Sometimes I forget not to be bored.
I only remember when I am wishing some horror would end,
like when pitched to the pivotal moment just before a pronounced sentence,
a reading of my fate.
Or, little less than terror, a performance evaluation
by a man sitting at the back of my classroom with a pen, eyes, ears and judgment,
leaning on every word, gesture and response.
I am notated.
Anticipating the fall while peering over the precipice,
these are the times I pray for the ordinary I eschew every other moment of every day:
the groans and dull-eyed drudgery of waking, pissing, showering, caffeinating
and driving the drive in unrelenting heat circulating about my head
blown by the broken air conditioner of a beat up car awaiting the junk yard,
or the crying mop times of late night I’m-just-too-tired-to-do-this moans of despair—
for the boredom, tedium, godawful-lobotomizing numbness of mindless repetition
like factory fingers twisting bow knots on an endless assembly line,
the industrial rosary, sans soothing rhythmic sync.
Deimos and Phobos, moons of my memory, usher me back to boredom,
box seat of the stadium, luxury of the lucky lottery winners of life,
born colorless, coddled and cocooned.
Thank You
A year ago today, I committed to daily blog posting to see if I could do it, after starting this blog six months earlier and then neglecting it. My aim then was to begin a discipline of daily writing, some place where I could be held accountable to produce writing, not mere scribblings.
The practice was more for me than an audience, but the practice evolved, I have evolved–teeny bit, anyhow–and I believe it is time (way past time) to thank those who follow, read, contribute and/or comment. It feels like a collaborative work, which is far more satisfying and meaningful.
If I had more time, I would do this better, offer more, not just content but more. I would learn to blog better to embrace you, my readers, in a more compelling and inviting way, make you feel at home, not like voyeurs. But there is still time to improve, thankfully.
So, with gratitude…
Singing Joni
Joni Mitchell sings, ” I am a lonely painter. I live in a box of paints.” And when she does, I am stilled. But it is not the last sentence so much as the first, and not the last word so much as the word before–lonely–that moved me dozens of hearings. She moans the word, extended ‘O” evocative of Munch’s howl, though far more subtle, deeper and soulful. The anguish is not Munch’s, overlaid with fear, so much as the rooted, internal groan, petulant sugar, that she bemoans.
I sing that line out of nowhere driving in my car or listening to a conversation drifting in and out, particularly imbalanced ones where I witness more than counsel or contribute.
At first the metaphor of living in a box of paints brushed up against the literary lover in me. I imagined her a genie in a bottle, except a box of paints, transporting me back home–in my imagination–just visiting others’ worlds when I choose or must. But I know it’s the howl of the loooooooo that draws me to the line, to sing it. And not the lonely of loneliness. We are all lonely, though more like unsatisfied, unfocused and disassociated too often. A spiritual loneliness more than a lost or severed connection with others often characterized by missing someone or something. I do not consider that lack as lonely. It’s bigger yet smaller than one human or animal or other being, one activity.
No, the oooo in the looooo is both a ‘no’ and an ‘oh,’ like a sort of toggling between braking and accelerating a car or a dance, patterns of release and restraint.
Joni wants to paint but she sells songs instead. She is an artist, vast and particular. Many artists tear at the thrust of creation thwarted to pay the bills. We yearn to paint.
It is not so much a complaint–I can find a modicum of pleasure and certainly gratitude in anything I do, given that I allow myself to do so–as much as it is a longing, a desire ever felt, within centimeters of impossibly outstretched fingertips, a taste, a scent, a faint melody or flash of recognition come and gone. The hollow left behind–of not reaching–the come and gone, is the oooo. Both full and empty space, both present and absent. An ache. But one informed by the mind’s consent. I hurt because I worked out, something good for me. It will get better.
A promise. We live on promises. Some say that is wasting time, wasting away. Waiting is my least favorite thing to do. Impatience is my pratfall. But there is the impatience at not getting what I want–an open lane for some fucking space, room to race onward!–and there is impatience with something larger, more profound. Not attaining because…Perhaps that is the larger impatience. The because. What follows elicits the moan, sigh and gut grief.
Today “I am a lonely painter” with many mutterings to utter before the day is through, puppeteering a teacher, word-pump, and merchant. And as I dive into a replenishing yet jolting plunge into gratitude, I will channel Joni, fighting for all that is ordinary and plentiful right now–air, thought and motion.
“55 Rules for Love”
credit: http://markhanlin.com
I appreciate this list so much I am re-printing all 55 of the 55 Rules for Love in elephantjournal.com gifted by Alex Sandra Myles. I especially love how the list is framed by 1 and 55, cherish love and don’t take it for granted or risk it for mind games, power plays and other gambles to chase love away.
Some of these rules confirm the successful moments of my own daily practices and disposition toward not only loving another or others but self, such as being grateful, aiming for open communication, disagreement as healthy for cherishing and appreciating difference, forgiving easily, admitting fault and accepting criticism.
So many of them, however, are challenges, ones I know I must practice daily but forget, struggle with or get lazy, like 5, 8, 13, 16, 22, 23, 26, 30, 37, 41, 43 and 45. The rest are either instinctual or hard earned by practice or subsumed in other rules: cherishing love is also being grateful and appreciative.
I hope you enjoy this list as much as I do as gentle reminders how to love yourself too.
1. When it arrives, cherish it.
2. Whatever you accept, you will get
3. Understand that love is a mirror—it will show us who we are if we allow it to.
4. Only we can make ourselves happy, it is not the other person’s responsibility.
5. Don’t say words with the intent to hurt.
6. Accept and forgive easily.
7. Don’t be scared to disagree, it is healthy.
8. Never be too busy for each other.
9. Do not punish.
10. Accept honest criticism, it is good for us.
11. Admit when you are wrong, quickly.
12. Support each other when the going gets tough.
13. Live in the moment—be present.
14. Leave the past where it belongs.
15. Leave drama out of it.
16. Don’t try to control.
17. Allow a small amount of jealousy.
18. Don’t use comparisons.
19. Celebrate differences.
20. Communicate openly and honestly.
21. Listen very carefully.
22. Don’t judge.
23. Don’t manipulate to get results.
24. Learn and grow.
25. Don’t try to change each other.
26. Don’t condemn each other’s family and friends.
27. Lines, flaws and imperfections are beautiful.
28. Trust your instincts, but don’t be paranoid.
29. Don’t compromise your morals and values and don’t expect them to either.
30. Instead of power, aim for balance.
31. Space is needed to breathe and to grow.
32. Accept that you are both unique—never compare.
33. Have fun, laugh and play—a lot.
34. Be each other’s best friend.
35. Don’t play mind games.
36. Do not carelessly throw away love.
37. Don’t waste energy with negative thoughts.
38. Compliment often.
39. Discover each other.
40. Be attentive and understand what’s not said.
41. Do at least one romantic and thoughtful thing every day.
42. Take picnics and sleep under the stars.
43. Don’t just speak about it, show love.
44. Walk together, cook together, bathe together, read together.
45. Do not be afraid, love requires surrender.
46. Be loyal and faithful.
47. Trust.
48. Be grateful.
49. Fluidity is good, accept change.
50. Don’t sleep on a fight.
51. Don’t cling to it, know when to let go.
52. Discover what turns you both on and explore it.
53. Make love, but also f*ck (regularly).
54. Give and receive without measure.
55. Never gamble with what you can’t afford to lose.
Happy New Year! What Else Could I Write?
Happy arbitrarily chosen day to start counting all over again and feeling resolved to do things differently! Thank you, Caesar for setting this day in 46 B.C. of all days to start the new year, and not the logical one, which would be and was before him the vernal equinox, the official start of spring in late March. Just goes to show you, it’s good to be the king.
Resolving to make changes, do things right, and avoiding mistakes of the past is inspiriting. It’s the ultimate Mulligan. Who doesn’t love second chances (and third, fourth and fifth chances)? More importantly, who doesn’t love to be self-deluding? Not to be too cynical, but most of us make resolutions that stretch far into fantasy land of what I want to be when I grow up: thinner, stronger, healthier, wealthier, and a host more of -ers.
Truth is, those big resolutions that require the maker to do something avoided the previous twelve months are not going to magically happen with a declaration that it be so. Most understand that, so why make resolutions? Because it feels good to be resolved. It’s like any shot in the arm that gives a little boost from the limbic brain, like feeling sexy or getting out of the cold into a warm house. It just feels good.
A day for reflection, however chosen, is also a good thing, particularly because humans, Americans especially, seem to need to be told what to do when. That’s why we get a select few calendared holidays strictly enforced by the day off with stores closed and Hallmark greeting cards that remind us how we are supposed to feel. Think about how hard it is on Christmas day to be housebound because there is nothing open for distraction. Okay, except Starbucks…and the movie theaters. Just last week I surrendered to the deep desire to stay in pj’s all day and watch endless movies on Christmas day with the all-right-in-the-world justification of knowing that that is what my country wants me to do. Why else would I have the day off with almost everyone else?
Besides, the recovery from an after calamitous Christmas shopping for days on end hangover was much needed. So Christmas day is for recovery of one sort and New Years day is recovery of another–the obligatory drinking. How else does one know one is truly happy and celebratory if not drunk? I must admit the dry years and the wet years made the difference between boredom and enthusiasm vis a vis heralding in the new year. Oddly or maybe not so oddly enough, in the sober year ends, I never saw midnight except in the visions dancing before closed lids.
This evening, I will imbibe a bit, but probably just enough to keep me warm not sleepy. I don’t want to miss the stroke of midnight good cheer with the clinking of glasses and kissing of cheeks, some with loving embrace. The ritual synchronizes me. All is right in the world when I follow the rules of new years eve obligatory good feeling and hope.
Even though the rituals have changed throughout the years–from waking the kids up for pots and pans banging when they were little, to poppers and noise makers when they were a little older, to trying to stay awake til they got home safely–they still are important for setting the rhythm of days: wiping my hands clean of the old to roll up my sleeves and dig into the new.
Credit: https://valleyartscene.files.wordpress.com/2014/12/newyearevepainting.jpg
Two feet on either side, straddling the old year and the new, I step into the new year at 12:00 a.m. just as the last possible touch of the toe tip of my high-heeled boot lifts from the pavement of the old year to meet its mate in the new. This is the constant: keep on walking.
And don’t look back. Every year I resolve not to resolve but to keep up the good work of living. Like every year, it was the worst of times and the best of times–more or less. I had the good fortune of testing my mettle to its very painful depths in hardship and loss this year and found that I am stronger than I know and have so many who love me more than I shamefacedly have realized. I had the misfortune of resting in half sleep for days on end in the contentment that comes with ease and comfort. And the new year will bring more of the same.
I wish all of you who I am so grateful for and have enjoyed in my slapdash, sometimes frenetic attempt at a meaningful sharing of the fragments of my memory, thought and pleasures in this blog, a happily, merry, loving evening. See you tomorrow (I will tap softly on the keyboards in deference to your sensitive state in the morning ;))
Cheers!
The gaze
“The Coolest Thing About Gratitude”
I have no idea which researchers substantiate the science in this article, which I have copied in its entirety because it is short and contains a poem by Pablo Neruda, a personal favorite, but I sure love the idea.
By now, most of us have heard the news: grateful people are happier, healthier and generally more fulfilled.
And while these are all really great side effects of gratitude, for me, one of the coolest things about gratitude is the way it affects the heart. The heart creates an electromagnetic field that expands up to five feet from the body. Its electrical field is 60 times stronger in amplitude than that of the brain.
Studies show that when people cultivate positive feelings, the heart’s frequency changes and its waves become smoother and more consistent, while anxiety or stress caused waves to be shorter and less organized. Though most positive feelings were capable of affecting the heart in this way, researchers noted that gratitude changed the heart’s rhythm more easily and faster than any of the others.
What’s more is that this frequency can even “entrain” hearts and brains nearby. It’s especially likely that the heart with smoothest, most “coherent” frequency will be the heart that other people sync up with. So if you’re cultivating gratitude, it’s probable that you’re changing the feeling state of those around you for the better too.
Basically, even when we aren’t aware of it, our heart is constantly communicating with those around us. But as complex as it all may seem, intuitively, it seems that humans have been aware of this chatting between hearts for quite some time.
It may be the reason we say we’re having a “heart to heart” with someone when we’re engaged in an intimate, sincere conversation.
Researchers have reported that hearts between lovers sync even when the lovers aren’t touching or conversing. The same goes for heart frequencies of unborn babies and their mothers.
So when Jim Rohn said, “You’re the average of the 5 people you spend the most time with,” he made an interesting point indeed. Our bodies are talking. And physiologically, it’s gratitude whose message is the loudest. We’re affecting each other in ways we may have never even pondered.
Choose your company wisely, but find comfort in the idea that gratitude has a way of trumping all. Keep gratitude flowing in your own heart, and you can change the world around you without lifting a finger.
Ode to Thanks
by Pablo Neruda
Thanks to the word that says thanks!
Thanks to thanks,
word
that melts
iron and snow!
The world is a threatening place
until
thanks
makes the rounds
from one pair of lips to another,
soft as a bright
feather
and sweet as a petal of sugar,
filling the mouth with its sound
or else a mumbled
whisper.
Life becomes human again:
it’s no longer an open window.
A bit of brightness
strikes into the forest,
and we can sing again beneath the leaves.
Thanks, you’re the medicine we take
to save us from
the bite of scorn.
Your light brightens the altar of harshness.
Or maybe
a tapestry
known
to far distant peoples.
Travelers
fan out
into the wilds,
and in the jungle
of strangers,
merci
rings out
while the hustling train
changes countries,
sweeping away borders,
then spasibo
clinging to pointy
volcanoes, to fire and freezing cold,
or danke, yes! and gracias, and
the world turns into a table:
a single word has wiped it clean,
plates and glasses gleam,
silverware tinkles,
and the tablecloth is as broad as a plain.
Thank you, thanks,
for going out and returning,
for rising up
and settling down.
We know, thanks,
that you don’t fill every space-
you’re only a word-
but
where your little petal
appears
the daggers of pride take cover,
and there’s a penny’s worth of smiles.
~
Thank You
Like writing, gratitude is a daily practice that does indeed deserve the day’s recognition and honoring. On this day of thanks, I express my gratitude to all who have contributed to, collaborated on and visited this blog. Peace.
In the gaze of the other 
