel through which this River flowed
into illusion, destined to forget
and then
to remember.
I was to spread these Wings
perhaps wider than was allotted to you,
parents, who did what was your story to do,
to “love” as you were “loved”.
Alas, ancestral trauma,
we drag it from
generation to generation
iteration to iteration
until it dissipates,
withers,
is transformed
back into the Love
from which it
ultimately
came.
All trauma is golden
at its core –
was crafted in service
and protection.
Without it –
likely no ancestry,
no bloodlines,
no opportunity to
re-member;
no journey to take
back to where it all began…
I will not carry your Iron,
I will play
my Role
in melting it.

Inspired by and indebted to Mary Oliver’s stunning poem, Flare
“my mother, alas, alas,
did not always love her life,
heavier than iron it was
as she carried it in her arms, from room to room,”


RED

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Mixed emotions,
my relationship with Red–
the color of
sensuality and menstruation-
of sin and punishment-
as I was taught.
Red did not hide-
neither docile nor shy.
Red, to me,
embodied extroversion-
loud and insufferable!
Beginning,
in the latter chapter of life,
to warm to Red some-
to appreciate her contours
and taste her complexity.
She’s beckoning me, Red–
an invitation to finally
stand
firmly
in my Power.
“It’s always been there,”
Red says.