poetry

Remedy: AcuDetox Meets “Self-Compassion” by James Crews

Remedy: AcuDetox Meets “Self-Compassion” by James Crews

hands push hands, push
stuck energy out

clearing the system
the way dogs shake:

discharging arousal
preventing overwhelm

needles probe
meridians

curved cartilage may link
memory to muscle to panic

arranging the sharps just so
may too conduct chaos away

put your hand on your heart and say
oh honey

put your hand on another’s and
push for your lives

lay still
while some kind soul

sticks pins in your pinnae
to clear the memories –

we’ll try anything to move
our resting state to restful

poetry

the penny dish: a dream I hope to awake to

the penny dish: a dream I hope to awake to

Based on a prompt by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer.

back in the days of cash money
greenbacks soft as cotton
or crisp as pressed trousers
coins that made your palms smell of ore
and that ever-present jingle in my father’s restless pocket

often at the register you’d find
a small shallow dish
sometimes with an invitation:
need a penny? take one
have a penny? leave one

or something along those straightforward lines

never did I see someone
dump the whole plate into their handbag
or rake their fist through the copper discs
and clench them all triumphantly

worth next-to-nothing, no one coveted them
and no one stockpiled them
no one tried to shovel their
leaky bucket full of cents

no, people stuck to being reasonable.
they showed restraint
and took only what they needed.
they had sense.

poetry

another town’s children comfort us

another town’s children comfort us

Inspired by notes sent by Bradford K-8 students in Littleton to Louisville Middle School.

I only read the first forty pages or so
enough to be reminded
of our immense capacity
for compassion
(ocean-sized –
no, sun-sized)

here it is:
in the hearts dotting i’s
and the T-rex making the bed joke
in all the rainbows and hearts
the I know how you feel notes
and the I can’t imagine’s.

the children of another town
have written to us
marshaling all their worldly experience
to say
we’re so sorry
and
it’ll be alright

poetry

conscious breathing

conscious breathing

Every time you breathe, you exhale some 25 sextillion (that’s 2.5 × 1022) molecules of oxygen – so many that with a day’s breathing you will in all likelihood inhale at least one molecule from the breaths of every person who has ever lived. And every person who lives from now until the sun burns out will from time to time breathe in a bit of you. At the atomic level, we are in a sense eternal.

Bill Bryson, The Body: A Guide for Occupants

breathing in the breath
of every being
that has been
fueled the same way
as despots and saints

breathing out the breath
that will become
part of every being to be
we are not so different
not so separate
not so alone

I take in courage and compassion
send out forgiveness and love
in case you need it

you –
my sons
Rosa the flycatcher patient on her nest
the bright orange wallflower feeding the fritillary
the garter snake sleeping sound under the tree roots
the man who tossed his cigarette butt on the trail today
the unmasked righteous person somewhere in my path
breathing out sentences nobody sees

poetry

morning invocation

morning invocation

today the world is sweet
my eyes can and do open
hands clasp
tongue speaks
lips smile

I inhale the breath of trees
and exhale desert wildflowers
blooming at the slightest sign of rain

here we are
all having hit the jackpot
here on this same swirled sphere
together at this very moment

we draw breath
and open to hear the universe call out
a way to ease pain today
and we will

poetry

standing declaration

Graham’s penstemon photo by Susan Meyer. White-tailed ptarmigan photo by Owen.

standing declaration

Do you believe in a creator
who intends that humans should
act as guardians of creation?

my chest opens
and frozen birds fall out
my lips part
and fuzzy orange tongues
lisp yes yes yes
my hands clench and unclench
in an angry motion like prayer
all signifying
who have we become
when we must swear in a court of law
that we still believe
in the righteousness of compassion
before scientists can do their job?

tonight while sleep stifles me
I’ll do my own work
dreaming of penstemons and ptarmigans
in a paradise devoid of people
where they’re left to sing their own songs
make sun into sugar into flight
just for the pure joy of being
not to do a single ape good

poetry

other people’s problems

other people’s problems

how am I harmed
by caged children
sleeping on floors?

how am I affected
by coal miners
ordered to dig more
while koalas burn?

how am I bothered
by the mother detained
at the airport
once the rules changed?

how am I inconvenienced
by the grandmother
cast off the voter rolls?

how am I troubled
by the appointed agency head
whose goal is
to dismantle the agency?

how am I damaged
by a man who grabs women
and gets elected
then appoints men who grab women
to be judges in the courts
where men who grab women
get off?

how am I diminished
when one boss
earns in one minute
more than three times
what a worker makes in a year?
and now that boss will keep more
while the workers keep less?

these are other people’s problems
not mine
my only worry is
I’m losing my humanity

poetry

Our Hope for Humanity: Vuyi with diopmawu and me

When we visited the Norval Foundation art museum in Cape Town, South Africa today I was delighted to find wonderful poetry handwritten on sacred texts scattered around the exhibits. I asked at the front desk about the artist who created this work, and was told that it was part of a performance piece that day called Historical Glitch, and the artist would be performing at 2pm. We had already signed up for a guided tour at that time, so I also asked the guide if we needed to choose between the two events, and she explained that the artist would perform at the end. Our family waited to see what would happen, and a woman with a very long braid descended the stairs and then sat among spiritual implements like drums, stones, flowers, red clay, and a pan of water. A man knelt in front of her and they took hands and quietly talked while she washed and massaged his hands in ritual fashion. It was a loving and forgiving gesture. I thought maybe he was part of the performance piece, but then she looked at me and invited me to join her. She explained that we were doing an intervention to heal the wounds of division from colonialism and the harming of our earth, to remember that we are all one. It was very moving, and in our brief conversation she intuited some things about me that were spot on. Owen took a turn, too. It was another gift from the universe – the only way that I even heard about the museum was thanks to the fact that yesterday when we had lunch we walked past the Simons Town information center. I don’t usually go into those, but something made me double back and see what information they had. The Norval brochure said “Where art, architecture, and nature meet” – yes, please! Today our main goal was to go to the Indonesian consulate, and it ended up being a quick visit because they explained they only issue visas to South African nationals. Unsure what to do instead, I sifted through the brochures and noticed that Norval has a monthly free day on the first Thursday of the month – today! And it was on our way back home. We stopped at their lovely restaurant first, but through a mixup it took about an hour for our order to even be taken – another stroke of luck, since we probably would have left before two otherwise. When you’re open to it, the universe finds a way. Tonight I did some research and found her name: Vuyi Qubeka. When she performs, her name is listed as “Vuyi Qubeka with diopmawu,” which I think means her spirit guides/ancestors. I didn’t find a website or email address for her, but she’s active on Instagram and Twitter, and you can watch her TED talk about becoming a healer: “Don’t Die with Your Song Still Inside You.” I incorporated some of her well-chosen words in this thank you gift which I hope makes its way to her!

Our Hope for Humanity: Vuyi with diopmawu and me

she comes bearing songs
born of red clay,
an intervention
inviting audacious hope

she holds a circle of water
that dissolves guilt,
makes new space
for radical compassion:
the resolve to see
All One Always

palm to palm
we make a circuit –
loving energy looping
round our own tiny peaceful
world of now,
smiling eye to eye,
joyful servants to the work
of binding wounds
and stitching things whole
even as the seams strain

poetry

khatim sulayman

The eight-pointed star is an important part of Muslim iconography. It is also know as khatim sulayman – “the seal of the prophets.” When tessellated, the negative space can create a four-pointed star. The pattern of intersecting 4- and 8-pointed stars is also known as “the breath of the compassionate”, signifying the rhythm of expansion and contraction. Lots of other things come in 8s, and this star may also evoke the compass rose. I used the first letter of each traditional wind’s name to start each of the 8 lines in this poem. We’re also reading Bill Bryson’s A Brief History of Nearly Everything at bedtime these days, and we’re learning about inflation theory and singularity.

khatim sulayman

The universe expands while the
Globe contracts.
Listening to Uptown Funk and the call to prayer
Simultaneously is a singular experience,
One step in our family’s eastward pilgrimage to
Learn other ways of being, to be
Purposeful in our conduct,
Mindful of the many forms compassion takes.