Archives for June 2013

Morning Ritual **

Every morning the woman would wake before her husband.  She would leave him behind, snoring, and make her way to the kitchen to make him his coffee.  Once the coffee was brewing, she’d go out to her garden.

One grey morning in May, she heard the back door open and close.  She looked up from a stubborn weed she had been working to see her husband standing on the back porch, coffee in hand.  Happy for the company, she looked back to the weed.

“I think we should end this,” he said.  She was gripping at the stubborn weed in her right hand, pushing the earth with her left until it let go with a final tug and she tossed it to the side.  She sat back on her heels. They had been together for twenty-two years.  They had grooved into their routine.  She spent most days gardening or running errands and he spent his days doing whatever it was he did.  She wasn’t sure.  He went out with the boys twice a week, on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s and she’d do laundry, or read, or knit.  She enjoyed knitting, even in the summer.  She felt her heart flutter, skip a beat and her stomach felt tight.  She gasped a little for her breath.  “What?” she said.  She gulped for air. “What?”

coffee mug garden

The next morning the house was quiet.  The day before, her husband had packed his clothes, toiletries and his favorite vinyl records in boxes, loaded them into the back of his pick up truck and drove away. She walked into the kitchen and filled the red teakettle.  She sat at the kitchen table staring out at her garden waiting for the kettle to boil.  She noticed her husband had left his favorite coffee mug on the back porch

**This was a piece I wrote this year in the poet Richard Jones‘ workshop.
He is an amazing poet and teacher.

Summer Solstice

IMG_0094

Summer is glimmering
at my front door
singing and
twirling about
purple, white, yellow, blue, orange, green
swirls of light
bare footed
callused heels
white skirts flouncing
her jet black hair
tangled with color
her skin
brown as a berry

she enters my bones                BarefootSummer
I feel them
shift
settle
sink into the sand
that spray I feel
is Ocean Salt
and still
all these years later
the scent of coconut
and Bain de Soleil
is it in my pores
the orange goop
that I spread
let glisten
on my skin
nothing
smells quite like it

she reaches her hand
open palm
her eyes are soft
blue, green, brown
seductive
her smile
pulls
and I place my hand
in hers

Gratitude-O’Clock

It’s been one of those weeks.  You know the ones.  Two steps forward takes you to what seems like three steps back.

“Is it Mercury in retrograde or what?” I say to the sky, the sofa, the cats.  No one’s home to listen.  It’s just me, the computer and all the disconnections, the disconnects, the turnarounds, changed minds, the mud I am slogging through.

I want a do-over.  A re-boot.

Where am I today? Same place I was yesterday.  Safe, loved, fed, comfortable, in love, breathing.

It’s gratitude-o’clock.  Platitude? Seems like it.  Most things that are good and true are simple.

I woke up too early, tired and my eyes hurt.  But it’s gratitude-o’clock so good!  I’m grateful that I can see.  I’m grateful that I have cool glasses (I didn’t always, welcome to my childhood).

Gratitude-o’clock.  I woke up.  Get my drift?  I woke up. Another platitude? Maybe, but hey, who am I to judge?

I have an alert on my phone; today I will judge nothing that occurs. 

Someone cancels an interview I jumped through hoops to schedule for them.  Today I will judge nothing that occurs.  A candidate lied to me about sending their resume to my client.  Today I will judge nothing that occurs.  My SD card on my phone is wiped and I might have lost some great pictures.  Today I will judge nothing that occurs.

Gratitude-o’clock.

Today I will judge nothing that occurs.

THANK YOU NEXT

That’s really all I can do.  Pick up the phone, make 10 more calls.  Find another candidate, one that won’t lie, one that won’t flip flop (good thing she isn’t running for office).  Take new pictures. Who knows, maybe the old ones are hidden somewhere on my computer.

Thank you Next. Thank you Next. Thank you Next. Today I will judge nothing that occurs.

If I’ve learned anything from headhunting for the last 15 years, it’s that NOTHING is really in my control. I’ve always joked, headhunting, my work, is my spiritual practice.

I’ve been called out before.  I don’t get you, how can you be spiritual in life and so driven in business. You just can’t turn it on and off.  I once took offense to the judgement, Today I will judge nothing that occurs. They misunderstood themselves.

Patience, open heartedness, open-mindedness, benefit of the doubt, restraint, introspection, listening, hearing, being present, being in service.  Basic spiritual principals: all. I’ve been practicing.

“Retrograde, maybe, maybe not. This is life.” I say, answering myself.  The cats look up at me.  Fred meows, stretches, pushes against his hind quarters. Downward-facing-cat.

There’s so much more than lying candidates and broken phones.  So much more beauty, so much more sadness, so much more loss, so much more poetry, art, music, dance, song. So much more in the fabric of what we each call a life.rose bush

Today I will judge nothing that occurs.

I hear the birds outside, the sky is grey but that just makes all the colors of spring pop.  The roses outside my office window are blooming like never before, bursting with soft rose petal orange and pink.  We planted that rose bush for our cat Lu almost ten years ago.  I feel my heart beating, ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom in my chest, my breath is soft, I feel spring turning into summer, I feel myself, I feel my heart. I feel.

 

Roses closeup

 

The Silence of Diamonds

 

IMG_1184The silence of dead is deafening.
Flaws painted after flaws.
Scenes of shadow and light,
oil liquids, shimmering echoes
in a museum hall.
The silence of true perfection.
It is the ones
who dive from rooftops
and trees
and hills
and skies
who tell the same story
over and again
hoping one day
for audience.
I have seen into the core
of those I’ve loved.
Black coal pressed into white
then clear into light.
The silence of diamonds.

 

reprinted from as simple as that