Archives for December 2012

How Naked?

Blustery Day in the Park

Blustery Day in the Park

I was walking in Wilson Park yesterday

The wind pulled the leaves from their branches
They spun in the air
Before landing yellow and brown on the grass for a moment
Only to be swept up again
And again
And again

I thought to myself, how naked do I want to get?
Which layers should I peel?
What if I’m like an onion?
I don’t want to make people cry.

WE DO!I don’t know why I remember this moment as I’m walking around Wilson Park.

“I brought my album.” I said.

It was 2003. I was a newlywed, maybe married three months. I had invited them to my wedding, they declined even before I sent the invitation.  We don’t do weddings. He said.  Weddings are silly, she said.  Over and again, they said, as I planned my day, how weddings are nothing but image and pomp and circumstance.  I can’t stand the ‘scene’. She’d say. It was as if they had a repulsion to the institution itself, that they hated the whole tradition. We don’t do weddings. He’d say.  They were married.  Although, she did take pride in the fact that she didn’t have a wedding.  As if she were some special breed of woman that didn’t need a wedding. She was above it all, she didn’t go in for all that fluff.  She’d shared her  story with me more than once.  We ran off.  We didn’t have a wedding.  We eloped to Vegas.  We just decided one night and got in the car.    

My wedding wasn’t just pomp and circumstance.  Each of the twenty-eight pictures I chose to put in the album reflected our feelings, our love, our happiness, our joy.  I brought the album to show them how special the day was. I wanted to share that with them. I wanted to let them know that it was more than what they thought it was.

We were in their living room.The wind was loud outside, lifting up from the ocean, wrapping itself around the Monterey Pines. They were sitting, side by side, in the white love seat under the window. I was standing in front of them holding the album out to them–an offering.

“Do we have to?” He said.

“Don’t make us.” She said.

We ARE Married 10 26 03

I cried that night.

I have no idea why the memory blew in as I circled Wilson Park yesterday. A seed could have been fertilized that night and yesterday the wind might have tugged at some of it’s leaves and I remembered.

It’s funny.  I keep the album on my coffee table.  Sometimes someone will be at my house and they’ll notice it.  They might ask,  Do you mind if I look through your wedding album?

I’ll smile and answer not at all.

Here’s what else I’ve been thinking about.  How naked do I want to get?  When does kindness trump truth? Sometimes isn’t it better to be quiet. Isn’t that the truth too?

The heart is the most powerful of all our organs. It generates the largest rhythmic electromagnetic field. When two energy fields meet, they change each other. With that change, they impregnate memory.

After remembering that night back in 2003, I think that if my heart really is leading, literally, electromagnetically, I must listen to her.

I don’t want to be an onion.

the heart field

 

Let’s Get Naked

Billboard at Washington & Hauser

An amazon blonde stretching her shirt in her hands, tugging, arms crossed pulling her shirt over her head. She’s frozen in time, staring down at me, as I wait at the red light at Washington Blvd.  Maybe she’ll toss it off, letting her top fly across the room so that it lands at her lover’s feet.   Maybe she’ll walk toward him, letting the shirt drag behind her on the floor.  Maybe she’ll get tangled in it as she pulls it over her head.  She’s staring at me from a billboard.  She’s teasing and taunting and wanting, smiling her big amazon smile.  She’s frozen up there. Taunting, “let’s get naked”.  She promises to freeze my fat and make me perfect so I can get naked.

The word NAKED is what grabs me.  Because I’m there, wanting to be naked, stripped down, listening to my hip circling erotic creature playlist.  I am on my way there, to the S Factor, where I’ll dress up to strip down.  Heels, thigh highs with little red bows with white polka dots, a black tutu, sheer tank that I’ll pull, tug, twist, and finally peel over my head revealing my black bra and my skin.  Naked.  Even before I arrive I’m stripping in the car, pulling thought after thought from my brain and tossing one by one out the window, littering traffic with to-do’s and to-don’ts.

 

Wanna Join me?
Pare down, let go, let loose
and circle in?
Wanna get undressed, be undone
and then leave the house?
Wanna be naked with me?

Come on…
it’ll be fun.

I’m peeling off layer after layer after layer
Slipping out of fabrics
Threaded together from
Days ago
Weeks ago
Months ago
Years ago.
I’m untangling myself
from the tattered and worn
patterns of my
habitual weave.

Its time to strip down
tell the truth
love myself
love my choices
love.

I circle my arms around my back
I embrace me
shining
with my off beat dance.
I embrace my words
sing song
language
sometimes only I can understand,
My blue grass, pink skies, green oceans
My paintings
My definitions.

I’m diving off road
cooking off recipe
living off book.

That amazon blonde, that air-brushed to perfection amazon blonde. That cooing at the drivers amazon blonde. That offering to freeze their fat, to become naked-ready amazon blonde.  She dares the world to get perfect and then get naked.  That amazon blonde has it upside down and backwards.

Get naked now, my voice whispers…

Shed my layers, shed my air-brushing, my striving for perfection, shed my trying to hard, my comparing myself to others, my pushing and pulling myself in and out doorways that have already been closed.

Watch me
as I slide a strap from my right shoulder,
as I peel a stocking down my leg, push it over my calf, past my ankle and let it float from my ruby painted toes to the floor.
Watch me
as I tug at the waist band of my panties with my left thumb.
Watch me as I unbutton, unhook, unzip, unleash.

Watch me saunter
wind, twist, swirl, writhe,  circle, curl, stretch, goddess my way into something much more simple.

Watch me…be naked.

ahhhhhhh

 

 

 

Fairy Dust

 

I’m finishing the last chapter in a book today. It’s not a book of poetry, although that will follow soon.

It’s a book about intention. It’s a book about writing. It’s a book.

Intention, desire, trust, letting go.

This is the time of year for letting go, for desiring to receive more and more good in our lives and shaping these desires into something tangible, memorable and, dare I say, cinematic. Then we have to let go and trust that we’ll receive what we’ve asked for.

Oh, you want more on cinematic do you? Well, the more visual, the more visceral, the more vivid, raw, real, energetic, the more real we make our intentions the easier it is to spot them in the real world.

It’s a creative way of acting as if.

Act as if you’re already where you want to be.
You’ve already received what you desire.
You’ve already met him, her, them.
You’ve already …

Act as if you’re grateful 
Because you are

Act as if you’re happy
Because you are

Act as if you’re a singer, dancer, writer, actress, actor
Because you are

Act as if you trust
Because you must
Let go

Oh isn’t that letting go part challenging? I think it is.  I want to hold my intentions lightly, let them float above my open palm and breathe.  For me it’s a balancing act between doing too much and not doing enough. When am I doing too much? Usually when I’m so stressed out that I sit at my desk for hours without a bathroom break. That’s when I get in my own way and I trip over my own two feet.

I want flow
I want peace
I want magic
I want happy, blissed out days filled with light and love and the electric twinkle of fairy dust.

Her blue spun silk hair glows in the moon’s light, her dress is spun from fabric blessed by Diana, Vesta, Venus and Terra Mater, and her fairy dust is distilled from more stars than I could count.    She waves her translucent wand  above my head and sprinkles her magic into all the nooks and crannies of my life.

Ahhhhhhh

What are your feelings on intention, desire, trust, letting go and fairy dust? What’s easy?  What’s hard? What is it you desire…deep down, in your bones?
Please share…let’s start a dialogue.

 

winter dreams

 

Sometimes I like starting over.  Getting a do over! Like when we were kids.  That didn’t count, do OVER!   I mean I start over ever day, don’t I? Isn’t that what life is about? I wake up, open my eyes, look at the light and start over.  I begin again. A new day has dawned and I start.  Even if I’m continuing I’m starting.

It reminds me of a song. Something I can’t quite place, but I hear the melody, the base, in the distant parts of my brain.  It’s back there, deep in the dark corners.  Maybe it’s under a box with yellowed folded love letters and old Polaroid’s.  I know it’s there because I can feel the song, seeping into my body, my limbs, but I can’t remember the song.  You know what I mean? I can feel it, just can’t quite remember it.  It’s like a memory, a flash of light, a sliver of color, a wedge of a dance, or a hint of a kiss.

 

like the moon that night
hanging low
shining  full
blue silver
the snow turning to ice
reflecting alice blue
under his steel blue gaze
he smiles with his round eyes
that mona lisa smile
i am nine
maybe ten
standing in fresh flurry

it’s new year’s eve
my parents are out
at a party
in the city
with their friends
kissing
my father’s arms pulling
my mother into him
celebrating thirteen years
and magic

josie, keeps us warm and happy at home

she lived down a long gravel road
in a red ranch house
my mother would drive
we’d sit in the back
waiting for josie to come out of her red house
so she could come to our house
to cook us rice  pudding
and read tom kitten’s mittens
she stuttered a little
when she said kitten and mitten
we all laughed
and ate our warm pudding

at midnight josie opens the front door
of our house
and we spill into the glimmering
into the night
this is our secret
she says

my footprints are first
my sister’s follow
we make our mark
then run to the neighbors
jumping diving leaving trails
on their pristine winter white lawns
“i’m the first one to step here!”
i sing into the sky
“i’m the first one to jump here!”
my sister laughs
“i’m the first one…”
we are two
glowing snow suited phantoms

our friends parents are strict
guarding their doors
at home
they are not at a party
in the city
kissing

we crunch back to our front lawn
fall back
kick our feet out
flap our arms up and down
careful to get up
without marring our perfect
powder blue angels