A Poem Thing (by me!)

It happened while I was staring out the window last night...

Girl big-screen-tv windowed out

and by now neighboring 

Trees had 

Leaves.

 

Not knowing their proper names, she called them 

Dolly, Ginger and Thelma to go

with the turntable and rotary phone of her furnished

intern landscape.

 

When she was early rising, the four

of them watched 

Sun crawl down 

Hill. 

Windy days hurled them about.

She guessed at their whispering when 

Fog settled or 

Deer grazed nearby.

 

They all seemed to have a good laugh when

Wild Turkey gobbled past.

 

They had each felt a bit naked in the beginning.

Girl had averted her eyes on several

occasions—not wanting to seem a voyeur.

 

Leaves' filling-in and swaying and the sound of 

Ocean had brought them into the same

rhythm. They could all breath a bit easier now.

Paths

“All paths lead nowhere, so choose one with heart.” –Carlos Castaneda

I saw Gary Snyder speak in Marin last night. He shared stories about Mount Tamalpais, the largest mountain in the area where I live. He also shared the above quote. Kind of a grumpy old guy, with a clear, booming voice.

He mentioned travelling to Mount Hiei near Kyoto, Japan. He learned of monks there that would make a thousand-day ascetic mountain pilgrimage, walking repeatedly along the paths of Mount Hiei. He came to find, in further travels through Nepal, that peoples there had a similar tradition of mountain pilgrimage. Circumambulation of this nature now occurs around Mount Tamalpais.

I began to imagine a walk I might take. My heart flew to the Sandia Mountains in Albuquerque. Perhaps I’ll start by heading out my door, here in the Headlands.

Support group anyone?

So, apparently grief takes a while to pass. Shit…

I met with a Burque friend today who is in the bay area for few.  She, like me, is grieving the loss of a relationship. She has been through the ringer with her guy, with more than a heaping helping of pain and drama. And the back and forth keeps lingering on.

It all sounded much too familiar, and was somehow comforting in that regard. I realize I’m not the only one in the world struggling through post-relationship grief, but it’s often easy to think that I am, in my current state of isolation. An encounter with a fellow griever was very helpful.

Perhaps I should seek out more of that… A support group of sorts? Something like My Lover Left Me For Another’s Anonymous (MLLMFAA), or Unhealthy Relationship Addicts Anonymous (URAA). Hmm… I’m liking this idea…

Still looking for a mantra…

Everywhere to go

I’ll start with a poem by Gary Snyder…

 

I drove down the Freeway

And turned off at an exit

And went along a highway

Til it came to a sideroad

Til it turned to a dirt road

Full of bumps, and stopped.

But the trail got rough

And it faded away—

Out in the open, everywhere to go.

 

I’m looking for a mantra.

Last night I sat for thirteen minutes, asking myself over and over and over, “What am I afraid of?’

Funny thing. The answer that came up was… MY OWN THOUGHTS.

Whoa. Wow. This is HUGE. I have everywhere to go.

As I said, I’m looking for my mantra. I am hoping to plant a seed strong enough to grow up through all my old, weedy thinking patterns.

The search begins…

Exercise in post-relationship-grief-getting-out-of

Part I:

I woke up an anxiety bubble. I had gone to sleep an anxiety bubble, had laborious dreams throughout the night, and felt the worse for it upon waking. I have an unceasing inner monologue going on these days about boy. It continues even while I’m asleep.

Sometimes, my dreams about boy feel helpful. Sometimes, they feel tormenting. Last night’s dream was more along the lines of helpful. I was transferred to a parallel universe in which I got to go back to the beginning of our relationship. I was fearlessly open and loving toward this parallel universe version of him; essentially able to act upon all of the things I have ever regretted not doing or saying. The only catch was that I knew I would have to go back to the universe where things were not ok between us, and that I would have to let go of everything by some Cinderella midnight deadline, and I could not tell parallel universe boy. I was resolute to experience every possible moment of bliss. I gave of myself completely, and then went back.

Letting go. A ubiquitous theme.

So, I woke exhausted and anxious. I went to the living room, did 12 sun salutations, meditated, ate breakfast. 

Now’s a time of hunkering down and bearing it. No amount of “figuring things out” is going to ease the pain of losing my lover and friend. My grief is raw and on the surface. Best thing to do, as far as I can tell, is keep on doing.

Part II:

Post-work and dinner and winding down.

I have a crush on one of the kids I’m working with—an eleven-year-old savant with autism. I also have a crush on the baby that kept giggling on the bus. I also have a crush on the little old Asian ladies with their grocery bags and hair up in buns. I could go on and on about interesting bus people. Maybe tomorrow.