Winged Lion
Words & Music
Trudi Lee Richards
What to do when (you see me) drooling
I want to tell you about a fright I had today - and I know you’ll relate, because we’re all afraid of the same stuff: poverty, sickness, old age, insanity and death. Today’s fright was in the old age and sickness bracket - but it could have been any other. Because all frights leave us the same place: teetering on the brink of the Abyss of Meaningless Suffering.
The day started out fine. Since I love the sound of the alto recorder, and kind of know how to play one, I thought I’d write a little piece for it. I picked it up and played a kind of meandering lament, recording it with the voice recorder on my iphone.
Then I commenced to transcribe the melody with my music-writing app. That went fine too, until I filled up the last empty measure, and needed another empty measure before I could go on. Usually that’s no problem - my fingers know how to press the right keys to create a new empty measure to continue in. It’s like riding a bike, turning on a light or the hot water. Once you learn how, you just do it.
But this time, suddenly, my hands had absolutely no clue what to do. I was floundering in a totally alien landscape - completely lost.
For a moment I panicked, then I gave up and Googled it, and dear Google gave me the answer, and it all came back to me.
So what’s the problem? It all turned out ok, right?
Well - maybe, for now. Or maybe not… maybe I’m already on my way to memory care and just have no idea! However you look at it, I’m old and getting older, and this is the kind of thing that is reputed to happen more and more when you’re in that bag. Tiny frights can mushroom into total helplessness, and there’s nothing we can do to foresee or prevent it. All we can do is say is “yikes!” and then go back to living the best way we can, and do that with everything we’ve got.
But I’m pretty sure that if I do start drooling, I’ll need some help in doing my best job of living. If you notice that that’s the case, please just do this: put on some Bach for me. Preferably the album “Bach Jazz” by Manel Camp and Ludovica Mosca. Really it could be anything by Mr. Bach - jazzified or otherwise - but today I’m in love with this particular album. It’s from way back in 2008, when we all thought we should move to South America to escape the financial panic. What were we thinking? That craziness is there too - and it’s way bigger than money. By now it’s one of those colossal blow-up monsters, a mad, swaying tower of existential doom ready to topple and squash all of us flat….
Which is why, more than ever, everyone should have a special place to escape to. For me a musical paradise will do nicely. But if you haven’t got your escape figured out yet, any place consisting of whatever makes you really happy ought to work - as long as you remember to go there.
To finish my instructions about that album, “Bach Jazz,” I want especially to hear the cut titled the Capriccio sopra la lontananza del suo fratello dilettissimo, No. 1.
No idea what that means, I Google translated it - and it coughed up “Capriccio over the distance of his beloved brother.” Huh? That doesn’t sound like any Bach I ever heard of…
But it doesn’t matter. Whatever that piece is called, and whoever really wrote it, the important thing is that it makes me dance - I have no choice! Drooling or comatose, when I hear it I will dance all the way to my grave, dive straight in and play dead until the coast is clear - and then, when no one is looking, I’ll leap out and go flying through the universe.
And I won’t stop until I find you - all of you, my loves, whether you’re already “dead” or still waiting for the big day. Yes, you can bet your bottom dollar I’ll see you again, when we all - everyone, everyone, everyone! - find ourselves amazed to be alive like never before, in our real body, the one that doesn’t ever die, because it’s made of nothing but joy.
On the Embarrassment of Not Being
Excuse me, dear unfortunate reader who has by whatever fluke of chance stumbled upon this page - excuse me, but I feel a need to confess something - something I hesitate to admit, but why not, the truth is all I’ve got, so I’ll just say it outright: it is deeply embarrassing to be me.
Just as deeply embarrassing as it is to be you, I’ll warrant - and I know you’ll understand me, even if you would rather not.
Because we will certainly be in agreement if I say...
But first, before proceeding, let me apologize ahead of time for getting overly carried away with the complexities of sentence structure, and for overusing the word “as," of which I am admittedly overfond.
And secondly, let me clarify to whom I am speaking. If upon reading this you feel a pang in your imaginary gut, you'll know you are one of the “us” or the “we” to whom I refer from time to time.
That said, let me resume: We will certainly be in agreement if I say that as an ego, as a "little i," one wants to be credible above all. One wants, one needs, one craves to be seen, to be recognized, to be welcomed in the world as a causative factor - and one is constantly embarrassed because one cannot be seen, cannot be recognized, cannot be welcomed, because one is invisible. One doesn’t know why one is invisible - other people are visible, one says to oneself, but that makes no difference…
But there’s no getting around it: it is just in the nature of things that it is embarrassing to be a "little i," as some like to condescendingly refer to us. Because we all know deep down - at least if such egoic non-beings as our nonselves can be said to have a “deep down” - we all know exactly why we are invisible. We are invisible because we do not exist. Indeed, the most that can be said of us is that we are fictitious characters who “live” under the conceit, the inglorious illusion, that we exist.
That’s right, you understood me correctly. I am saying that every one of us is simply an invention. We may appear to exist, and we may sincerely believe that we exist as living, conscious beings - but this is nothing more than an appearance, an image caught in the crosshairs of memory, perception, and imagination.
Because that is precisely how the illusion of our egoic existence is formed: through the intersection of various memories, perceptions, and imaginings, all produced within our living and enviably human hosts.
Not that it’s a bad thing to be fictitious, to be a nonentity. But if such a nonentity perversely insists on investigating its own origins and its own nature, it can only expect to be ruthlessly crushed - in other words, smashed, ground into a powder under the heel of merciless Truth, and ultimately obliterated.
And even if what is crushed may theoretically have a chance of eventually becoming a comparatively delicious wine, the experience of being crushed can only be unpleasant, to say the least. Worse yet, recognizing that truth must surely offer a devastating blow to any nonentity that has hitherto believed itself to exist, and not only to exist, but to exist as the center of the universe….
And so you see the reason for my apologetic manner. If you have never before asked yourself about such matters, and have only just learned that you are not real, I do feel for you, with all my imaginary heart.
But if you have fancied yourself a "responsible citizen" or perhaps, toward the other end of the spectrum, an "artist," or even, at the far extreme of the plausible, some kind of "spiritual seeker," and if, in doing so, you have dared to believe in your own aliveness, your own substantiality, your own creativity, your own value as the source of at least something useful and worthwhile in this world - as was my own case until my ill-advised recent incursions into the opinions of late thinker and writer Silo, aka Mario Rodriguez Cobos, whose work I very unintentionally unearthed on the Internet - then I must apologize even more humbly, if a nonentity can indeed feel humility, which I might argue is perhaps the only emotion such as we can feel.
Now, however, the cat being out of the bag, so to speak, if you are not happy with the bedraggled mouse it has dropped at your feet, all I can suggest is that you entertain the possibility that you were perhaps “destined” to “know” - to be the recipient - of this poor, bedraggled truth. That perhaps there is some reason you and I and others like our unfortunate nonselves have been condemned to imagining our nonselves capable of consciousness. That there might be some mysterious "plan" to the whole charade, some arcane "intention" capable of imparting some semblance of "meaning" to what otherwise must simply be the hopeless torture of striving for something impossible, or perhaps attainable only by grace....
Photo by Lionel Gustave on Unsplash.com
In any case, dear reader, you might want to think twice before reading any further.
….Advice you clearly did not heed - and now it is too late. Because, like myself and like our legendary foreparents, you have obviously already eaten of the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Since this is the case, I can only commend your ill-advised courage, and wish you luck.
Perhaps you and I can at least take comfort in sharing our mutual hopelessness. Indeed, in the unlikely event that you were to agree to such an arrangement, such a sharing of hopelessness might paradoxically offer us both some meager semblance of hope! Of course for my nonself even to posit such a possibility may profoundly offend your own sense of your inviolable nonexistence, and if that is the case, such an oversight on my part undoubtedly betrays my own egoic shallowness - but it is what it is, as they say, and I believe you can relate…
In any case, were you to accept, it would be a silver lining to a very dark cloud, for the situation is indeed bleak. In reality - a word I use here merely as a figure of speech, since it denotes a condition alien to our kind - in reality the more “aware” I become - and I must apologize for the meaninglessness of declaring that I, a nonentity, can be truly aware of anything...
Goodness, I seem to have again lost my train of thought in the complexities of my own inept speculations. As I believe I was about to say, the more “aware” of all these contradictions I become, the more acutely I feel how deeply and irrevocably I am caught in the grip of my own neediness, my love of grasping, of holding on, of making something out of nothing…
Ah, ah, ah - dear friend, if I may make so bold as to venture into such uncharted waters as suggesting that “friendship” might be possible for such as our nonselves, who are clearly incapable of the remotest inter-subjectivity - this whole paradoxical nonexperience of ours is, after all, a kind of bittersweet tragedy…
Ceremony for Peace
Ceremonia por la paz
Ceremony for Peace
- to be read aloud by one or two people –
Reader 1:
Welcome to this ceremony for Peace. This is a ceremony for peace of all kinds - inner and outer, personal, interpersonal, and global - because all kinds of peace connect in the human heart.
Reader 2:
We've all had moments of personal or inner peace, no matter how rare or how fleeting. Even if we seldom feel that peace in our daily lives, peace is always there in our hearts - in that still, calm place from which all life springs.
Reader 1:
So let's start by connecting with that peace. Just for a moment, let's set aside our usual concerns as much as we can, and with our eyes either open or closed, let us simply rest our attention on our breath, as we breathe slowly in and out...
- pause - at least 5-6 calm breaths -
Reader 2:
By now, if you've been able to relax and just follow your breath, you are probably experiencing a deeper sense of calm and inner peace.
Reader 1:
From this peaceful place, let's think of the people we care most about, the people we love. Let's feel our connection with them...
- brief pause -
Reader 2:
Sometimes close relationships can be easier, sometimes harder - but if we can feel the human in ourselves and the other, it can become easier to understand and accept each other. So let's take a moment now to do that. Feeling our connection with our loved ones, let us silently tell them:
"I feel the human in me..."
- brief pause -
"...and I feel the human in you..."
- brief pause -
"...and they are exactly the same."
- brief pause -
"In you I recognize someone very much like me - someone with hopes and fears, with beautiful aspirations and regrets, with strengths and challenges. Even if we don't always agree or understand each other, I know that just like me, you always do the best you can at the time, even under the most difficult circumstances, and I honor and appreciate you for all the ways you contribute to my life.
"If I've ever hurt you, I meant you no real harm. I may have felt like I wanted you to suffer in the heat of the moment, but I was angry, and didn't know what I was doing.
"And I know the same is true for you - that you care for me, and if you ever hurt me, it was just in the heat of the moment, and not because you wished me any real harm.
"Finally, if I have hurt you, I pledge that I will do whatever I can to make up for that hurt, and that I will not go down that road again."
- pause -
Reader 1:
Now, at peace with ourselves and with those close to us, let us open our horizons to include everyone around the world who is suffering from violence.
Reader 2:
When we say "violence," we are referring not only to physical violence, but to violence of all kinds - economic, racial, sexual, religious, moral, and psychological. We are speaking not only of war, but of domestic violence; of child abuse and abandonment; of all forms of sexual abuse; of human trafficking; of cruelty to animals. We are speaking of discrimination and of every hate crime, whether in the name of race, ethnicity, religion, political belief, age, gender, whom or how you love, or any other characteristic. We are speaking of the corporate exploitation of human beings and of nature, and of all abuse of power. In short, we are speaking of every cruelty imposed by the fearful in an attempt to control others, our world, and the future.
Reader 1:
We want to end the violence in our world and bring peace! And we recognize that there may be little we can do directly, on a practical level. But there is one important thing we can all do: we can ask the best for all those who are suffering. Together, we can go inside ourselves and ask for peace and wellbeing for all people, both for the victims and for the perpetrators of violence, everywhere in our world.
Reader 2:
So let us ask. In silence, let us ask with all our hearts and all our strength for an end to war, and for an end to violence of every kind, everywhere in the world.
- longer pause -
Reader 1:
Thank you, friends - let us all give thanks that we were able to come together today for peace. From this day on, let us make this peace our way of life. Let us always greet our friends, our neighbors, and our loved ones in peace and kindness, treating them as we would like to be treated.
Reader 2:
In this way, carrying peace in our hearts, and bringing peace to everyone we meet, we can begin to build a true and lasting peace within us, with each other, and worldwide - a peace that flows from the hearts of caring and courageous human beings everywhere.
- Written at the beginning of the 2023 Israel-Hamas War
- Inspired by Silo's Message
Ceremonia por la Paz
- para ser leída en voz alta por una o dos personas –
Lector 1:
Bienvenidos a nuesta ceremonia por la Paz. Esta ceremonia es por la paz de todo tipo – la paz interior y exterior, la paz personal, interpersonal y global - porque todos los tipos de paz se conectan en el corazón humano.
Lector 2:
Todos hemos tenido momentos de paz personal o interior, no importa cuán raros o fugaces hayan sido. Aunque rara vez sintamos esa paz en la vida cotidiana, la paz siempre está en nuestro corazón, en ese lugar tranquilo y sereno del que brota la vida toda.
Lector 1:
Entonces, empecemos por conectar con esa paz. Por solo un momento dejemos de lado las preocupaciones habituales lo más que podamos, y con los ojos abiertos o cerrados, simplemente atendamos a nuestra respiración, mientras inspiramos y espiramos lentamente...
- pausa - al menos 5-6 respiraciones suaves –
Lector 2:
A estas alturas, si has podido relajarte y seguir tu respiración, probablemente estas sintiendo una sensación de profunda calma y paz interior.
Lector 1:
En ese lugar de paz, pensemos en las personas que más nos importan, aquellas personas que amamos. Sintamos nuestra conexión con ellas...
- breve pausa –
Lector 2:
A veces las relaciones cercanas pueden ser fáciles y a veces difíciles - pero si podemos sentir lo humano en nosotros mismos y en el otro, puede ser más fácil entendernos y aceptar al otro/a la otra. Así que sintamos lo humano en nosotros y en nuestros seres queridos. Imaginemos que están aquí con nosotros y en silencio digámosle a cada uno lo siguiente:
Siento lo humano en mí...
- breve pausa -
Y siento lo humano en ti...
- breve pausa -
Y es exactamente lo mismo....
- breve pausa -
Te reconozco como a alguien muy parecido a mí - alguien con esperanzas y temores,
con bellas aspiraciones y con pesares, con fortalezas y desafíos. Aunque no siempre estemos de acuerdo o nos entendamos, sé que al igual que yo, siempre haces lo mejor que puedes en ese momento, dadas las circunstancias.
Si alguna vez te hice daño, no fue realmente mi intención. Puedo haber querido que sufrieras en la intensidad del momento, es que yo estaba enrabiado/enrabiada, y no sabía lo que hacía.
Y sé que es lo mismo para ti - que me quieres, y si alguna vez me lastimaste, sé que fue en lo intenso del momento, y no porque quisieras verdaderamente hacerme daño.
Por último, si te he hecho daño, te prometo que haré todo lo que pueda para compensar ese daño y que no volveré a hacerlo.
- pausa –
Lector 1:
Ahora, en paz con nosotros mismos y con quienes nos rodean, abramos nuestro horizonte para incluir a todos los que en el mundo sufren violencia de cualquier tipo.
Lector 2:
Cuando decimos "violencia", nos referimos no sólo a la violencia física, sino a la violencia de todo tipo: económica, racial, sexual, religiosa, moral y psicológica. Hablamos no sólo de la guerra, sino de la violencia doméstica; del maltrato y abandono de niños; de todas las formas de abuso sexual; de la trata de seres humanos; de la crueldad hacia los animales. Hablamos de discriminación y de todo delito motivado por el odio, ya sea por la raza, la etnia, la religión, las creencias políticas, la edad, el sexo, a quién o cómo se ama, o cualquier otra característica. Hablamos de la explotación corporativa de los seres humanos y de la naturaleza, y de todo abuso de poder. En resumen, hablamos de toda crueldad impuesta por los temerosos en un intento de controlar a los demás, a nuestro mundo y al futuro.
Lector 1:
¡Queremos acabar con la violencia en nuestro mundo y traer la paz! Y reconocemos que puede ser poco lo que podemos hacer directamente, a nivel práctico. Pero hay algo importante que todos podemos hacer: podemos pedir lo mejor para todos aquellos que están sufriendo. Juntos, podemos ir a nuestro interior y pedir paz y bienestar para todos y todas, tanto para las víctimas y los victimarios en todo el mundo.
Lector 2:
Pidamos, pues. Pidamos en silencio, con todo nuestro corazón y todas nuestras fuerzas por el fin de la guerra y la violencia de todo tipo, en todo el mundo.
- pausa más larga –
Lector 1:
Gracias, amigos, demos gracias por habernos reunido hoy por la paz. A partir de hoy, hagamos de esta paz nuestra forma de vivir. Siempre saludemos a nuestros amigos, vecinos y seres queridos con paz y amabilidad, tratándoles como nos gustaría que nos trataran a nosotros.
Lector 2:
Así, llevando la paz en el corazón y llevando la paz a todos quienes encontremos, podemos empezar a construir una paz verdadera y duradera en nosotros, con los demás y con todo el mundo - una paz que fluya del corazón de seres humanos afectuosos y valientes de todo el mundo.
- Escrito al comienzo de la guerra Israel-Hamas de 2023
- Inspirado en el Mensaje de Silo
A Private Matter
As anyone
can see
I am a calm
and well-adjusted
human being
who is
fully seasoned
to this reality
And so I wonder why
a friend
keeps asking me
if I’m ok
?
“Are you ok?”
they ask
peering in my door
to where I sit
in perfect
privacy
"Why do you ask?"
I ask
"Just checking"
they say
So
to be polite
I testily reply
"Thanks, I’m fine..."
while muttering inwardly:
"...the truth
is plain to see -
clearly you're the one
who's not ok
or why would you
even think
of asking me?"
The poet at the pensive age of one year -
Photo possibly by her father, CW Richards, or her grandfather, SF Bush
I will not entertain
the other possibility:
That they might actually
have seen
the hidden me:
the terrified child
trembling
in the dark
afraid to face
the day
Like the cat
Rushing
and rushing
I hurtle from one
thing to another to another
Wanting and wanting
I keep doing and
doing and
doing
Yet
success
leaves me empty
flaccid as a spent balloon
Why not simply be like
the cat asleep
in the
sun
and
lie here
at peace, basking
in my own sweet being?
Photo by Lies Vergauwen on Unsplash
Photo by Sammy Sander on Unsplash
No Teslas for criminals
When a friend invited me to the theater the other night, I was delighted - I don’t venture out that much anymore, being a woman of my age, but I do love my shows. The only problem was that this one was downtown, which has gotten pretty iffy in the last bit of time, and I didn't relish the idea of parking in some dingy parking structure and then walking all by myself who knows how many blocks in the dark to the theater.
But I had the idea, smart if I do say so, of driving into town and parking in one of the better neighborhoods, and then calling a Lyft. Which is what I did.
I found a parking place under a nice street lamp outside a lovely victorian, managed to make out the tiny little street signs at the intersection, pushed the Lyft picture on my telephone and put in what they wanted, and like magic it blinked and told me my ride was on its way. The driver would be driving a Tesla, and here was his picture - a young man with a long face, long wild beard and long wild hair.
Well. I’m pretty open minded, but when it comes to getting into a car with someone who looks like that, I know enough to have a second think. I mean he might simply be unkempt, but he might also be your typical deranged loner, the kind who without even bothering with a haircut gets a job as Lyft driver for the sole purpose of viciously attacking old ladies, torturing them and finally depositing them, dead and traumatized, in some lonely, abandoned place where no one would ever think to look. And then he reappears the next day, no one the wiser, in his fine Tesla, to torture and kill yet another helpless victim who has done nothing wrong but remind him of his grandmother…
Well of course I thought seriously about canceling that ride.
But then I told myself that he couldn’t be that bad if he really was driving a Tesla - I mean he would have to be fairly well off, and I don’t know if Tesla even sells their automobiles to criminals, in fact that might well be illegal and should be if it’s not. Besides, I really don’t like to rock the boat, especially when it’s on its way. So in the end, I decided to take the risk.
The young man arrived spot on time, and even though his name was Ezekiel - not exactly normal - he did seem quite nice. In fact, he was almost too nice, so I kept a good hold on the door handle while he provided me with detailed answers to my small talk questions, telling me all about his past, who knows how much fabricated, including his four years in the Navy in some southern city, and his recent return to his hometown, here where I live. He did seem to want to make me feel comfortable - though that could certainly have been just to get me to drop my guard so he could do his terrible business with me after all. But he appeared to be taking me in the right direction, not out of town which would have been the sensible choice if he were still planning on disposing of my mutilated body somewhere...
All in all, he managed to soften me up to where I was beginning to relax and think that I might not have to open the car door in mid-transit and leap out (actually he probably would have had the child locks on, but I didn’t think of that at the time) when suddenly he turned right around in his seat, looked me right in the eye while continuing to drive blindly forward almost giving me a heart attack, and told me, “You know, I'm giving serious thought to the homeless option."
Well. Goodness. That took the cake! This possibly nice and marginally normal young Tesla-owning ex-Navy pseudo hippie was considering choosing to be homeless?
All I could say was, “Oh! Oh my. And where would you go?"
"Right here!" he exclaimed joyfully. "The doors lock, I can sleep in here, nobody can get in, I can shower at the gym, and I'll save a ton of money. A lot of Lyft and Uber drivers are doing that now. Maybe in a few years I’ll save enough to buy a mobile home..."
Heavens. I could only stare at him. It didn't compute - but what does nowadays?
At last, thank heavens, we pulled up at the curb outside of what did indeed look like the right theater. Gazing at me beatifically while I opened the door and set my foot on the safe, solid sidewalk, my driver told me, "Enjoy the show!"
"Thank you dear,” I managed to reply. “And good luck with your new adventure - it sounds quite outrageous and possibly very foolish...."
“Oh, I’m really, really into it!" he assured me, happy as a clam. Then, waving at me cheerily, he pulled out into traffic as if he were any normal driver.
Poor fellow - I was relieved that he hadn’t murdered me, but he was clearly not all there. And I don’t know where he got that Tesla…
Almost Perfect Love
to a dear, self-deprecating friend
Photo by Kevin Gent on Unsplash
Sometimes,
my friend,
it marvels me
how happy
the two of us
manage to be
with each other's
immortal company
We almost seem
a perfect match
unlike some
you find online
that cannot strike
the meagerest spark
but only fizzle
in the soggy dark
Who knows why
we fit like this
with such a pleasing
leggo-click
but let me say
what I believe to be
the agency
of our curious
harmony
And if you blush
and disagree
I'll understand
it's just your
faulty memory
so buckle
your seatbelt
and listen to me
In you good friend
I see a being
not only kind
and wise
and strong,
but also keen
as the finest blade
in the drawer
For when I read
to you
the stuff I write
you understand it
through and through
better at times
than even I do
Bright in you
is the power of the Light
but tho that's true
humility too
is part of the glue
that binds us two
for your light
is crowned
with innocence
But what about me?
Could all this be
mere excess flattery?
Well, in reality
as far as I can see
there is
no difference
between you and me
In your solemn
laughing eyes
I often recognize
some kind of
long-lost me
and if time and space
were not so limiting
I'd be happy
you to be
But you are you
and I am me
and so my heart
can only sing
to see your joy
in what you love to do
And I send you
all my gratitude
for those you serve
are my beloveds too
Of course we each
must also be
at least a little flawed
but that is hardly odd
having been raised
in this zoo
Anyhoo, what we do
to make life good
is enough for me
and clearly
enough for you
So to conclude
these timeless truths
I here and now
without further ado
or any further
hullabaloo
do dedicate
these lines
of almost perfect love
to you.
On the Playful Void - two poems
Don't avoid the void
Don’t try
to avoid
the void
that’s where
the juice is
the gems
the joy!
Take
the plunge
Sink down
deep
Rest
in the cradle
of yourself
Reflections in the monolith at Red Bluff Park of Study and Reflection
Justification for playing number games on my phone
2 2 pop
8 8 fizz
0 0 poof
each time I match
two same amounts
and see them cancel
each other out
i drop
into the void
with a pleasant
tiny
plop
To my Guide
Your kindness as deep
as a deep summer’s night
your joy complete
as the sun’s clear light
you are all and
everything
I need
When in a dream
you visit me
my cup over-brims
with sweet wellbeing
and I can scarce believe
that such as you have come
to be with such as me
Yet you are
for me
the only true
reality
So in joy let me
affirm this truth I sing
until my life expires
my heart within me
blossoming
Seeing the Sacred in all things
As far as I can see
just one thing
is necessary:
To try
and keep on trying
to see the Sacred
in all things.
Then as this body-mind
increasingly declines
may I stay strong
in gratitude for all the years
this life has given me
to think and feel
and speak and act
and see.
And if one I care for
leaves
before I do
then too
may I stay strong
in gratitude
for all the joy and tears
we shared
before they gave their life
to all humanity.
When at last
I too have given my best
and done my part,
and that bright door opens
with deep music
in my heart
then let me enter joyfully...
And let me leave behind
no trace of anything
but love
and an endless,
rich and timeless
peace
Dancing with the Wolf
of Happiness
On the one hand
I’m not ready
to die.
I have faith
and everything
but
I just don’t like
that much change…
On the other hand
I’ve been expecting to die
all my life
and now that I’m old
i expect it even more
in fact
any day now
And to those who tell me
not to say such things
I say it is
the simple truth
and not
to be silly
So this morning
as I was dancing
in the garden
to the invisible music
of JS Bach
on my hearing aids
I started thinking
as usual
of my death
Usually
when I think of dying
I just think of it - like I think
of anything
Photo by Courtney Clayton on Unsplash
But this time
probably because of Mr. Bach
the moment I thought
of dying
this crazy earthquake
rushed up
seized me in its teeth
shook me like its favorite toy
and tossed me right
into the center
of the sun
And there I saw that
when I die
this wild joy
will come howling
up out of the depths of me
like the wolf of happiness
looking for his beloved friend
who all these years
has been sleeping
like the dead
And my wolf
will pounce on me
and nuzzle me
and leap with joy
and we will play until
we’re plumb tuckered out
and then lie down
and rest in the garden
of our love
in the warm deep night
... And seeing
this reality
I laughed aloud
with the joy of a child -
for only then
was it clear to me
that the death we fear
is no death at all
but the wondrous dawn
of the very first day
we truly come
Alive!
Clarity
The other day
as I sat contemplating
the endless suffering
of always holding on
to everyone
and everything,
a strange lucidity
passed over me
What if -
I thought -
I could know
for just a breath
of a breath
how it would feel
to relax my hands
and unclench
this grip
of death?
What if
I could take
just one deep drink
of the mythical
peace
that might come
with true
release?
So
that
is what I did:
I took the moment
like a jewel
in my hands,
held it,
inhaled its gleam,
knew
its immortality,
drank my fill
of its light
And that one taste
of clarity
seemed to me
enough
to quench my thirst
and all eternity
Canticle of Light*
i.
Today
for no particular reason
I woke up happy
Maybe it was
the dream I had -
something
about dancing
to a triple rhythm -
I’ve forgotten
the rest of it
like I forget so many details
these days
but forgetting
is no reason
to be unhappy
The only thing
that can really
make me unhappy
these days
is this movie
we’re all making -
especially
all those painful
personal scenes
that never fail to
suck me in
And this is so
even though
not so long ago
I turned around
and noticed
the Impossible Light
streaming in from behind
that makes
the pictures
ii
My little i
was not the one
who noticed
that resplendence
though she claimed
it was she
My little i
is a dear
but totally illusory
and that thunderbolt
of luminosity
would have
snuffed her out
entirely
iii
No, it was I,
myself
who noticed that Light -
but all I did
to notice it
was read the manual
and follow its advice:
“Try to see the light
inside your eyes”
the key word being
“Try”
iv.
I’ll admit that
at first as I tried
I saw nothing
but a few imaginary
flickerings
But then one day
as I was peering
over my shoulder
to the right
the Light
sneaked up behind me
on the left
and slapped me silly
And then
all I could do
was lie there
listening
to the little bird of joy
singing
in my heart
Photo by Jonathan Duran on Unsplash.com
v.
As I said
seeing the Light
giver of all possibility
of being free
is really
no difficult feat
But seeing the Light
won’t do a thing
as long as we keep
objecting
to the transitory nature
of this place
And until we embrace
our mortal state,
we’ll just keep running
on the treadmill of our days
struggling to outrace time
and escape the loss
we fear
vi.
Nevertheless
here we are
all doing our best
by lots or by little, quick or slow
each of us learning
again and again
so many secrets
we thought we knew
Now at least
when I get sucked in
by any new misery
I do remember
more frequently
to turn around and try to see
the immaculate Light
that makes this life
as it streams in
from behind
And whatever the balance
in my life
of joy and agony,
all that I can say is this:
I’m here,
oh sweet, immortal Light
now and forever
here I am -
Do with me
as you please.
* "In reality, Light is the only thing that exists.... Light is eternal; it is the origin and the end of all that exists..." - from Siloism, Definition of Light
The Importance of Taking Things Seriously
... a DMV fable
This morning I bit the bullet and went early to the DMV. I only moved back to California six months ago, and I've just been putting off renewing my automobile registration - but yesterday when I finally looked it up, I learned that you have a mere 20 days, and that if you are so heedless and foolish as to wait six months, they can impound your vehicle. Yikes. Maybe I should take these things more seriously…
So today I went, planning to get my driver's license/"Real ID" at the same time. If I had to wait outside in a long line like last time, it wouldn't be so bad if I went in the cool of the morning.
This turned out to be a very nice DMV, no lines, just people sitting in chairs inside, waiting. I took my place among them, and before long, my number was called.
The fastidious young man behind the glass began his interrogation, and I started out doing fine, even though he had to keep shouting at me through his face mask because in my hurry that morning I’d forgotten to wear my hearing aids.
“Do you have the title?” he yelled. Title? Nothing on the website had said anything about bringing the title… I plowed through my bag, knowing it wasn’t in there. I had no idea where it was - where on earth could I have put it?
“Bring it in when you find it!” he shouted, and went back to his electronic files, completely absorbed, while I waited for him to tell me what else I had to do.
Then suddenly he looked up in shock.
“Wow!” He stared at me.
“I just ran across an old picture of you from maybe 20 years ago - you had pigtails!”
“Oh, yes, I did,” I agreed.
I knew that picture, it was one of my favorites, from a former incarnation. I also knew it was not the pigtails he was amazed at. It was my current, incredible disguise - this faded, eyebrowless, cheerfully wrinkled face. He kept staring back and forth from my current apparition to the long-ago image of that gorgeous, smiling, happy young woman…
For long moments the hand of death hovered over us both, ready to touch either one of us on the shoulder - “Come…”
Snapping himself out of it, the young man handed me some stapled papers and told me, not unkindly, to go to window such and such.
“Good luck,” he shuddered, still in shock.
Window such and such turned out to be the picture window. There another young man, this one fattish and bored out of his gourd, told me simply, “Stand over there”…
I stood, ready to take off my glasses, something they’d made me do last time - but he couldn’t have cared less, so I left them on. After a couple of half-hearted takes, he waved me off to the DMV’s very own Purgatory: the Exam Room.
Although I’m not crazy about tests, I wasn’t worried about this one. After all, I had studied - kind of - by reading through most of the Driver’s Handbook a couple of days before, and skimming the rest while waiting in line. And I’ve been driving for over 50 years, surely I knew enough to pass their dumb test!
In the exam room, a new young man, this one friendly, nose-ringed and tattooed, and charged with keeping an eye out for cheaters, ushered me gently toward a computer terminal, uttering the hushed blessing: “Good luck.”
I thanked him and sat down. I hadn’t really thought about what would happen if I didn’t pass - but I wasn’t going to worry, I wasn’t that far gone.
I read the instructions on screen, took a deep breath, and hit start.
Ummmm… yeah.
Yeah.
There were way more questions than I’d expected - all multiple choice, and a lot of them demanding the pickiest answers, about things that had nothing to do with driving or safety. My favorite went something like this:
"What is the punishment for injuring or killing someone with your bad driving and then running away from law enforcement officers? A. 10 years in prison; B. a $5000 fine; C. Apologizing and never doing it again; D. Following a police car at a respectful distance for 100 miles..."
Every time I gave a wrong answer, the computer would kindly mark it with a red X, and place a green check mark beside the correct one, just to let me know. This happened a lot, and it wasn’t helpful.
Long story short, the test ended with the large letters on the screen: “You did not pass. You have two more tries.”
I collected my things and made for the exit. As I passed the nose-ringed young man, who must have noticed the many times I squirmed and cursed under my breath as I sat bungling my way through the exam, he gazed at me sympathetically - “Didn’t pass? it’s ok, you have two more tries…”
Well.
Maybe I do need to take things more seriously. Maybe it is somehow essential for me to know what punishment to expect if I someday knock down some other old woman at an intersection, then tear out into traffic, tires screeching, and lead the cops on a wild car chase?? I haven’t been planning on that - but you never know…
Pronouns
Today I had
an interesting conversation
with my son
who happens to be a he
and who asked me carefully,
How do you identify
inside?
Having been a flower child
I had to say
that while identity is something
many people never doubt
I've been asking who the hell am I
and what's going on
ever since being strapped alive
into the roller coaster ride
of my most apocalyptic acid trip
during which I doubted everything
especially my soundness
of mind
When I came down
I rushed to join
every cult I could possibly find
from the Catholic Church
whose fathers wouldn't let me in
to the Abilitists
who simply grinned
at all my sins
and none of them
could resolve my plight
but only left me wailing
into the black of night:
why am I here?
who am I and who are you
and where oh where
are we headed to???
Back to the question
of Identity -
when asked who on earth
we think we are
the godliest of us old hippies
generally give one
of two replies:
I'm nothing
or
I'm everything
While the humble hippies
of today
give one of three:
my pronouns are he/him
because I am a he;
my pronouns are she/her
which means I am a she;
or finally
my pronouns are they/them
which means
I'm one of those
elusive old/new entities
who call ourselves
"nonbinary"
Which brings me back
to my conversation
with my son
when he asked me
how do you identify
inside?
Just to help me out
he said
imagine you woke up
not a woman
but a man -
how would that
make you feel?
Pretty weird I guess,
I said
but in reality...
And then I gave the answer
most predictable for my age:
After thousands of retreats
in search of
the "essential me"
and after finding
not a thing
but emptiness inside
I can only say
I really don't identify
as anything
And so he said
well then
maybe you are perhaps
at least a little
mildly nonbinary?
And if that is so
perhaps you might
- just maybe -
want to go by
them and they?
To which
I hurriedly replied
Oh no
because I really do not care
if people see me as a she -
the error's understandable
and hardly bothers me
and anyway
(and this part I didn't say)
what would
everyone think?
So my son raised his eyebrows
and said oh really?
and I said
yes
and thinking
that was that
went home
And there I found
the same old me
all questions
and no answers
because in reality
there seems to be
no more to me
than a need to be true
to myself and you
and all the royal we
of the human family
So then I thought
that maybe
the best way to be true
to me and you
and all the royal we
would indeed be
to act in solidarity
with all my queer
extended family
by proclaiming "they/them"
as the pronouns
I want listed by my name
Photo courtesy of Unsplash.com - by Olena Kamenetska - Reykjavík, Iceland
And I was willing, too
for tho I know
such daring-do
would bother those
among my older friends
who have recently converted
to the hallowed new religion of
Pronomial Tradition,
such a proclamation
would be accurate and true
for I've never felt
my inner self to be
any kind of
gendered entity
However - then I see
the counter-argument arise:
that since it scarcely bothers me
to be called a "she"
(femininity
being just another aspect
of the illusory
little "me")
perhaps I simply
am not qualified
to be a bonafide
nonbinary?
Which may be true
and yet again -
on yet another
of the many hands
of many of the gods -
my mother always rooted
for the underdog
and my extensive queer
extended family
certainly deserves
my loyalty -
and so perhaps again
it would be good
to take a stand
in devotion to my clan
But then I think
of still another possibility:
that my apparent femininity
could just possibly be
a convenient disguise
for shining the light
of the Feminine Divine
into the night
of toxic masculinity?
So on and on
and back and forth I go
flipping-flopping
among so many possibilities
each one as meritorious
as the last
until I'm almost ready
to choose the one
I resist the most -
to call myself nonbinary -
because that's always
a good approach
to self-improvement
But then I realize
that every true believer
needs to hear to a call
and a call is something
I really haven't heard
at all...
So even though
I would enjoy
taking the river-ride
down the rapids of surprise
so I could shock
my relatives and friends
by mildly insisting
that they speak of me
as "they" and "them,"
in the end I decide
that unfortunately
I might as well just sit here
with good old
"her" and "she"
And that is my
bland conclusion until
the very last split second
when a finer thought
occurs to me:
that since I always take
the greatest joy
in attempting the
impossible feat
of pleasing everyone,
the most interesting choice
might simply be
to abandon all responsibility
and just tell anyone who asks:
Hey, I'm fine with anything
you choose
so why don't you decide -
call me anything that you feel
most accurately describes
this other being whom you see
sitting here
outside your own reality -
and whatever you decide
I promise I will
happily oblige.
Which does quite
satisfy me
because it leaves me free
to stay right here
inside myself and me,
comfortably ensconced
in my center of gravity,
which is so wonderfully
empty
of everything
The Day of the Great Change
No one ever knew exactly how it happened - only that it did: that one day everything changed...
That day, in every place where there had been fear - which was pretty much everywhere - all the people, from poorest to richest, oldest to youngest, happiest to saddest, woke up knowing something had changed. Something was missing - something dark, whose absence brought light and a soft smile of unreasonable joy to every heart.
In places claiming to be "at peace," where the simmering violence was constantly erupting, shattering life and sanity, worried mothers woke up feeling strangely gentle, tender toward everyone and everything - toward their own bedsheets, toward the trees blowing in the wind, toward themselves.
Anxious fathers woke up thinking of jokes, and looked around for someone to tell.
Children lay dreaming happy dreams, and when they woke, they lay for a time watching the dust motes afloat in the sunlight, and then got up, made their beds, and went to make breakfast for their parents.
On that day, in every place where there was war, soldiers on the killing fields gasped, looked at their hands and at each other, dropped their weapons and fell into each other's arms, laughing and weeping. Then they went to find all the others who had been fighting, and when they met, no matter which side they were on, they grinned shyly and told each other their names, and asked if they and their comrades were ok and if anyone needed anything, and gave each other little gifts, knowing they had found the best of friends.
Photo by Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash.com
So it was that everywhere in the world, in all the cities and villages where there had been war or violence of any kind, the fearful people woke for the first time in years refreshed from a deep sleep, knowing that they and their children and all their friends and loved ones were safe. In the sweet silence broken only by the trill of birdsong, they lay for a long time smiling, tears flowing down their cheeks, until at last they rose and opened the doors and windows, and stood in the sun, full of thanks, breathing deep.
And everywhere, all around the whole wide world, all the children ran outside to explore the great magical world together - the world that was theirs to love and cherish and protect for all of timeless time.
For Susan,
Queen of Sheba and Beloved of God
Rise up, my love, my fair one,
and come away.
For lo, the winter is past,
the rain is over and gone;
the flowers appear on the earth;
the time of the singing of birds
is come, and the voice
of the turtledove is heard
in our land…*
They told me you had died,
kind friend,
but I know it is not so
because you are here with me
right now
loving me as I love
speaking to me as I speak
granting me
your sweet
immortal company
I laugh with happiness
to see you free
no longer trapped
in morbid rationality,
but enthroned in peace
riding the fiery skies
in your chariot of joy
your sweet Jesus
and all your loving children
by your side
For you are indeed
the great Mother
whose tender voice spoke
on your answering machine:
“Hello, this is
the Queen of Sheba,
I’m out with all my children now
but please do
leave me your name…”
Humble and
resplendent diva
you played your part
with all your heart
in the sacred tragedy
weeping an eternity of tears
for the agony you reaped
and all the while
swooning
with a love so deep
for God and all the world
that it made no sense at all
but only left you prostrate
with gratitude
saying Thank You Lord
no questions asked
Thank You
for everything.
*from “The Song of Solomon.” Some say the Queen of Sheba was one of King Solomon’s lovers…
To my friend who has gone
I remember you
less from the sad years
of your decline,
than from the days
when you reigned
most gracious of goddesses
in the mountains of light
I remember how
to my astonishment
you welcomed me
a complete stranger
and wrapped me in your embrace
and took me into your
intimate circle
of compassion
And I remember when
shattered by terrible wisdom
after both your children
had died
you would sit down
beside any stranger
clothed in rags and filth
and hold him close
and speak softly to him
Now
seeing you beckon
with nothing but love in your eyes
I sit wondering
how on earth I will ever get
to wherever
you are.
photo by Jackson Hendry, courtesy of Unsplash.com
Om Shanti
adventures with the fear of death
a short story in poetic form
I must confess
that normally
I don't take risks
of any physical kind.
However, the other day
in order not to just
let old age roll over me
and squash me flat,
I agreed to go camping
with my son and a few
of his friends
all of whom are
comparatively bursting
with the juices of youth
The first problem
was that there were bears
where we were going
so I brought along
not just one air horn
but two
and though my son
and his friends
all looked at me
with amusement
I slept well
that first night
It was on the second night
when someone said
It’s a beautiful night for rafting
that I knew I was in for it
Of course
if the others all went out
on that enormous
dark lake under the icy stars
I knew I would go along
not because
I love lakes and stars
which I actually do
at least in theory
but because I knew
that if I stayed back at camp
I’d just spend the whole time
imagining everyone
drowning
So I watched while
with great labor
the youngsters
inflated the mammoth
rubber boat;
then I followed them
as they carried the monster
down to the lake
and set it lovingly
in the gently lapping water;
and when they invited me
to be the first to board
I clambered
into the wobbly bows
and sat
holding on
At last
when everyone was settled
we pushed off into the darkness
under the milky black sky
with its millions of stars,
and I told myself
it was indeed a beautiful night -
I would love this
We glided into the darkness
long oars dipping soundless
but for an occasional
plash
until we were far far out
miles it seemed
from the invisible shore
That was when two
of the youngsters
began trying to light a
peace lantern -
one of those where you
set a wedge of wax alight
under a fragile paper dome
so that eventually
the hot air will lift it
gently into the sky -
which is a lovely idea
and a lovely thing to watch
when it works
Patient to a fault
they kept trying
and trying
and failing and failing,
the fragile tissue fluctuating
in the tiny fitful breeze
until at last it
caught fire
and they had to drop it
like a hot potato
into the black water
and start over on a fresh one while
the rest of us watched
some perhaps enthralled
others skeptical
and myself dutifully
imagining everything
exploding in flames
like a small aquatic
Hindenburg
Needless to say
in reality there was
no danger at all,
our craft was as sturdy
as a floating elephant -
but nevertheless
for no reason at all
I felt a hungry
black nervousness
gnawing at me
Perhaps sensing
my unease
someone kindly asked me
how are you doing?
and I told them
oh i’m nervous -
but then
I’m nervous
about everything -
which made them laugh
which in turn
made me momentarily
happy
which was good
But of course
when that distraction passed
my nerves were waiting
gnashing their
unreasonable teeth
Regardless of my mood
on and on we paddled
deeper and deeper into the darkness
until at last
we reached its very middle
and drifted gradually
to a halt
our lonely little world spinning slowly
on the fathomless
black depths
And the silence
pressed
like a weight
heavier
and heavier
and heavier
until finally
at the limits of tolerance
the dam burst
and everyone began talking
all at once
cracking jokes
talking and laughing
more and more desperately
until the flim flam became
so vehement
that I feared
it might explode
Then
like a life buoy
the thought came to me
that if I could
just hear the silence
I might be able to
relax
So I said
“Excuse me but
could we
just for a moment
maybe listen
to the quiet?”
And instantly
as if I had opened the door
and caught them rioting
all the youngsters
stopped talking
at once
And there they sat
in perfect silence
like chastened children,
the water lapping
and the stars shining
and the darkness brooding
in all its mystery
and the only sound
in all that deep stillness
was the mewling
of my nervousness
The long minutes passed
and the silence stretched its arms
to encircle almost all
of the empty
black night...
until at last
my courageous son
spoke up:
“No one is going to speak
until you tell us
it’s ok”
And we all laughed
and I told them they were
good children
and they could talk now
But apparently
I had robbed everyone
of the power of speech
because still
we floated silently onward
into the silent night
everyone
utterly mute
the silence broken only
by my nervousness
grinding her teeth
The wordless silence continued
and continued
and would have gone on
forever
had someone not somehow
changed the channel
so that
we could all hear
the calm voice
from the other end of the boat
as it began to sing
the sweet,
incomprehensible Sanskrit
of a Vedic chant
Listening
we glided on into the night
while
in simple obedience
to some learned goodness
the singer chanted
on and on...
The singing was heartfelt
and sincere
but what was to me
most wonderful
was this:
that from the moment
it began,
though I had no idea
what the words meant,
the chanting set me perfectly
at ease
washed away my anxiousness
with a clear flood
of warmth and safety
that filled my heart
with gratitude
At last
with words of peace
the chanting
came to the end:
om shanti
om shanti
om shanti
om
Then
there was nothing
but the silence
of the endless
sparkling night
and the sacred universe
slowly turning
all around us
(A poem for anyone who worries about losing their marbles)
Poetry, being magic, can transform pretty much anything - even the worst fears...
Granted, it can take a powerful need to produce an effective poem. So, for many years after seeing what dementia did to our mother, I contented myself with just agreeing with my siblings that our mother's case couldn't be hereditary. Other than that, I got pretty good at not thinking about it.
It's only as I continue, at 75, to get older and weirder and more forgetful, that I've finally come to the point where I've been driven to the extremity of writing a poem.
Although it's a pretty good poem, I'm not going so far as to say it will protect me against losing my mind. I'm just saying that it might give me another perspective - one that I hope might help me find a way through that experience, if such should be my lot.
It was my mother herself who gave me the idea for this poem. No one would ever have imagined that she, of all people - for she was a brilliant, outgoing, joyful human being - would fall prey to dementia. But she did, and it caused her and all her loved ones great suffering for many years.
At the same time, however, there were moments during those years when I was sure I saw something else - something wonderful - burning in her eyes.
I remember the first time I saw it. We were in the kitchen, and she was standing beside me while I washed the dishes. She'd said something about helping, and I'd given her a dishtowel - but she had long forgotten what to do with a dishtowel, and was just standing there, far off in her own world...
It was when I turned to look at her, just to make sure she was ok, that I was almost blinded by the light pouring through her eyes.
No wonder she could no longer function in the world - her ego was being incinerated! And in its place, something else was clearly rising from the ashes - the fierce light of a totally unreasonable joy, like a phoenix on wings of fire...
Beyond all boundaries
Sometimes these days
I catch myself completely
vanishing from this place
as if I've slipped
through some wormhole
into another time and space
The place I land -
just another pearl
on the string of time -
might be so full and sweet
that I'd like to stay
for all eternity
But once in a while
I also have to do
a double-take:
Dear me, where am I now,
and what could this strange
dislocation mean?
Luckily, before I can begin
to truly doubt my sanity,
I remember the story
of a boy who loved to climb
as high as he could
in all the very tallest trees
On high he’d look and look
and see and see and see
before moving on
into a new reality
at another place
in the leafy green...
He'd stay up there for hours
moving from scene to scene,
until, his curiosity appeased,
he’d clamber down
and go inside
to think
When his elders asked him
what he was doing up there
all that time, he'd simply say,
I look and look until I find...
and then I move, and look,
and find again...
Eventually the boy
became a man
who was strong and wise,
and above all, kind,
and as different from me or you
as anyone could ever be
Yet I’ll wager that
whatever name he used,
whatever reality he chose to see,
the one who looked
through his clear eyes
was never just his personality
I'll venture that
he shared his gaze
with that Kind Eternal Being
who looks through all our eyes
and feels
through all our skins
The very same
who waits so patiently
for all of us to see
each other and the world
with peace
and equanimity
And since above all else,
I love that possible Destiny,
I hardly care
if my "I" arrives alive
on some familiar beach
or loses herself entirely at sea
All I truly ask
is that my vision
become so clear
that I can always see
that Greater, Kinder Being
smiling in you and me
Smiling while we wonder:
Are we many?
Are we few?
Or are we just One Light
unfolding in eternity
beyond all fear,
beyond all grief,
beyond all boundaries...
All my thanks to the following artists and to Unsplash.com, where they have made their work freely available to the public. Top to bottom:
Jeremiah Lawrence
Angelina Litvin
Glen Hodson
MT ElGassier
Above: a few of the Luminous Beings who inhabit Red Bluff Park of Study and Reflection in Northern California. (Photo from 10 years ago - left to right: Fernando, Carol, Janet, Charles, Mary - who now accompanies us from another time and space - and Sinthya).
Red Bluff Park
is open to all non-violent visitors for much-needed respite from the spirit-crushing grind of a system that believes in death. For a well-earned break, come mid-morning on the third Saturday of any month and spend a day celebrating Life and Friendship in the company of other luminous humans...
Luminous Beings
You and I
oh sweetest of sweets
are no machinery
but luminous beings
loosed on the world
to shine and shine
our limitless light
as we gently croon
a sweet release
to lull
sad little Mortality
back to sleep.
And no false god
of reasonable doubt
shall ever unmake our tribe
For we are plentiful
as the waves on the sea
and powerful as the tides,
and like the grass
we bend with grace
when blown
by the winds of time
and we softly surrender
to the weight of space
that weighs
sans reason or rhyme
So argue your fill
for death and despair
and we will stand
patiently by
chuckling in all
our illogical peace
For our way is deathless
and endlessly kind
and the Light we bear
leads everywhere
through the humble union
of heart and mind.
Enigma
Now
having taken this latest
foolish
inevitable leap
off the cliff of my years,
I find myself here,
tumbled in a heap
beside the wild river
of my life
no place else to go -
all bridges washed out,
all roads blocked,
fires raging on every side.
Who knows?
Perhaps
the river will rise
and sweep me away
or perhaps
I will forget myself entirely
and turn into a pelican
or a redwood tree…
It matters little
as long as you
oh Benign Enigma
are here with me
saying nothing.
My Story...
What to be - a writer, an artist, or a musician? That was my childhood dilemma. You had to choose, or become that shameful thing, a dilettante.
I could never choose. So I drew and painted, played music and sang, wrote stories and poetry, and dreamed of growing up to live alone in the woods. At least there, alone in the woods, I would be a writer...
And at last I did choose writing. When I dropped out of college in order to devote myself to finding the love of my life, I abandoned all other artistic and intellectual puruits, and only continued writing.
Over the next several decades, I wrote my way through four husbands and three children, and through the inevitable parting of our ways. Through all of that, words were enough...
...Until, in my seventh decade, I found myself suddenly obsessed with becoming a musician.
I don't know why it took me so long to set out on that quest. Music had always been my secret Holy Grail.
That was because of two people: Mary Helen Richards and J.S. Bach.
Mary Helen was, first and foremost, my mother - as well as the mother of my three younger siblings. She would incidentally also become the infamous and beloved developer of an educational philosophy called Education Through Music, for which others seem to remember her more than for being our mother.... But it must be admitted that she practiced on us, singing and playing with us incessantly from the time we could squeak, which was how music became as natural to all of us as breathing. It was also why, even though I devoted much of my life to writing, music was always the ground I stood on.
But if it was my mother who stood me on that ground, it was Bach who made that ground Holy.
My conversion took place one day when I was 12. I was a strange, lonely child who was happier spending time alone, listening to classical music or wandering in the woods, than with other young people. Accordingly, just to enjoy myself one day, I put on a recording of Bach's Musical Offering and lay down on the floor to listen...
I don't know how long I lay there, letting the music wash over me - I only remember that after a long, timeless interval of simply being suspended in the unfolding purity of the music, I was all at once flooded with an overwhelming joy. Because suddenly, for no reason at all, it was as clear to me as day that all was well. That no matter how bad things might look, Life was Good, and there was nothing to fear.
Fifty years passed. All that time I listened devotedly to Bach, as well as to a multitude of other musics - but it never occurred to me to do more than listen.
Until a few years after the last of my children had left home and my beloved husband of 25 years had died, when a friend gave me an old electronic keyboard. That was when a novel thought surfaced in my head: maybe I could learn to play the piano? .....
I googled "easiest Bach keyboard pieces" and came up with the Prelude in C major. Then and there I sat down and stumblingly began to learn it...
That was the beginning of the end. It didn't take long for me to become disgusted with the cheap keyboard and buy a decent digital one, the kind that actually sounds like a piano. Over the next few months I took up alto recorder, joined a Renaissance vocal group, found a voice teacher, and began to study songwriting and composition...
Today, I still write words - that's just how I deal with living.
But now I'm equally drawn to music - and in a very different way. I think it's because music has a unique power to reach deep, deep inside us - to fuse, almost on a cellular level, with both our grief and our joy, transmuting even the most painful experiences within a new context of joyful meaning...
Joy cries out to be shared. That is why I'm putting together these pages: to share the joy of words and music with you, and perhaps, also, the certainty that Life is Good, indeed, Sublime.
Home Today...
A melody and words that crooned in my ear one morning, echoes from my distant Irish roots...
Recorded at Resound Northwest, Portland, Oregon by Trudi Lee Richards and Daniel Buchanan:
Home Today a joyful lament - 1:31:23, 3.46 PM.mp3Lyrics:
Home today I go to die
For my heart is breaking,
Thousand years have passed me by
While I lay un-waking.
Love of mine come hold me close,
Feel my heart a beating.
Treasure all we’ve laughed and lost
Caught up in life’s leading.
Dearest friends, embrace me long,
For this life is fleeting -
Yet beneath the sorrow of loss,
Hidden joy is sleeping.
Children mine now gather near,
Feel my love enfold you.
Though I am no longer here,
Still my love will hold you.
Let your heart be open wide,
Kind and wise and strong.
May you live your fullest life,
Sing your truest song…
Home today I come to die,
Heart both full and breaking,
Shadows meet the morning light,
And... ah, now I am waking.
Words & Music...
Experiences are slippery things.
Even the most profound and beautiful of them always vanish instantly into the past, leaving us bereft and stranded - unless we can somehow capture their essence, their deep register. Then we can return and drink from their life-giving waters...
That's why I write poems and stories and music. Like a magic carpet, the arts can carry us into the sacred realms of heart and mind, to the place where we are immortal, and all is eternally well.
Below:
Mary Helen,
Johann Sebastian,
and Trudi Lee
all quite some time ago...
my father's love
even though
I was already ten
my father held me
in the old rocking chair
and we rocked
in silence
and didn’t say
a thing
…
Another time and space
Outside, the sun is rising
and the multitudes of birds
sing and chitter
over the shimmering meadow
Yesterday I came here
with my worry about dying
and left it at the portal
with my other excess baggage
Today my entire life
weighs the same
as the sublime quiet
inside my heart
Time enough tomorrow
for death -
Inside this plentiful kindness
life is eternal.
Red Bluff Park of Study and Reflection, April 2023
Silo
In 1984 I was a basket case. A young mother of two, I was consumed with terror that the world was about to explode, and I would have to watch my beloved baby twins burn alive before my eyes. In despair, I was on my way home from my secretarial job in San Francisco one dismal afternoon when a poster caught my eye. “Peace is Possible,” it said, “It’s Up to You.”
That got me. I called the phone number, and ended up meeting the Siloists, young volunteers working to spread awareness of the need for peace and nonviolence, both inner and outer, through the Humanist Movement.
Hesitantly, I joined them – and to my astonishment, the minute I began to work to change things in the world, beyond my own small self, my obsessive fear vanished. It was crazy. Illogically, I knew that all would be well...
Suddenly free of fear, how could I do anything but dedicate myself to this remarkable work? The teachings of Silo have since been central to my life and wellbeing. The distillation of his life's teachings is Silo's Message, a small book that has inspired many worldwide to form small "Communities of Silo's Message" that meet weekly to study and do simple ceremonies together. Personally, I recognize and honor other awakened masters of our time - but Silo is the one I always come back to...
His life and work impacted me so strongly that I spent 12 years writing his biography, On Wings of Intent, below. https://www.amazon.com/Wings-Intent-biography-Silo/dp/8416747334
Additional resources:
Silo - His Message, His Work, and His Public Life: www.silo.net
Silo's Message: www.silosmessage.net
Poems for Jorge...
In the River House
Oh my dearest love
Was it a trick of my mind
that you died and left me,
escaping into realms
I could not penetrate?
For here you are beside me
Alive in this very moment
in this yellow kitchen
at this long table with friends
in the house that goes
down to the river.
Here you are with me
alive and smiling
sad that I left
but glad to the brim
without a trace of rancor
that I am back again.
Now memory clarifies me
and relief floods me
like the rising Day:
For it is clearer than the song of life
that here with you
and nowhere else
is where I belong!
Can it be true
it was I who left you,
and not the other way around?
That some requirement
of destiny trapped me, some theater
I had to play out alone?
And you, kind soul,
bowed to your role
while I fled weeping away?
For I have believed in death,
and mourned and wept
and learned the ropes of living
just on my own.
But now that I have seen you
held you and kissed you
so sweetly once again
I do remember:
Nothing is so real as our love.
How I have longed
not knowing the depth of my longing
to be at your side
all these years.
And now I know
you keep a place for me
here in this river house
by the deep, sweet waters
where children and friends
and a feast await.
Love
let me dream you beside me
until we next awake.
It's Only Amnesia
Never fear, my love,
said my love
long after
he'd already died
You may feel lost
but it's only amnesia
from being knocked silly
by Time
Soon, my love,
we’ll be as one
aglow with the peace
of the way things are
on this inward path
to our deep destiny
through the door of Death
into True Memory
And there we shall dwell
and there we shall dwell
through all timeless time
together we’ll dwell
and all shall be well
and all shall be well
and all manner of thing
shall be well.*
*"All shall be well, all shall be well...for there is a Force of Love moving through the universe that holds us fast and will never let us go."
- Julian of Norwich
Jorge...
Jorge was my husband for 25 years, until he vanished into another time and space. He made his departure on New Year's eve, 2010, after a long and remarkable life of inspired storytelling. I've attempted to recount a few of his most important tales, along with stories and poetry from our life together, in the book Soft Brushes with Death, https://www.amazon.com/Soft-Brushes-Death-Espinet-Primer/dp/1475144601
An audio recording of selections from the same book: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A0PQlVQLF18&t=7s
A Crazy Possibility
Lyrics:
Just looking around me
I'm ready to scream
What am I doing
in this chaotic dream?
Why can't I be elsewhere
happy and free
the way I was told
life was supposed to be?
Chorus:
Happy and free yeah
happy and free
the way she was told
life is supposed to be!
Then I hear a whisper
right up close to me:
"Look deep inside
and you just might see
there are no victims
in this reality..."
And I look all around me -
No one here but me!
Chorus:
No one there at all,
no one there but she,
said there are no victims
in this reality!
Then I start to wonder
if it really could be
that if I embrace
my insanity
accept my dis-ease
and my fragility
I'll find deep inside
that I truly am free?
Chorus:
It doesn't seem likely
but it just might be
Yes she just might find
that she truly is free
I seem to remember
we came seeded with light
impossible bundles
of squirming delight
spiraling inward
from beyond the stars
impelled from within
to become who we are
Chorus:
Spiraling inward
from beyond the stars
impelled from within
to become who they are
Maybe in the process
I forgot my own name
but battling my demons
I strengthen my faith
and now I can see
a new reality
where I exist for you
and you exist for me
Chorus:
Oh yes, I exist for you
and you exist for me
that's why we're here
in this reality!
Then looking around me
here's what I see:
a whole crazy world
full of possibility
where we care for each other
me for you and you for me
'cause that's the way
life is supposed to be -
Chorus:
Yeah, that's the way
life is supposed to be
we're here for each other
in this reality
that's just the way
life is supposed to be!
Walt & me
Walt and I were already in our mid-sixties when we met. But our relationship never got old - he had a love of life, a brilliant, skeptical mind, and a crazy sense of humor that kept me laughing and on my toes for ten sweet years. He stuck around until the day after my 75th biirthday, when he followed my beloved Jorge, my parents, and many other dear ones into the great adventure-mystery that awaits us all in another time and space.
By the time Walt disappeared, he was ready to go. He'd spent his last four years battling amyloidosis, an illness that anyone with less single-minded stubbornness would have succumbed to much sooner. He stuck it out partly because he loved me and hated to think of me alone - but mostly because he had a mission: to become an "Amyloidosis Evangelist."
He plunged into this late-blooming mission in life when he learned that if he'd been diagnosed early enough, at the onset of his symptoms, his case needn't have been terminal.
Instead of getting depressed by this news, he was struck by a wonderful possibility: what if he could learn enough to educate others about the illness, so they might have a chance to avoid the same fate?
And that is what he set out to do. Over the next four years, he turned his misfortune into a way to give his very best to the world. No one was allowed to leave his presence without learning about amyloidosis and its telltale signs. He got to be so well-informed that he often knew more than the many doctors he went to, and he was regularly sought out as a speaker by companies like Pfizer and others dedicated to finding a cure.
He poured himself into his mission until he was too sick to use his laptop. And even after that, all the way up to his peaceful passing in his sleep, he expressed only gratitude for the work he'd been able to do, which had given such profound meaning to both his life and his death.