Reach

written 5.19.09

Arms heavy

Heart full

Eyes alive

Dropping down

Down

Little bit heavier

Little bit

Been reaching

Been holding

Been reaching

Been looking

So much in my full arms

Alive heart

Heavy eyes

Me

To show you

To hold you

Here

Softly my eyes

Longing heavy, full and alive

Plead through rivers

Deep wide rushing

Reach back?

But you

There

You can't see eyes

So far

Only words on a screen

Blurry now

The ache

Not in my arms,

No, not in my arms

Here

Glassy Lake

written 11.11.08

I am a glassy lake, holding so still, so still
Please wind, don't blow
Please dragonfly, don't land here
Please fish, don't jump today
I need to reflect, deflect
Holding, holding, holding so still, so very still
Teeming, buzzing, glowing, vibrating with life below
Do not, do not, DO NOT betray this truth
Shhh, I'm solid
Shhh, I'm hard
Shhh, I'm impenetrable
I am not water, I cannot be water, I will be glass

I am holding so still, holding my breath, I am so quiet
And my reflection is beautiful
Isn't that enough
Please don't see me, hear me, feel my life inside
Please don't feel my buzz, my glow below
I am glass, I am solid
Please don't disturb this careful surface
Don't reach below to where the life lives

The ripples you make, they take so very long
They take so many heartaches to recede
They take
And they take
And they break

The glass breaks, the illusion shatters
The life holds its breath, the breath holds its life
Waiting, silent, still as I can hold, while the wake moves through
Shhh, I'm solid
Shhh, I'm hard
Shhh, I'm impenetrable
I am not water, I cannot be water, I will be glass again

Magic Miracle Box

I rode the elevator today with a neighbor and his dog. Being on empathic overdrive as usual, my mind's eyes were looking at the world through that dog's eyes and imagining what an elevator ride must look like to him. Imagine this: You walk into the closet-sized box, turn around, look out through the box opening at the view from there, the sliding door closes, your person touches the wall of the box and a little light comes on, there's a sense of motion and vibration, and a few seconds later, the sliding door opens, and abra cadabra, you're in a whole different place with all new sights, sounds, and most importantly, smells. The elevator is a magic box. A teleportation miracle really.

A couple of months ago, two of my friends were playing around with classifying all the people they knew as either dogs or cats. Me? They decided I was a dog. When I heard this, I was struck with two reactions:
1. Duh.
2. But then...hey wait a second. I'm way more complex than a dog. I mean, this one time, at new age hippie pagan camp, my crunchy friend did my animal totem reading, and she said my top two animals are turtle and squirrel. Hmmm, if you combined those two animals into one, it'd be called a squirtle. Which, admittedly, sounds like something someone with bladder-control problems might do when she laughs too hard or sneezes. Maybe being classified as a dog isn't so bad after all.

Wait—how'd I get so sidetracked?

Anyway, at first I was a little stubbornly indignant about being reduced to the label of dog. But after carefully considering some of the more endearing characteristics of dogs, I've repaired my cracked self-esteem shell and decided that maybe, just maybe, I am a lot like a dog. Like, I always want to be close to and take care of my people when they're sad or sick. I really love to go for walks (friends have to be careful to actually take me for a walk whenever they say the word w-a-l-k—I learned what that spells last week). I don't care whether my people are cool or glamorous—I look right through their appearance and instead feel how good and warm their hearts are. I don't take much of anything for granted, and I'm always grateful when people love me. And I also think that elevators are magic miracle boxes.