Figure and Ground

Unknown Artist

how do i begin to paint

this picture?

here

now

today

in thought

in sensation

in body

you are

like yesterday

and tomorrow

and here

am i

the phobic lover

the pillar of organs

 and bone

waiting

for this stiff, unyielding heart

which forgets—time and again—to pulse

to curl into the totality of you

and ease

Where I've Been...

Unknown Artist

It’s the first day of fall. Yes, it really is! And though I’ve been back from my summer break for a while, now, I haven’t been back to my blogs. Truth be told, I was aching for an extended separation from technology. So, I took one. I’ve been doing the bare minimum, in that respect, i.e., sending and responding to important emails, taking care of educational and professional needs, and other such things.

On the personal end, I’ve just been so beautifully inside my world… so embedded in the realness of it. It’s almost as if I’ve been rediscovering the world I live inside… and the world that lives inside me. That’s not to suggest that these two worlds are separate from one another. They’re not. And so, I’ve been reconnecting with myself… and with my world. What a delicious dance it’s been!

How spiritually massaging it was to distance myself from my everyday existence, and take a break, for a while… only to return to that existence with freshly etched dreams and expectations. But, there’s just so much to do! So, while my break is truly over, I continue to inch my way back into all of the usual and habitual activities I like to engage. My coursework. My clients. My clinical papers. My students. And, a research study. But then, there’s room for pockets of free time, as well. There must be…

And so, on this first day of Fall, 2013:

I stop and watch the dust in the air swirl around… and settle.

I observe the leaves as they morph from green to gold.

I feel the cool nip of the morning air against my arms.

I smell fall... and winter in its trail.

I find pockets of empty space... and here I rest.

I allow the empty space to remain… empty.

I sit inside myself… and stay… for a spell.

I write… and write… and write some more.

I breathe… and breathe… and breathe some more.

I recline… inside the unknown.

I open myself up to the moment that is here… and now.

I lean into the enchantment this moment delivers… and it leans into me.

I am in this moment.

I... am... this moment.

As the ever inspiring and ever stirring poet, Mark Strand, once wrote:

Each moment is a place you’ve never been.

Now, that’s a truth!

Oh, and by the way… it’s lovely to be back!

Now, that’s another truth! :-)

Temple

Overflow, Andrew Wyeth

Hold tight to me now, for

You remain you, My Heart.

And I? I remain unchanged.

The arc of the flesh glows emerald.

The surging breath pumps amber.

For you, My Heart, I sing

A song entwined in healing.

But, then… what song isn’t

A search for a cure?

I grasp for images, dressing them

With my humid fingerprints.

I sweep my gaze across the bare window.

Where am I? What do I want?

This Here is mine.

I fill my mouth with the nurture of it.

In a distant Here,

A woman waits, watching the clock.

Which do you prefer? She says.

The past, or the future?

I want to ask,

Don’t I have another choice?

Ancient prayers still harbor powers.

Carry me across the river.

I open the doors to you,

My Temple.

I breathe my prayers for

Earth. Air. Sky.

Carry me…

What will I do once I've received?

Via Somniorum

Viaggio, Gianni de Conno

This, too, was a dream:

the eyeless grasp of limbs

to the beckoning window frame

the alchemy of finding and

grounding the unexplored

our bellies like fluttering moths

our palms drunken with vision

your breath all over my shoulders

my teeth all over your spine

the crossing of

squares of solitude

the dancing of

lanterns on water

the . . . oh, but

i no longer know what to say

without betraying myself

whose poetries are these that

hover above this canyon of light?

i’ll leave my sighs

at the doorstep, my love

i’ll fall in love with you

just one gasp more

i am filled with arrows

not suffering, my love

but refuge

not blood

nor wound

nor scar, my love

but delivery

not . . . must i say more?

whose poetries are these?

let my voice rest inside

the coils of this insolent silence

but know this . . .

i cannot turn away from you

so many anchors leap from your eyes

i seek you inside the as yet unwitnessed

the ink glistens at the tip of the pen

the dream swims at the lip of desire

whose poetries…?

my mouth will never desert this page