Three fruit & nut bars: $5
One half-caff coffee: $2.50
Rice, Beans & Guacamole $6.50
Feedback from four published writers on two of my memoir pieces: Priceless.
How grateful I am that after only seven meetings (once a month) I feel brave enough to share some of the meatier memoir pieces with these folks. They wanted more. They were very complimentary. I am very grateful.
Now the work begins in earnest. Stringing these pieces on a coherent thread toward some semblance of flow sounds easier than I expect it will be. Each is a stand-alone piece, but rubbing elbows with your neighbors can either bring out the best in you, or rub you the wrong way. We’ll see…
Blast from the past, these memories dredged from the sixties… Even farther passed past than the revival of The X-Files TV offering we saw Sunday night for a few minutes. Scully and Moulder still have what it takes to drag us willingly into the roiling waters of sci-fi fantasy. The nineties are now retro? Gettin’ OLD!
I return to writing this week, as someone else becomes point person for our buddy Marc’s hospice team. He’s in good spirits for a man who sees death leering at him through the window like the haunting wolf of the three-little-pigs. He’s welcoming visits from friends and colleagues - joking about people taking him seriously when they know he’s dying. His consciousness astounds. His humor disarms. Humanity beams from his eyes.
Waking at 5:31 pleased me. Nine is my favorite number. Bless the little ticking heart of the bedside digital clock - synched to the Great Atomic Clock in the… where IS that thing, anyway? Anyway, I went for a stroll hoping to see those five planets supposedly lined up on the eastern horizon just before dawn. While it’s a beautiful neighborhood, it’s numerous street lights and even the Oracle Stadium lights, full-on bright, were bouncing off the cloud cover. NO planets visible. Still, a nice way to wake up. Lots of frogs singing.
Monday again. Two writing classes. Free coffee and advice.
Monday, January 25, 2016
Monday, January 18, 2016
What's in a Name?
My friend Sharon Noteboom poses a question in the following poem:
Tell Me Please, where do you find God?
Does God exist in our cancer cells, in broken bones,
Is God really Real for you?
Do you see God as Love?
How is God’s love manifested for you?
Are you comforted by God?
Do you find strength for life’s struggles from God?
Tell me true, in our awkward, limited words,
Who is your God?
Do you feel that our Earth is Blessed by God?
Is our God the creator of the Universe?
The Universes?
Perhaps each Universe has its own God.
Could that be?
Tell me please, How do you see God?
More Than…
God of butterflies and rainbows.
God of soft summer rain.
God of the majestic sunset.
God in autumn’s deep colors and pungent, spirited smell.
The mountains stand with God.
The oceans are God’s playground.
The great whale shows God.
And the tiny snail.
Gentle breezes, cool nighttime air.
The birth of a baby.
Puppies, kittens, and polar bears.
Holding hands, a deep soul kiss,
Combing hair. A full tight body hug.
The foot massage or a warm body bath.
In the smell of bread, and brisk forest pine.
Is all this where God resides? Where do you see God?
Do you find God in insects, grasshoppers, mosquitoes, cockroaches?
Can God be found in electricity, exploding bombs, and suns?
Where does God hide when the stampede occurs at the
Holy Mosques, the joyful yearly festivals?
The wars of religion and faith, when both sides have God
on their side? Does God stand back and laugh at the foolish
Shenanigans of we angry humans?
So sure of themselves these righteous ones. Do they all
see God’s blinding light?
God in Tsunamis, exploding volcanoes, floods and forest fires?
God of War and starvation, AIDS, and the Flu?
Does god exist in our cancer cells, in broken bones,
In searing pain?
Where do yo find God? Tell me true.
I want to know.
———— Sharon Noteboom
Riffing on Sharon’s poem, I got to thinking about how I view God. It’s definitely not a personage, a being, or an entity of any sort. The closest I came to finding words for my own understanding of what others call "God" is this:
Matrix
“Ma” playing “tricks”
Gluon of the Universe, physicists tell us, is the binding energy that holds the whole shebang together.
My God, I see as tendrils of consciousness that fill, touch, and connect every fiber of creation.
Am I silly to think that mycelium, the web of fungi that permeates and travels in the soil of every land - is perhaps the original inter-net?
Human fascia connects the wrinkle of our brow to the unexpected pain of a wee toe being stubbed against the Mahogany table leg - wood that grew in soil on some distant island. Did the table leg seek revenge? Did that distant mycelium send a message through the soil that resonated with that ancient hardwood? However inanimate we may think it is, it too is consciousness manifested.
I like to imagine the interconnectedness of all things as a process of unification - integral to all creation. God is verbing and vibe-ing, not a stagnant noun. I balk at the notion that God or Goddess, Yaweh, Allah, Jesus, Buddha, or Mohamed, you or I are removed, out there, apart from, distant and unaffected by the Whole. I cannot conceive that any one person or thing can be removed from the wholeness of creation. Matter is simply condensed energy. Pure Consciousness.
I believe everything in Universe, even “empty” space, is part of what Is. It’s the precursor to that “ISness” that’s the something “bigger than I am.” That’s the “God” which I can get behind, grok, and try to understand.
And what about cancer? Is there Consciousness in that black hole of hunger that’s voraciously eating my friend? Like a black hole in space, the more it eats the hungrier, greedier, and more powerful is its gravitational tug. Cancers and black holes devour whatever is near. The dark to the incredible light of the Universe; the yin to the yang.
It gives me comfort that there are at least 24 more hours of light than of dark in any given year… not just leap year! Neener Neener, darkness; Pfthbbbttt, and take THAT, cancer!
Tell Me Please, where do you find God?
Does God exist in our cancer cells, in broken bones,
Is God really Real for you?
Do you see God as Love?
How is God’s love manifested for you?
Are you comforted by God?
Do you find strength for life’s struggles from God?
Tell me true, in our awkward, limited words,
Who is your God?
Do you feel that our Earth is Blessed by God?
Is our God the creator of the Universe?
The Universes?
Perhaps each Universe has its own God.
Could that be?
Tell me please, How do you see God?
More Than…
God of butterflies and rainbows.
God of soft summer rain.
God of the majestic sunset.
God in autumn’s deep colors and pungent, spirited smell.
The mountains stand with God.
The oceans are God’s playground.
The great whale shows God.
And the tiny snail.
Gentle breezes, cool nighttime air.
The birth of a baby.
Puppies, kittens, and polar bears.
Holding hands, a deep soul kiss,
Combing hair. A full tight body hug.
The foot massage or a warm body bath.
In the smell of bread, and brisk forest pine.
Is all this where God resides? Where do you see God?
Do you find God in insects, grasshoppers, mosquitoes, cockroaches?
Can God be found in electricity, exploding bombs, and suns?
Where does God hide when the stampede occurs at the
Holy Mosques, the joyful yearly festivals?
The wars of religion and faith, when both sides have God
on their side? Does God stand back and laugh at the foolish
Shenanigans of we angry humans?
So sure of themselves these righteous ones. Do they all
see God’s blinding light?
God in Tsunamis, exploding volcanoes, floods and forest fires?
God of War and starvation, AIDS, and the Flu?
Does god exist in our cancer cells, in broken bones,
In searing pain?
Where do yo find God? Tell me true.
I want to know.
———— Sharon Noteboom
Riffing on Sharon’s poem, I got to thinking about how I view God. It’s definitely not a personage, a being, or an entity of any sort. The closest I came to finding words for my own understanding of what others call "God" is this:
Matrix
“Ma” playing “tricks”
Gluon of the Universe, physicists tell us, is the binding energy that holds the whole shebang together.
My God, I see as tendrils of consciousness that fill, touch, and connect every fiber of creation.
Am I silly to think that mycelium, the web of fungi that permeates and travels in the soil of every land - is perhaps the original inter-net?
Human fascia connects the wrinkle of our brow to the unexpected pain of a wee toe being stubbed against the Mahogany table leg - wood that grew in soil on some distant island. Did the table leg seek revenge? Did that distant mycelium send a message through the soil that resonated with that ancient hardwood? However inanimate we may think it is, it too is consciousness manifested.
I like to imagine the interconnectedness of all things as a process of unification - integral to all creation. God is verbing and vibe-ing, not a stagnant noun. I balk at the notion that God or Goddess, Yaweh, Allah, Jesus, Buddha, or Mohamed, you or I are removed, out there, apart from, distant and unaffected by the Whole. I cannot conceive that any one person or thing can be removed from the wholeness of creation. Matter is simply condensed energy. Pure Consciousness.
I believe everything in Universe, even “empty” space, is part of what Is. It’s the precursor to that “ISness” that’s the something “bigger than I am.” That’s the “God” which I can get behind, grok, and try to understand.
And what about cancer? Is there Consciousness in that black hole of hunger that’s voraciously eating my friend? Like a black hole in space, the more it eats the hungrier, greedier, and more powerful is its gravitational tug. Cancers and black holes devour whatever is near. The dark to the incredible light of the Universe; the yin to the yang.
It gives me comfort that there are at least 24 more hours of light than of dark in any given year… not just leap year! Neener Neener, darkness; Pfthbbbttt, and take THAT, cancer!
Sunday, January 10, 2016
Sunday, Sweet Sunday
Sunday, sweet Sunday, with community all ‘round.
Real people sitting on wooden pews, facing one another, listening together to Pacific Boy’s Choir and the real magic of their actual voices - nothing virtual.
I weep with JOY.
Such beautiful sentiments, such gorgeous tones. Scents of pine and candle wax.
I weep with the stunning beauty of the moment.
I weep with the realization that all are here for upgrading our expectations of the human race.
Later, in the family room, where the Holy Trinity of Coffee, Cookies, and Conversation are served up, I person a table where folks may sign up to attend family life classes… from nine choices: digging for roots (not gardening, but genealogy), and clay play, to yoga (which I'll be teaching four Saturdays) and Oakland A’s Day. As point person to answer questions folks may have, I get to meet a whole bunch of fellow Sunday Congregants and replay the events of the night before when we celebrated Twelfth Night (a few days late) with a Yule Feast… when we all dressed in Medieval garb.
We come to a community church to shine a light on one another’s best aspects, and to bask in the multiplied light.
Do I want to BE a Presbyterian? Not really. I’m not a brand-name kind of gal. I prefer to shop at Goodwill for clothing which has had its labels already cut out. I prefer my own version of connecting with something bigger than I am. Yet, here I am weeping on a Sunday because something about this community feeds an empty part of me that wants nourishing. Is it perfect? Naaaw. Is it essential? Nope, but pleasant and supportive, and pushes an essential re-set button at the end of the week.
Keep comin’ back, it works if you work it. Hmmmm... has a familiar ring.
Real people sitting on wooden pews, facing one another, listening together to Pacific Boy’s Choir and the real magic of their actual voices - nothing virtual.
I weep with JOY.
Such beautiful sentiments, such gorgeous tones. Scents of pine and candle wax.
I weep with the stunning beauty of the moment.
I weep with the realization that all are here for upgrading our expectations of the human race.
Later, in the family room, where the Holy Trinity of Coffee, Cookies, and Conversation are served up, I person a table where folks may sign up to attend family life classes… from nine choices: digging for roots (not gardening, but genealogy), and clay play, to yoga (which I'll be teaching four Saturdays) and Oakland A’s Day. As point person to answer questions folks may have, I get to meet a whole bunch of fellow Sunday Congregants and replay the events of the night before when we celebrated Twelfth Night (a few days late) with a Yule Feast… when we all dressed in Medieval garb.
We come to a community church to shine a light on one another’s best aspects, and to bask in the multiplied light.
Do I want to BE a Presbyterian? Not really. I’m not a brand-name kind of gal. I prefer to shop at Goodwill for clothing which has had its labels already cut out. I prefer my own version of connecting with something bigger than I am. Yet, here I am weeping on a Sunday because something about this community feeds an empty part of me that wants nourishing. Is it perfect? Naaaw. Is it essential? Nope, but pleasant and supportive, and pushes an essential re-set button at the end of the week.
Keep comin’ back, it works if you work it. Hmmmm... has a familiar ring.
Monday, January 4, 2016
Revolting Resolution
Bah Humbug…
That’s how I’m feeling about this new year at the moment.
Too much free-floating sugar in my system to feel much of anything, really. Numbed. Bombed on ginger snaps and chocolates, my mind is a-gog with a fog. And I didn't even have ANY eggnog! Dairy's effects on me are immediate and gross. That's a no brainer. Sugar is more insidious.
New year’s resolutions are made because we feel less than our ideal selves. We vow to change. I don’t seem to have the will to shift the sh** that’s troubling me. Too easy to walk into the pantry and scarf down the last few of the once delicious shortbread’s crumbly bits,
Sigh… The bag is now empty.
I vow to wow myself by exorcising all comestible sugar from the pantry. I resolve to acknowledge that the yeastie beasties are willful and want to be fed, but that I’m more cunning than they are, and that I CAN and WILL triumph over the little parasites. I sympathize with their suffering.
Tough Shift
That’s how I’m feeling about this new year at the moment.
Too much free-floating sugar in my system to feel much of anything, really. Numbed. Bombed on ginger snaps and chocolates, my mind is a-gog with a fog. And I didn't even have ANY eggnog! Dairy's effects on me are immediate and gross. That's a no brainer. Sugar is more insidious.
New year’s resolutions are made because we feel less than our ideal selves. We vow to change. I don’t seem to have the will to shift the sh** that’s troubling me. Too easy to walk into the pantry and scarf down the last few of the once delicious shortbread’s crumbly bits,
Sigh… The bag is now empty.
I vow to wow myself by exorcising all comestible sugar from the pantry. I resolve to acknowledge that the yeastie beasties are willful and want to be fed, but that I’m more cunning than they are, and that I CAN and WILL triumph over the little parasites. I sympathize with their suffering.
Tough Shift
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)