I cry because……

 

One thing I know for sure, I’m a crier. Wait- don’t back away, let me explain. It’s in my DNA! I cry at weddings, I cry at the boldness it takes to partake in them. I cry at the thought of being center stage, eyes doubtful or hopeful to a real risk of disappointing those witness to it, dressed like Valets’-dressed like dreamers. I cry for the mere poetry that is about to play out this summer, a time of abundant weddings; I cry for marriage, the old fashioned institution dating back to the time of hunters and gathers “the division of labor.” I cry while I read poetry which patterns marriage, sometimes metered and sometimes haiku. I cry at the thought of how beautifully raw and vulnerable humans are. I cry when I must trust others, I cry at how freely I don’t trust others. I cry when I think of birthday parties where no one came. I cry when my child has accrued yet one more year. I cry when I try to explain; tears hot on my cheeks making me feel clown- desperately smiling the tears away. I cry with exasperation at my mothers excuses. I cry at how she was so influential in how I ended up this way. It was her heartbreak that planted a crying seed. She’ll tell you herself. She sobbed and wallowed and shuddered and gulped. Yes real sorrow for 9 months, with me in the womb. It was brewing up until the day he left her-2 snotty nosed wailing kids, a pair of diapers and an empty bank account that he’d cleaned out. Then the dam burst. So and like my mother taught me I blame. When I cry because I am misunderstood my husband says I point to my heart. I cry when the wind blows and I cry when It doesn’t. I cry when my story falls on dull ears and I cry for how invisible it can feel to be human. I cry inside when I walk with my friend around Green lake whose son died one day while she was out for a walk. I cry for all she has to hold in and for the tears my teenage son never cried at all. I cry for all mothers and all motherless children. I cry for the part of me that secretly wants to drop everything and run, disappear to Antarctica to start a new life devoid of tears. I cried the other day when Grace Love sang Leonard Coehn’s Song ” Hallelujah” at the KEXP coffee shop. I cried because I LOVE THAT SONG. I cried at the first note, when I felt that pang-i cried some more? That that is my favorite Ballad? I cry for knowing I too am intuitive. ….I too-an artist, and I cry for not becoming what I wanted to be. I even cry that she did! I cry when I think of the man in my twenties that I loved like I love summer. I loved him so much I gave the ring back. I cry just thinking through each character in my book, how iconic they each are, channeling a facet of my every tear, with glimmers of both sorrow, joy and reconciliation. Yes don’t back away- come towards me, you’ll see, they are just tears. After all, I’m a crier, a poet who cannot find the words, but the tears speak volumes.

 

 

 

 

 

Life shapes us that’s for damn sure. We are little beacons down here on rugged terrain waiting to strike a pose, be discovered, or simply learn how to effectively reflect that chance gleam of moonlight into inspiration. There are days we are too distracted to even feel the sun’s rays, oblivious to the warmth, unavailable for the affirmation from the solar system, yes the solar system wants to speak to you. You really should listen. I mean in the Milky Way even even gas is a good thing.
It’s energy we seek from this life, and it’s totally dependent on positioning, mindset, timing, receptivity. We can’t always catch that pop fly, sometimes we miscalculate, there’s a muscle spasm, a stray hair in your eyes, sometimes for no good reason we end up dropping a crucial ball. But it’s really a choice whether you bounce back, switch to your generator, or an alternative fuel, salad oil, grief, love, music, maybe it so terrifying it moves you to change or accept as blatantly as gene alternation changes a lab rat. Focus on what you have, there’s still cheese?
Down here some are surrounded by evergreens, sweeping long armed cedars, some are wide open, fully exposed like a powdered infants fresh from the bath, with no cover other than perhaps the scent of cactus flowers or sage bush, protected by only human touch and Johnson and Johnson’s. Sometimes you even need advice, I mean don’t disregard the silent offerings of a lizard in scorching heat, answers often come from those you least expect it from. It’s a choice really, sometimes when we take a blow, we just prefer to lay wriggling observing how miraculously long it takes anyone to notice you’re missing. What matters in this life is a solid realization of self, the earlier the better. Why do you even care if they notice you? After all salt exists without pepper? Do you hear all the good of self when all is quiet? Do you know all that makes you tick do you know if you prefer a loud tick, a fast tick, a double timed tick, do you honor that the tick is coming from underneath your favorite t-shirt the one so soft and thread bare, it too gets excited to be chosen from the drawer of much nicer options. Even in such a underwhelming and inexpensive costume that is a faded maroon t-shirt from ten years ago, you are still a uniquely rare and fabulous marvel? Are you enough as is or do you always require embellishment? Simplify and listen, it’s a choice how you navigate the terrain down here on earth

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