poetry

unearned credit

unearned credit

having our house appraised
for the lender
for the cash-out refi
for the long-planned cabin
for wildness

there is the unspoken uncomfortable knowledge
that according to the rules of economics
and the inverse relationship between supply and demand
and the current state of things
all indications are that I will personally benefit
financially though certainly not psychologically
from enormous loss

another privilege I am uncertain
how to go about offsetting

another roll of the dice
with profound implications
I can take no credit for

poetry

resolved: not taking the blame

resolved: not taking the blame

like Siddhartha
he knows how to wait
silent and still
quiet and calm

less certain is how
he will take in
the guide’s excuse:
you moved too much

as we unmeld ourselves
from the fronds and branches
I hear his breath catch
fighting back tears

on the long silent walk home
I wonder what he will say
when he can speak freely
hoping he won’t accept the proffered blame

at home the tears come
and relief on both accounts
he knows who he is
and won’t be told otherwise

how is it at 12
he already walks away from suspect guilt
with clear eyes and a steady conscience
when I still can’t shake my Catholic days?

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