S

Your story,

as important as it has become to you in this life,

is just a story.

 

There is something bigger at work here.

 

Your story,

as important as it has become to you in this life,

is just a letter.

 

It’s the letter “S”

with its roadway curves

and lack of edges–

it is a letter, in a word,

on a page, in a book.

 

 

The only truth is connection.

 

The only outcome is surrender.

 

December 3, 2016

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Self Love

I’m

beginning

to see

self love

in a different way.

 

Learning

to love yourself

for what you used to doubt,

to question, to hate–

that is the most important part.

 

The smile on your face,

the eyebrows above it,

the eyes a boy used to love,

the stories within them.

 

Water can crash down

and hurt you but in the end,

it is only water.

 

Everything else is just a feather,

floating,

remaining neutral.

 

July 2, 2016

Morning Commute

Take

your hand

off the door

and take a step

with me.

 

Flex

your eyebrow

while your side eye

grants me a grin–

did I say it

again?

 

“I like you,”

and all those messy thoughts aside,

“I know you,”

or at least I want to.

 

My steps feel lighter

now that you’re part of the story

rolling through my head–

or is this my stop at Penn?

 

Don’t want to miss my train again…

M-New-York-Subway-Paul-L-via-Flickr.jpg

January 28, 2016

The First Day

The day I sat

and looked in the mirror

I stared:

I was looking at me.

 

But it was not me

that I saw.

 

My pupils rounded,

black trench coats

preparing for summer rain

my skin relaxed

after the ebb and flow of the day

I dared not move

for there I swear I saw

the light of a soul.

 

Inside my body,

beyond my mind

there lays a spirit so vast

that it does not know me by name

it stands tall and strong,

not with pride,

but not without it, either.

 

When you are Light,

I suppose you need no one

to tell you just how brightly you shine

 

I felt confused;

I felt at peace–

as if I had known this feeling all along

 

It was the first day of my spiritual practice.

 

It seems so clear now

but with fall leaves promising signs of winter

at 18 years

all I wanted was a pair of mittens and a safe

place to stay, away from the cold.

 

Listening to Spirit

is not always easy–

but it’s always needed

 

to quench a thirst deeper

than Jesus felt in the desert,

Buddha under the tree

when

compounded

together

we have every star, every Being

right here beside

me stood a mirror,

and in the mirror, a face

searching its own lines and faded chords

for lyrics one sang long ago…

there were mountains in my eyes,

an echo on each peak.

 

A sudden wave of peace

rushes from my pores, into the night’s sky

and asks you to grant its wish–

to look at yourself

not as you,

nor me,

but as One

 

a single universe united in song.

 

December 16, 2015

Forever Love

The final drop

in the bucket,

knowing it does not exist

that all expands

and contracts

and realizes its impermanence

simply by being free.

A free love–

it is all I could ever wish for.

..

My hands on your cheeks,

tracing your smile

and the etches of your mind

that I once thought to be unreadable

.

I want you

to flip through my pages

and learn my story,

to write it with me:

our forever love.

November 29, 2015

Watching the Clock

Love

is a drug

that just keeps on giving

despite its worth,

commercialized

side effects

how to handle

a man

one on one

a manual

I was never given–

where is it?

 

The time I found

the nail

and all I wanted

was a hammar

to put me back in my place

I found you,

instead–

eyes glazed over

from the fact

that I was a well enabled

woman

to kick your ass

back to second base

 

Just tell me a story,

dear Love,

of how you existed

among priests

and kings

and witches

and me,

stories of younger days

past narratives

water drowning

my teacup

and all I want is an answer,

or at least the right question,

’cause I know I’m responsible

for making something–

more than this house

all alone,

wondering what time

to expect Love

to come

knocking on my door.

 

November 24, 2015

The Story

It’s what we write every day and, whether we are fully aware of it or not, it’s the grandest story of all:

The Story of My Life.

From the news and social media, to conversations at work and on the street, stories make up the “stuff” of our lives.  I truly believe that we are more than all of this “stuff.”  When you take it all away, there is only the simplicity of life churning away through our veins and souls, connecting us all to the universe.

And yet we still live here, on Earth.  We are always in the midst of other people and countless narratives.  We can’t just run from them.   The world will keep turning.  Even if we close off all our senses, the stories that make up society aren’t going to go away.  Yes, we can shape our personal narrative by stating: “My life is more important than my life story.” And you’d be right!  I am solidly in that camp.  But we are still responsible for our stories.

What do you tell yourself, about yourself, every day?  How do you view your relationship with others, with yourself?  Where does your self confidence fall based on these guidelines?

If I have a problem, I like to think about it in broad terms, considering the evidence of one truth versus another.  By doing so, however, I put a lot of pressure on myself (and my brain) to get it right.  As if I have all the answers!  It’s insane, and yet this pressure follows me day to day, allowing myself to identity with both intelligence and inability.  So when I ask myself the question, “Am I capable of changing how I tell my life story?” I doubt myself.

Do you have any doubts about yourself, about your abilities– about your story?

A wise friend of mine told me today that fresh starts are precious: not everyone can have them, and you can do whatever you want with them.

They symbolize ultimate freedom.

Today, as I find myself in the beginnings of another “fresh start,” I’m taking a stand.  I want to claim responsibility for telling my life story–  to the world, to others, and (most importantly) to myself.

In more ways than not, I am whatever I want to be.  I am whatever I believe myself to be.  There’s no pressure to know everything or for everything to be perfect.   But I’m the main character in this play, as well as the audience.  All I can do is balance the tragedy with the comedy and know that, in the end, my “life” under my “life situation,” my “life story,” will always be there.

***

So, hey you!  You’re a person with a story.  Go out there and write a good one.