I write

I watch and
I eat
I play and make
I draw
I eat
I play and walk
I eat
I read
I listen
I drink
I write of the bore that
is a day of today
where the cycle is of this
cycle of doldrums
and destitute
meaning in a walk, a draw, an eat, a read, and a write.

what I've got

a stomach of gnarled fibers
runs its way around

picking fine details of encrypted
old sounds

all six legs
striding for the
final
let go

an end.
we find it.
to slow-ly

beating the sounds

breaking teeth

with a soothing smoothing.

We are settled here.
we settle all where
we settle in our pattern of

footsteppings.

random raindrops

Random Raindrops

travel slowly into unchosen puddles
streaming along a path provided
by something set
before.
and then
they cross other larger streams
of raindrops losing their own
way and loosening
to the pull.

Maybe we will pass through the pond of drops.
Or maybe we will look for another
and miss.
Or the footsteps will find the same ground, untimely.

Or the ocean will flood into the feet of those who are strongly planted
and
the fruits
will then gloriously swallow the sun.

another night of my daunting dreams

It seems these days I can't go a night without having one of those troubling troubling dreams. Someone trying to kill me, someone telling me that everyone hates me. I'm lost, I'm running, I'm crying, I'm hitting. It seems so sad that in my "restful" state it is the sadness of my days, my doubts and stress that take over. I may be jumping to the ceiling with delight but am being watched with hateful eyes. I may be flying to a beautiful place but there is the scare that I may fall to my death at any moment. I don't believe that these are the dreams I had as a child. I remember the rarity of scares or running or crying. But dreams were of something I looked forward to. That I truly believed in my young spiritual life told me a story worth holding on to, worth looking into, the meaning, the use of the nightly sleeping experiences. And perhaps, that is the lesson into these dreams as well. I am doubting, I am saddened, I am worried and hurt and crying and feeling no love from any direction. And this is in my slumber!!! and this is in my daily life. And so, I will try to take away, and regain my spiritual attentiveness, that indeed my daily life and the way in which I'm living is negatively impacting my sleep and in my understanding of dreams, my spirit.

How To Be Alone

estoy aqui, estoy contenda

I am here and I am glad and the days have passed now with only two more to sink into my skin. After the moments that your yearn to remember in the future, I prepare to write. I gaze at the computer screen and hesitate, and then I walk outside to see the morning skies and practice my Spanish. To enjoy the day before it rains in the evening! as it does every evening. We take off our shoes and we count, and we say ready and then go to run on our bare tippy toes through the rivered streets. whaling, whaling! are we waking those who sleep? I watched the rain fall through the small open door as I watched Mozart's "Magic Flute" in a long theatre under what looks like an old part of an aqueduct. walking under the arch to find Bryce and Chucho under an umbrella. We go eat our corn I had prepared for! cheesey, mayonaise, boiled ear with chili pepper and lime. yumm yumm as all the specialties. spicy beer, spicy, spicy (which I would've enjoyed more if a drunken man wasn't yelling "Oaxaca city! you like, my queen?"
We walk to see posters littered the walls of graffiti. a paint splotted multicolored of eyes. Later to meet the artist at the Oaxacan Painters Museum. He explains the "process" of his creations as to connect the young people of the city, like us walking the streets with the exhibitions simultaneously walking in the neatly laid museum walls.
Today. warm chocolate with dipped fresh sugar bread. and to a graphic arts museum and for tacos and warm rice spice milk. To listen to jazz perhaps and tomorrow a fresh, organic market and much dancing dancing to catch up on before my departure.
we hope we can reach the airport as election for city governor has initiated street blockades by protesters. we will know if I make it home on the 3rd of July, 2010. Like 2006, there is much to protest, and many people who join.
still enjoying the vibrancy and newness and difference. To attempt a recoiling of it all in the keepings for later stories.

Una mas, una mas

My third night in Oaxaca I woke, thrashing, run run run to the bathroom to throw away the curtain door. sickness. "the disease period, getting to know the bed". It lasted the entire evening and aches in my body the entire next day I slept with the 10/10 day outside my reach. I bounced back. and then Bryce fell victim. nausea and bathroom living. Chucho and I broke out to Cafe Central, I tried mexcal. not to my liking. and danced our faces and smiles. We found our place on the stage where we dramatically twisted and contorted our matching bodies. No one here will ever see me again. I will dance my most heart. Revealing of the push inside that we ignore. one free dance. and Chucho replayed he and Bryce's meeting in the open courtyard.
He speaks in English and I speak in Spanish and we teach one another. I write my new words in a tiny book Jean made me and I read over every day.
In the morning we had great stories for Bryce and we packed our bodies with mindful of health for the trip to Monte Alban. Zapotec ruins outside the city, sandy brown and bright green grass. we hiked up the ceremonial centers, the view above to praise the gods that gave them the nourishment and beauty of the land surrounding. to eat homemade delicious cooking from Chucho's mother, Anita that evening and every evening after. I am still in awe of what is common here, the colors, the barred windows, enormous doors. soccer/futbol in the streets, children selling candies, the shining sun on the sandy earth floors, the edges and balconies and curiously cut walls, flirtatious smiles, and small closet doorways of stores to buy. and Bryce and I have our share of sleepovers that our parents denied us as children, I sing early in the morning and we talk of dreams the night before and mexico treats me well.