Wishes
The evening sky’s indigo stretches to greet me
I’m wrapped in the evening’s enchantment.
Clouds still visibly wait to be seen
Stars wish for illumination
While resting on clouds
I’m wrapped with a universal glow
Waiting to begin
I crave to discern my days
“Star light, Star bright
Wish I may, I wish I might”
Wrapped in a Universal radiance
I’m kissed by the night.
My wish is complete.
An Unexpected Shoulder
The evening excitement has found doubts.
Dislodging my heart once again.
I am longing to be held by the arms of confidence.
So I will proceed:
Elegance in poise, stepping up.
Keeping pace!
We’re catching lights in the flash.
Performance reached and we fell.
Wanting and embracing this tunnel.
We have begun.
Arms folded in sideline support.
He’s holding onto an internal applause.
Appendages fold tight.
Numbers and misfortune control.
Pawns struggle into action
That moment his game begins.
When his view jolts loosen my hold.
Will it be healing or halting?
Onto the field; no sideline prop.
He’s an unexpected soldier waiting.
The Entertainer
My hand is griping tightly and being squeezed in my mother’s as I walk into an office building on State Street, in Rochester, New York. Could I find this building today I’m not sure, I was not yet five years old? I usually came to this space with my father’s hands grasp, as I remember he had a different force about his grip, I want to believe it was less fearful and more loving. Is this the truth, it is the vision I have. What I can remember is the largeness of the freight elevator we stepped into. The spaces in the wooden slats were what constituted walls as we rode up to the floor where my father had a rifle range. I stepped over a crack between the elevator and the floor we landed on, the jolt of the stop left me with the feeling of being drawn into the eye of a hurricane. Years later I still had the feeling; if any elevators break in the floor was too large; I felt a sinking breath that left me troubled with emotions of being in a vortex of what I labeled my loss. This is where my story begins.
When writing I have to capture my reader with choices of language that will have them wanting to read more. I opt for talking. I can see the person’s response and change my words or stop. This is my expressive drama creating itself in a self centered conversation. The visions I create in my psyche continues and my senses detonate; especially with a captive audiences. This is what I once found at my father’s rifle range, I’m sure of this. I now am much more secure entertaining as I go with chatting and laughing when possible.
In my family of origin sharing tales also seemed to have a boring effect; almost frightening without immediate feedback. Personal lives were to be private. I really learned a lot about the need for secrets from my mother and her southern roots. If the truth was boring a lie was better. My secrets have taken a different form. I thought of the web of my life telling one of my more shocking narratives, beginning with the one’s that gave me a sense of being a star running around the rifle range; I had looked at this but I now feel I own who I was. At this point in my aging life, I can acknowledge it in an entirety, at least I think I can, in this continual self dialogue I have. In my honest fashion it has to be given the right person to listen to me and I have to feel open. I had thought I was honest but a new truth seems to be surfacing, giving me continual surprises.
A few friends who are still in my life for some 45 years reminded me of my being quite the gal. I used to actually get asked for autographs. Why autographs? Well I had been on television, modeled, had full page newspaper article written about my creative wedding and modeling. I had coverage of my work in other newspapers and a National magazine. Being in back stages with rock stars and doing lip sinks on television, which were popular at the time. I sat with the press at concerts and over drinks with rock stars and coffee with movie stars, a back rub from a soft and gentle folk singer, who had become quiet famous. There are also the movie stars I could be flattered by and those stories I would want to hide. I might of wondered why I had a certain heir of wild child but it was the 70’s, however untamed I became; nothing stopped me, until this part of my life. I have a very primal nature with a resilient spirit that just keeps going forward even in the eye of confusion and lack of direction.
As I stepped across the crack in the elevator into an empty room of the rifle range; it was empty, guns laying on the floor, I somehow knew, without words, my father was gone and the excitement and love, with the male attention would also be lost. The vision and repercussion’s of that day continue. This is where my sense of stardom and entitlement began; I presume.
Looking for Health
As I rose this morning I felt the aftermath of a day of non stop life. Thinking about another Doctor's Dance to distract. My body now screams with an ache of wishing I had not indulged my need to put some sort of order in my home life. Once again my life would become disturbed by the needs of needs in health diagnosis. Do I really need to do so much, there is just some ill begotten memory that exists in me of my being misplaced in the accountings of my history. Conceivably this is just another remnant of my wanting to think that I have to give up my needs. Even if there are no complete demands, yet. There exists within me an over doing and thinking. It seems my thoughts feel I don’t deserve a life of my own. I can’t seem to tend to my body and spirit, while being gentle to myself. however the battle continues. Thoughtful order finds release only in recognizing my first response I have now been able to find care for myself in writing again. I can reframe this picture that has historically woven itself within me. Bodily pain finds my need to look for kindness, even more, wanting the child within to be cared for; but not knowing how to ask without a great deal of effort.
I then find myself thinking of the strength of my Doctor who moves from sick person to sick person, he has reached into me with his strength; with charm and compassion which heals this pain. We have grown older together. As I watch the changes in his face; I wonder what he sees in mine. He thinks I dissect him, I don’t. I want to remember every look as I touch each moment. Magically the need to be fixed in a single hug and holding on to him seems to create strength I can’t find elsewhere. Remembering the hugs and how they feel seems to repair me. A visual not corporeal memory, I am able to recall, now wanting an imagine of walking on a beach. I was so taken by the ease of his stylishly slipping my boot, off as he examined my ankles. It was at that point hooked with a girlish need to be captivated, by the power and ease I felt emanating from this man. He offered to unbutton my cuff with the chivalrous jester. I seem to know he charmed women with his style before. I find guilt from the desire, just to go and sit and be held. Real worlds doesn’t allow such activities, with your Doctor. I sit with my husband only in the exhaustion of the evening ware, I remember we are a couple. After a day of nonstop activity to capture whatever time exists. He looks for just another memory of what is wrong with me. The journey continues and I am hopeful it will bring me to learning to meet my needs with Grace.
Habits
The Practice
Be kind to the habit of self
The custom of identity unfolding with honor
Be kind to the habit of self
Realizing practice comes and goes in style
I will love my training like a child who has not grown
Leaving home I will say goodbye and hello
Tasting the richness of all of the story
Writing and receiving in laughter and tears.
I will kiss the tears gently as all habits unite
My heart will feel nature’s creation
Being kind to the practice of self
Healing Dancing Divas
Dynamic Dona’s Decisions in the Delirium over finding loving care of my body: while I Danced in a Duo with my Dr. Dorothy’s Diva, I was deciding how to mix the freedom of ease with our aging bodies as we compared butts and stomachs. Girlfriends in the hall! Also I think of the trauma we both have had, each in different ways. I know more of mine than hers, of course. Is mine visible? Does it matter? I kept thinking afterwards about our playful selves of how much I much I love and what a gift you have been to me in freeing my body and strengthen it.
Do we women learn to somehow not be at ease with our bodies or deny thinking about it? Especially after ageing life brings our physical beauty and strength challenges and continually working at to integrate even the simplest of form: say posture. Can working at appreciating how we look finding the relaxing body even just for this given day? It is great we have found being open and having fun help us move through this process. In a simple playful response to butts and stomachs we recalled that life is more than just work. Laughter heals. Just perhaps acknowledging our need can help practice what does need healing. Let us all heal in our own way.
He was Gay!
I’ m Tempted with a wish which crawls within me. I approach a part of myself long forgotten and only tasted in some far off fantasy that brings life to me as I move within my days. Now in the memory of my first marriage where I was to be the leader as I look back. I know I could never have been a leader. We slept together for months before marriage as more of a convenience than an attraction. I was the one attracted, I knew I wanted him. I loved him deeply, as deeply as a 21 year old girl/women can. Times were a time where sex before marriage was forbidden. My childhood had given me fear of male touch. I was now waiting for the day that he and I would be together in whatever the mystery of sex might be for me. I just loved him spouting words in mind that love accepted everything. I was a local star and model, even go-go dancer for a short time. He wanted the attention I created, he wanted the marriage. I was seduced with a thought of stardom and it was not a reality. Our wedding day became the beginning of one humiliation after the other. It was the shame and degradation that was unspoken. All perpetuated in a family of warped misgivings and attitudes. On our wedding night he slept with a man and not me! I thought I was just giving love and acceptance. My fear of men, and his need for men as opposed to me it became. The theme of the marriage was one of 5 months.
The Grammar Police
Today I met with part of the Grammar police. Driving my heart wide open. I have no education sculpted in time to teach me past, present, or future of any of my lessons. I love semicolons but don’t know why. Can I tell you any of the reasons why I can’t spell. No! They are my assumptions in memories. Why don't I even know the rules? Why I don’t even want to. I am a poet who doesn’t want to be confined and I love my free spirit. Form is flowing and I am happy to be alive. I can hear you and I know your form. I can use my charms to let us know we are alive. My brain does nothing to articulate, rolling only with my spirit. I express what runs and flows free. I am happy to live in only my own space and I am not afraid to be afraid. I hear you now and I am open to your editing and expression
Language has such power
Crafted with a thoughtful hand.
I Shape words with fingers or tongue
Each expression finds form.
Still my fingers shake
My sculpting of stories.
Wait for release.
Wait to be done.
Andrew’s Mother
There is a wind that blew by me today showing me who I was and who I am. Resting only on the shoulders of yesterday but walking with today’s beauty. If I were to dance with the devil and I have; what would I find now. One moment I can add to my shoulders weight, while my spine buckles and bends. Soon breaking I am broken with my lack of structure. I paste and cement what I can as I walk with this unknown. Embracing only a trace of substance in my Art. My inductions in strength are chemically enhanced by modern medicine for my health. I exist and embrace only when I trust.
How can I? Will I? We can’t be steeped in wasted moments pouring forth; it becomes a rusting of our spirits. I run just one step in front of the wind, wondering when it catches me, how hard I will fall.
Confessions to a once Alter Boy
