A new one

It's UNcomfortable.

This new precipice from which

my feet are dangling.

There's a sea

of manowars down below

watching my every twitch

and squirgle.

What would happen were I

to fall from it?

Perhaps the manowars

would be naught but seaweed,

harmless,

though a bit tangly.

Perhaps I would be dashed

against the jagged rocks,

or slip into a sea cave

full of fabulous gems

and mermen.

But here I still sit, on the edge,

belly leaping into my chest,

heart expanding into my belly.

Naught to do but surrender.

Growing Pains

I have been in Portland about a month now. Moving. I had forgotten what a whirl of looping it can be... Pick up and go. Settle in. Adjust. Shift. Rebox and unbox expectations. Fall down. Squirm. Struggle. Go limp. Float.

This is the frantic dance of a growing seed. Wisdom of the sister says, "flowers have to push through soil and manure before they get to bloom in the sun. Remember you are a flower!"

Ok sister. I'll try.

Contemplating leprechauns

A year that is new. Still sitting by the big screen TV window.

I have a sticky, stinky urge to plop a new thing into the world. Yes. Like a baby. But not a baby. The kind of spawn that is of a more figurative nature.

If I were a leprechaun, I would be a rainbow-gold-guardian-in-training. I would have to wear one of those embarrassing trainee badges, and all of the qualified leprechauns would chuckle a bit at the sight of me: hat on a sideways, coat-tails tucked into my knee-highs, half of my mustache left unshaven. Oh the leprechaun world, it’s not for the faint of heart.

A year that is new. Still sitting by the window. Relieved I’m a Dana and not a leprechaun.

Days of miracle and wonder

I’m falling up.

My day was full of momentum. As easeful as drifting downstream on an inner tube. As dizzying as a gut-busting joke.

This morning I watched schoolchildren pour off a ferry into Sausalito. A group of girls peered over the railing at the dock, fixated on crabs that were crawling between the rocks below. A group of boys oo-ed and aw-ed at pelicans dive-bombing for fish in the bay. Their instantaneous fascination with the surrounding world brought a huge grin to my face. The adults, scurrying to move the kids along and rather oblivious to their surroundings, made me chuckle.

Next on the agenda was some self-pampering with a good friend: steam room, sauna, tasty sandwich, coffee… yes! At lunch, my friend handed me a piece of paper, the workings of an idea she’d come up with for a solo performance. The contents of this tiny slip of paper were hilarious, incredibly brave and so JULIA. I haven’t yet found the words to express what an impact her art making is having on me, maybe soon… I so often walk away from our interactions feeling giddy, reminded that I’m still a child in many ways, and happy to be so. The fact that a pigeon shat on her arm greatly contributed to my giddiness on this particular occasion.

Both of these encounters this morning left me with a good taste in my mouth. Having a nice start to the day transformed my normally dreaded Thursday work routine into a much more enjoyable experience. Funny how that works.

Falling up is kind of like waterslides without gravity. I hope others get to feel this.

Stuck-in-the-mud banjo blues

I’m running on low today. I’m feeling ready for a change of pace. August came and went. September’s about to go too, and I’m starting to get a tires-spinning-in-the-mud feeling.

The good news is: my jubilant friend and I are putting up a creative work in a few weeks (which includes guest appearances by near-as-sisters buds, and a parental visit); I’ve started playing the banjo; I miss dancing and performing just enough so that I might actually get my butt into at least one class a week; my Vipassana course is edging nearer; I’m calling a farm to see about an apprenticeship this week.

Some pieces are about to get moving… I hope.

New Poem

This happened to me on Saturday.

UNTITLED (for now)

The coming and going of the moon
bright and soft in the coming
fire and haze in the going.

She crept out along the clean, fog of day
singing in opulent shades
of morning wind.
Bowling me over at a glance.

She took the long way ‘round
a rolling curve
to flee rivers of sunlight
and meet me in the crook of
stars and city lights.

In resonant burnt orange tones
she left me a path to sail upon
and I drifted back to her, singing
“Hiiiiii(gh)!”

The coming and going of the moon
opal and allure in the coming
rapturous and obscure in the going.

Stewing

Been a while… I’ve been distracted. It’s the um, birds…

Nostalgia sets in. Yerba mate and Correo Aero and the nearing return of a soul chunk. The smell of the Headlands. Golden light in the grass.

My life feels a bit like stew right now. Everything’s thrown in and mashed together. Each bight renders a different flavor, reminiscent of the focal stew essence. It’s pretty delicious. I hope that others might also receive even a hint of these flavors. They’re of a variety that ought to be shared.