Laima's Dream

I am…

2012-01-30T20:21:00.001-08:00

I am how I see the world
In terms of little things.
Blades of grass dancing
As wind-chimes play
Particles on sunbeams…

I am deep.
Deep as the ocean…
full of unseen mysteries
moving just below the surface. ..
Hidden from view

I am dancing pools of light and being
Floating in total consciousness
In eyes of depth and grace and mystery
lost in a way of seeing
unfettered joys…

I am as infinite as space
and just as complex
Wanting to be discovered.
Waiting to be explored…
A universe within

I am a world born of ideas
from swirling Technicolor dust clouds
of inordinate design…
lost in the array of infinite possibilities….
And bliss
I simply am….

Moments in the Mundane...

2011-10-18T20:50:00.000-07:00

Here I sit
So much to do
So much
yet undone...
Slathered in sticky sweat
Air thick and humid
Craving
the slightest breeze...
Yet,
a moment
to sit
disengage
still
the day...
still
the mind...
a Temporal reprieve
from frenzied
hyper-drive
sipping iced latte
thru moments
caught in between
liminally cast
waiting...
waiting...
to begin again
midst the chaos
of traffic flows
and programed lives
so much
more to do...
but,
for now
treasuring odd moments
in the mundane...

I Think I Will Write Today...

2011-08-19T20:55:00.000-07:00

I think I will write today. I don't know what about, but I feel the need for words. There is something cathartic in putting pen to paper and just letting it flow, the sweet release in digital rain of what has been held in, held on to for far too long. It is time to let go. It is time to clean house of thoughts and ideas collected and hoarded in useless abundance and no longer needed. It is time to cleanse, flush the mind, flush the soul of unnecessary debris and toxic thought that clouds and hinders judgement and the ability to live and be truly authentic. Mental clutter fueled by fear and expectations of self and others. Pieces of the past, hurts bygone, insecurities, obligations, should and 'ought to be's' snagged one upon the other like the hands of hell, tug and pull at the edges of consciousness, weighing me down...

So much there, but where to begin...

And yet, it is so hard to let go. There is odd comfort in their presence, something familiar, safe and comfortable. They are anchors to those things that shape identity, make us who we are. Connections, roads taken (or not), mementos and markers, hopes and dreams deferred, souvenirs collected over a lifetime to become dust imbued emotional clutter, a hoarder's hell physically manifested in the things I cannot bear to throw away. Symbols of great significance in the lives of those around me. My grandmother's dishes, important to her, but not to me; reminants of my mother's life, a set of glasses I never use, clothing I never wear and generations of accumulated physical connections to a past that no longer exists and I never knew. Haunted by their ghosts, if I let go, do I betray them? Bound to the baggage of other's, now made my own. The weight is crushing. I need to be free.

So much there, but where to begin...

In the free flow of words I start to sort through years worth of accumulation, layer by layer. In the end, memories and lessons learned are all I need... The rest is just 'stuff' left to burden and decay. So time has come to let go of the past and all its burdens and let flow a river of consciouseness and a life dammed far too long... Yes, I think I will write today...

So much there, where to begin...

Dichoto-Me…

2011-07-07T12:32:00.001-07:00

Earthy                                            Spirit
Down and Dirty In the mud         Intuitive Visions
Rough around the Edges              Soothing variations of light
Momma in combat boots             Everywhere and Nowhere…
Warm dark richness                    Time-lapsed skies
Nurtured hope                           Dimensional Rivers
Healing Rain                                   Everywhere and Nowhere…
Warrior                                        Just Feel
Peacemaker                                  Just Flow
Goddess                                       Just Be
                  One Heartbeat….
                                    One Breath…
                                      Together in me….

Escape…

2011-07-03T15:55:00.001-07:00

Anger and fear
Fear and hate
Imprisoned Within
Cowered in the corner
No hope of escape
No trust
So much anger
So much fear
A family drowning
In its pain
Slave mentality
In generational sorrow
Chained to the past

Hope lies in another vision
The window
In Plato's cave
Possibilities
In light
Hands reaching
lifting up
The way out
In new beginnings
True faith lies
In the goodness
Of others...

Escape…

Sunday Mornings….

2011-06-25T23:00:00.001-07:00

I love Sunday mornings. I can't quite put my finger on why, but to me, they are more special than any other. As a child, Sunday mornings were just different. Maybe it's because I was born on a Sunday morning. Maybe it's because my dad was home and the family was whole. Things just seemed calmer, less chaotic. The world just seemed to stop.

Sunday mornings were about sleeping in with fresh coffee percolating, its aroma wafting thru the house to rouse my sleeping parents from their beds. Sunday mornings were sizzling bacon, the sweet smell of pancakes and the sound of football announcers droning in the background. When I was really little, I would snuggle up with my dad in his recliner as he perused the Sunday paper. When I was older, I would make proudly make him a cup of coffee and lay on the floor at his feet perusing the funnies. I always got the funnies. The Peanuts were my favorite. It was our time together. I had always been a 'Daddy's' girl. Of course, I was also born on Father's Day. Maybe that was part of it. Whatever the reason, I always felt blissfully content on Sunday mornings.

As I grew up, things changed, as they are apt to do. Nothing lasts forever. My parents divorced. No more Sunday brunches, time with my dad. I was no longer a child. I started working. My Sunday mornings were now spent serving other people coffee. The only Sunday papers I saw were those I threw away when I cleared the tables.

I married, had a child, started teaching and Sunday mornings were mine again. Coffee now hissed through an expresso machine, turkey bacon sizzled and the sweet smell of pancakes wafted through the air as the TV droned on in the background. When my son was little we cuddled on the couch and watched Crocadile Hunter and anime. As he grew older, he lay on the floor drawing. We went to breakfast at Ihop and played tic-tac-toe as we waited for our order. It was time spent with my son. It was our time together. I was again content.

Things again changed as they are apt to do. Nothing lasts forever. I got divorced. My son grew up and moved out on his own. Sunday mornings now belong to me. They are still about sleeping in, the aroma of coffee, sizzling bacon, the sweet smell of pancakes, but now, it's time to myself. I am content. I will always love Sunday mornings. I still can't quite put my finger on why, but they are more special than any other. Sundays were always different. Maybe it's because I was born on a Sunday morning. Maybe it's because I am home, I am whole.

for Berenice...

2011-06-24T19:32:00.001-07:00

Floating on Forever

She lies
In the liminal

Between Life

and Death ...
Final breaths

Flowing to places

Unseen
Beyond all existence
Beyond our knowing
And so she passes
Into time
Swirling
Kisses floating
On breezes
Caress those
Left behind
A gentle passing
Of a gentle soul
The child reborn
Dances once more
On sunbeams...

Rising Storm

2011-05-21T14:18:00.000-07:00

Storm clouds
forming
slowly raging
thunder...
boiling
turbulence of wind
threatening
to rip apart
a fragile calm
into chaos
of emotional
turmoil
lightning
and uncertainty
building
building
until explodes
in sweet release
of gentle rain
and tears....

To Live in the Moment...

2011-05-21T13:37:00.000-07:00

To simply exist

Apart from the noise that fills my brain

Mesmerized

Watching dust particles

dance on sunbeams

like fireflies

on a beautiful afternoon.

Totally at peace

Wrapped in the warmth of the sun,

fall breezes caressing...

pulling fingers through my hair,
a gentle lover...

More than ABC’s

2011-04-22T10:44:00.001-07:00

Why I Teach….

As of late, Education had become a major political football and the yelling so loud that all sense and reason is lost in the noise of angry finger pointing and blame. It really is quite disheartening. As the debate turns on test scores, standards, accountability and failure, budget cuts, unions, and attacks on already low pay, I am often asked why I teach. My reasons are expressed in oft handed notes left in my mailbox or on my desk. Sometimes they come randomly in emails, sometimes a Facebook post years later.

"Thank you for all the help and advice you have given me. Even though I was hard headed and never really did anything in your class (sorry!) You still tried to help and didn't give up on me. You are the only teacher who tried to help me no matter how dumb I would act."

"Most teachers would have just kicked me out of class or wrote me up if I did something wrong, but you were different. That's why I am so much different now. You taught me how to show respect…."

"You have made me realize so much stuff!! First, I would like to thank you for having so much faith in me. I knew I could do it. I just had to try. Second, I thank you for telling me I am a leader. You made me think and now I know I am a leader. I love to lead, not follow and I know you are the same way too. You lead me in the right path and I thank you so much for that. "

"I just wanted to thank you for encouraging me and my poetry. Because of the non-stop essays, I passed proficiency. Your advice and pushing me forward has gotten me far and gave me strength to believe in myself."

They are the lessons that will be remembered long after all others are forgotten. Amidst all the noise, it is these 'voices' that keep me grounded. While the focus is on content and test scores, these notes focus on what really matters. I don't catch them all, but I catch the ones I am supposed to. Whenever I start to lose my way, get caught up in all the negativity and begin to question myself, it is the kids who bring me back, years even decades later. The following student explained it so much more eloquently than I ever could.

"I pray this letter finds you and your family doing well. I want you to know there is not one day that I do not remember your compassion and beauty. I have written several papers that encompass your depth, warmth, and intelligence. All of which existed as my saving grace in 1993. That (your) effect, has permeated into not only every part of my soul but also my ambitions. I can say, with sincere intention, that everyone who knows me, Jackie, also knows a wonderful portion of you because you helped me discover myself and my worth.

Well where do I begin? I graduated w/honors with my Bachelors in English Language Arts. Currently, I am student teaching at a rural area 3A high school. I have worked in several school districts over the last four years- some very low socio-economic areal – others very affluent. I have learned- with no real surprise- that teenagers are the same all over. They all exist in a state of mind that is so sensitive and perceptive- they watch, they listen, they learn, they love, and the morals and characteristics I exemplify become their foundation. I have the blessing of exerting influence on these fresh, wonderfully made minds, hearts and souls – and I know in a nonverbal or verbal "second" I can make or break their prescious spirits. I will and do choose to keep it real (like you used to say) so these young adults can see that life is more than what a TV commercial says you should have or what 'they' consider 'right'.

My experiences in life, good and bad were all valuable – and teachers helped me know and believe this. Teachers like you and my dad and my maker took/take time for me and my development – as a 'human being, not a human doing" (quote from my self-esteem folder –your class-) I pray I can touch lives like you touched mine!"

Sincerely, Jackie

I knew this young woman as a sixth grader, my first year teaching. We just sat and talked about life and poetry. She gave me a book of her poetry, which I still have. Out of nowhere, I received this letter in 2008 when I was having a hard time and questioning. You never know, who or how you touch someone, it's just nice to know that you do. Sometimes, they touch you back.

Wrestling Demons

2011-04-20T14:05:00.001-07:00

There lies in each of us
a place no one sees,
a dark place
kept hidden away from the world,
a place
where demons dwell.
Demons
that lurk in the recesses
in shadows
of our minds and our souls,
watching and waiting,
waiting and watching
for a chance,
a moment of weakness
to emerge
and wreak havoc
upon a fragile psyche.
Demons
forged out of trauma, despair,
pain and betrayal.
Hurts accumulated over a life time
and buried deep
left unattended,
to fester upon unacknowledged anger
feeding upon deep seeded fear.
Deep into the night
the battle wages on
as oblivion consumes
Demons
Held at bay in dreamless sleep.
Only to fade
Into the shadowed recesses
behind the masks we wear
In the light of day,
Waiting…

I Am Not a Barbie Doll...

2011-03-27T10:31:00.001-07:00

I am not a Barbie Doll
Not perfect by any means
I don't have to be....
I am a lousy housekeeper
It is not my priority
So many other things to do...
My nails are often dirty
From digging in the dirt
It makes me feel alive…
I don't wear high heals
They hurt my feet,
besides,
I can't run in them….

Pizza My Way….

2011-03-01T20:19:00.001-08:00

It's funny how the little things can mean so much and the simplest of things take on such significance. In my case, it was the simple act of ordering a pizza.

I learned early to consider the needs of others. The way I was raised, failure to do so was considered selfish. As a child, I was aware of my parent's work schedules and responsibilities. With a younger sibling, I learned the world did not totally revolve around me. As a teenager, I became aware of other's pain and did not wish to add to it. As a young adult, to make a living, I had to meet the needs of managers and co-workers. As a wife I learned to compromise. As a mother, I learned to put another first.

I became very adept at predicting the likes and dislikes of those closest to me and shape my choices accordingly; Miracle Whip instead of mayo, beef instead of pork, rap over rock. I shaped my schedule to accommodate my family's needs. As a teacher, I catered to the needs of my students. My working out, hobbies, going out with friends etc. took a back seat to what everyone else was doing or needed. It never seemed that big a deal. I wasn't that attached to my likes and dislikes. I simply told myself if it was something I absolutely didn't like, I would take a stand.

Suddenly one day, I woke up and I was on my own. No need to compromise. I could do what I wanted! Woo Hoo!! What I like!! My way!! As I pondered my new reality I was suddenly struck by the fact that I had no idea what I liked anymore. I knew what everyone else liked, favorite colors, collectables, flavors, hobbies. I knew my sons favorite teams, my brother's favorite cartoon characters, my mother's favorite coffee, my grandmother's TV shows and snack food. I knew my co-workers likes and dislikes, even my student's. Whenever I went shopping, things I saw went into categories and mental columns of the perfect gift for so and so and this is something so and so would really like. It was the way I looked at the world- all in terms of other's likes.

The realization took me aback. Somewhere along the way, I lost something. I had no idea where to begin to fix it. I remembered what I used to like. I went back to my old likes and dislikes, but that was 20 years ago. It wasn't the same. I was not the same person. I simply sighed, now what?

Frustrated and overwhelmed, I decided I would take the 'Scarlett O'hara' approach and think about it tomorrow. Besides I was hungry. I decided to order a pizza. Out of habit, I started to order it the way I always had, the way someone else liked it. I caught myself and made a purposeful decision to order something I had never tried before. How could something so simple be so liberating? It was the best pizza I have ever had, sinfully decadent!! From that moment I decided I would try new things, all kinds of things, wonderful things and spend time discovering what I liked and enjoy doing. It's pizza my way.

Thoughts of a Rainy Day….

2011-02-21T16:40:00.001-08:00

It's really raining now and I am very content sitting here in the dark... just listening. For me, desert rains are magical. Of course, I don't really have much experience with any other, but for me desert rains will always be special, regardless. There is something soothing about being surrounded in the warmth of blankets and listening to the steady rhythm of gentle rain. It takes me back to quieter times when the world, my world, slowed down, and of being wrapped in my mother's warmth. Rainy days provided respite, for both of us, from daily stresses, and provided a time to disengage, to live in the moment.
As a child, my mother would sit me in front of the sliding glass door in full view as she cleaned the kitchen. It was one of the few times it wasn't an effort for me to be still, one of the few times my mother didn't have to worry about me getting into anything or getting under foot. I was content to sit there for hours, content in her presence, just watching, totally mesmerized by the rain. To this day, the sound, cool dampness and smell of rain trigger physical memories synonymous with her…
At times, when life can be so much like the desert in terms of struggle and survival, routine and responsibilities, one day much the same as any other, a rainy day is cause to pause and ponder life's mysteries, to reflect and appreciate. Of course, I might feel differently if I was actually out in it. Maybe that's why I love it so, cocooned in warmth, I am protected from the cold realities of actually getting soaked. For me, rainy days are very much about being and feeling loved.

Red Robins…

2011-02-15T19:46:00.001-08:00

I was still in college trying to graduate and seemed to be frustrated at every turn. I lived alone and spent most of my time working and going to school, in short, just trying to make ends meet and somehow lay a foundation for my future. In reality, I had no idea where I was going or what I was going to do in the long run. I had big dreams, big hopes, but for the moment I really couldn't see beyond the immediate needs of rent and finishing my degree. There was no time for networking, let alone socializing. I had no social life. At the time, I was working an average of 12 hours a day and in school full time. There was no one to take care of me or share the burden. I was on my own. All I knew was if I could finish, life would be easier. I just needed to keep moving.

It was the middle of winter. My network of friends had disbanded and moved on with their lives as so often happens. Feeling left behind, I became more and more isolated, spending more and more time alone. I became increasingly frustrated. I had always been taught hard work brings results and if you played by the rules everything would fall into place. Work now, play later. But all I knew was work. I wanted to play, to enjoy life. I couldn't understand why things had to be so hard. As days became weeks and weeks melded into months, I began to see myself in the barren little tree that stood just outside my window. Like me, it just stood there, day after day, lifeless against a grayed sky.

One dreary afternoon, I was feeling particularly sorry for myself. I came home once again to a cold and empty apartment (I couldn't afford the heat). I hadn't been sleeping well, terrified of the peeping tom that had been lurking around my windows and now my car needed repairs. How was I going to pay for my classes? I collapsed in a massive heap on the floor raging against the unseen. I was the responsible one. I always did what was expected, played by the rules. Why was I trapped?? I simply didn't understand. What did I do wrong??

In the midst of my sobs, the sound of birds drew my attention to the window. I looked up. The little barren tree was full of robins. There must have been a least a dozen of them. I had never seen even one robin before let alone so many. But there they were, red breasts full and vibrant and singing. For me, the message was clear. I pulled myself up off the floor, stood up and dried my tears. I needed to keep moving. Everything would be alright. Spring was coming.

Do You See Me?

2011-01-29T18:45:00.001-08:00

Do you see me?

Behind the veils

Layer upon layer

Of multiple masks

Built upon expectations

And caricatured roles…

Do you see me?

Really see me?

Still the Mind, Still the Day...

2011-01-20T18:40:00.001-08:00

Sometimes writing like living, is a struggle and for now, I am really struggling. It has been so difficult to find something coherent to say. My mind has become a desert, a vast unforgiving wilderness. Thoughts often scurry like lizards toward the nearest shelter, hoping to escape detection. So brief and fleeting are my thoughts that my words often fail to capture them and so they disappear back into hiding unexamined and unresolved leaving me to wander aimlessly, lost. I sometimes catch glimpses of them like oasis's on the horizon, inviting and hopeful, only to disappear into the reality of the sands leaving me alone with my thirst. Thus I struggle on, not knowing what direction to take, which way to go, what to say. In the blinding glare and heat of the noon day sun, my thoughts un-nurtured, struggle to thrive. As darkness descends, I must keep moving. It is all I know how to do, all the while hoping somewhere in the process, I will find my words.

And yet….

If I am still, very still and empty my mind of all the chaos and noise of the day, I begin to breath. With breath, there is life. In the moonlit coolness of night, I am reborn. Bathed in the soothing milky glow of the full moon, my thoughts, like the desert, come alive. Carried on night time breezes they swirl and dance with what was hidden from the heat and the light of day. As the desert comes to life, I begin to find my words. They are everywhere. They call to me, immersing me in their wonder well into the approaching dawn. At peace, I no longer struggle with my writing. For now, I know its truth. It, like the desert, speaks to me in stillness.

Then again, maybe I should just turn off the TV J

Heirlooms…

2010-11-04T17:18:00.001-07:00

I had started going to see Berenice, mostly out of respect for my mother and grandmother. She was important to them. I knew they would want me to and I would do my best to honor them. At first, we just sat and talked about this and that. On one of our many visits I was telling her about the stuff I had that belonged to members of the family, bits and pieces of history belonging to people I would never know. I proudly listed the things I had that had even belonged to her hoping to flatter and impress.

Her eyes locked with mine and she asked pointedly, "Why?"

She caught me a little off guard I asked "What do you mean?"

Never shifting her gaze, she asked again "Why do you hold onto all that stuff?"

"Because they were gifts, pieces of people's lives, it's holding what they held, it's a connection to the past," I tried to explain.

"Hmph!" she replied. "It's just junk!"

I was mortified and confused. "But it's history!" I protested. "They are heirlooms, family heirlooms, treasures!"

Much of what I had accumulated I had acquired from my mother. I have a piece of linen woven my great great-grandmother, a crystal necklace and table belonging to my great-grandmother. There are dishes made in 'occupied' Japan, linen table cloths and fancy tableware. There are the crystal dishes that we used for every holiday get together, a lamp my grandmother carried home in the snow when she was pregnant with my uncle, the area rug from the house on Winchester and a trunk full of photos. Some of the most precious of my mother's artifacts belonged to Berenice and her parents. With each artifact, my mother reverently told stories about the times and the people they belonged to.

"It's just stuff," she repeated, this time more emphatically. "You need to get rid of it. You need to let it go." Her gaze never waived. She was making her point.

Our conversation drifted to other things but her words weighed heavily. As we chatted my mind drifted. Berenice's family saved my mother from an extremely abusive situation. They provided sanctuary, much as they had done for my grandmother and my great-grandmother before her. They showed her there was another way that life could be different. She learned how to prepare a gourmet meal, set an elegant table of china, linen, and crystal, to appreciate opera and the theater, and create a beautiful living space (all on a shoe string budget, of course!) They gave her a place to live so she could work and attend the local junior college. Most importantly, they gave her permission to dream. They saved her sanity, saved her soul.

It suddenly dawned on me why my brother is named for Berenice's father and I for her. Ginger was actually her nickname. As the last of my elders she was something for me to cling to, a connection to my mother, my grandmother. Her stories about them helped me understand myself, my situation, my life better. She in many ways was saving me in much the same way she and her family saved my mother so many years before.

Later as I left, it hit me. I finally understood. True heirlooms are not 'things'. They are the intangibles. They are the gifts of self that are passed, that make the life of another better, that give meaning, give direction and more importantly, hope.

The Universe Within …

2010-11-01T17:49:00.001-07:00

(Inspired by the Bodies Exhibition)

Muscles
Tendons
Stripped away
Revealing
A universe within…
Fibers and strings
Loofaed blood flows
surge
In a delicate dance
Of time…
Big Bang
Universes within Universes
Galaxies conceived
in fetal form
Star systems
Struggling to be born…

Lifetimes lived
Like all things
Decay and die
In disease twisted
Blackened death
Only to be born again
Re-birth
Part of the process
Of greater design
The greatness of mind
Consciousness
In the presence
Of God
Made even greater
By the sum
of its parts.

Lifetales

2010-09-26T18:06:00.001-07:00

I believed in fairytales. After all, I was raised on them in Disney technicolor. Cinderella and Snow White, were my favorites. I loved the idea that love conquered all, goodness and truth always won in the end. I loved in unicorns and magic, believed in crystals and psychic connections that transcend time and space, transcended eternity. I believed in the goodness of people and that that belief would always bring out the best in them. I believed my own life was a fairytale. Grant you there were difficult times, but my outlook was always governed by the fact that I had found my true love, my soul mate, the one and that together, everything would be alright. I believed!!
Funny what belief can do. If you believe, it is real, at least, in your own mind. Unfortunately, there is the rest of the world, or at least other people, and sometimes they don't always see it way you do. As it turned out, I was Sleeping Beauty. But instead of a prince's gentle kiss, I was awakened by my fairytale crashing in on me. I woke alone to a devastated landscape of lies and deception, impaled by my hopes and dreams. My world wasn't what I had believed it to be. It was an illusion.
I no longer believe in fairytales. They are simply fantasy, a superficial matrix of illusions keeping us from facing our own Truth; hiding our way forward. As a child, I often sought refuge in such stories, at first as a way to deal with my loneliness and isolation, then as a way of dealing with the painful reality of my parent's breakup. They gave me something to believe in, to hope for, a possibility more hopeful than the one in which I actually lived. If I believed, truly believed, things would be different, all would be well. But in the end, after all, we are only human. There are no knights in shining armor.
I mourn the loss of innocence, and yet, although I often find myself guarded and jaded, deep inside a kernel of what was still exists longing to believe. As I struggle to pick up the pieces, I am learning to live again, this time for real. It is a time for Lifetales in all their richness and depth, substance, and uncertainty. In the end, the world is what it is and perhaps therein lies the magic; the magic in actually living, enjoying the company of friends who are actually there, people who love and accept you, enjoying the cool sweetness of a beautiful garden at sunrise, the goofy laughter of a bunch of kids, seeing your son become a man. It's the magic, not in unicorns and love ever-after, but the simple joys of life. It may not be perfect, but it is real.

For Kellee

2010-09-21T19:29:00.000-07:00

Life is so fleeting and at the same time complicated and chaotic, distracting and hurried; all about drama and the big picture. But sometimes, it is those lives, so unassuming, who pass through gracing us with a warmth and gentleness reminding us of something greater. Gentle souls impact so many, ever so briefly, touching something deep inside, our better selves. A touch as slight as a butterfly's wings, taken for granted until no longer there. And yet once gone, the impact remains, lives touched forever changed, as a baby's breath upon our cheek.

A Mother’s Heart

2010-08-12T21:04:00.001-07:00

Once upon a time a king in a faraway kingdom was sponsoring a competition of the hand of the princess. One young man, not content to be a peasant and a farmer for the rest of his life saw this as an opportunity to escape his station. He went deep into the forest to seek the aide of a local witch. He explained how badly he wanted to marry the princess and wanted to know if she could help him. She listened patiently. When he was finished, she began to speak.

"I can make this happen for you," she said. "You will, indeed gain the Princess' hand in marriage, but I need something from you first."

The young man was visibly excited by his good fortune and eagerly agreed to do whatever the crone asked him to do.

"You must bring me your mother's heart. Place it in this box and bring it back to me."

The young man barely gave it a second thought. He was going to marry the Princess!! He ran all the way home where his mother was waiting for him by the fire. She listened carefully to what he had to say. She quietly asked him if this is really what he wanted, what would make him happy.

"More than anything," he said

She sighed and handed him a knife. Without hesitation, he cut out her heart and placed it in the box. Without looking back, he was racing back through the forest to the waiting witch. As he ran, a raised root sent him and the box sprawling, spilling the still beating heart onto the path. The young man was frantic. As he collected himself, the mother's heart asked "are you alright, my son?"

----------------------------------------------------------------

My mother told me this story growing up. She said it was a Lithuanian folk tale told to her by her grandmother. It was one of her favorites. As a daughter, I could not relate to this story at all! Not even in the least!! All I could think about was the betrayal and the selfishness of the son. How could he do that???? My mother calmly said I was missed the point.

"How?" I asked. "The guy is a jerk!!"

"It's not about him!" she insisted. "It's about a mother's love and what she is willing to go through and sacrifice for her child."

I was still not impressed. The guy was still a jerk!!

It was many years later, years after my own mother's passing and a mother in my own right, that I finally began to understand what she meant and what she was trying to tell me. I was going through my divorce agonizing over what to do, how much to fight, especially when my own child made it clear he did not wish to live with me. As my heart ached, and yes, felt as if it was being cut out, all I could think about was what would be best for him and make him happy and still 'protect' him. I was willing to sacrifice any and everything to make that happen. As I was trying to figure out what to do, it hit me!!

"UHHGGG!"

My mom was right!!!

Regardless, I still think that guy was a jerk!!!

God, I hate that story!!!!

KISS

2010-06-05T22:53:00.000-07:00

The promise of tomorrow...
The dream of yesterday...
The moment
our only reality...
It's magic touched
only briefly
Like a Kiss
Changes us forever...

'91

Of Bread and Wine

2010-05-26T20:24:00.000-07:00

What's in a meal,
the breaking
of bread...
More than
subsistence,
more than
existence...
Salvation
in the morsel
shared
A gift of self
carefully prepared
Nurtured connections
bonded
together
in unity
in peace
in Life...

Male Bonding

2010-05-20T06:04:00.000-07:00

Joyous laughter
raucous and rich
shared around stories
of experience
and acknowleged foolishness
in youthful mistakes...
Lessons deep
within the telling...
The passing of
messages
between generations
of men
(and men to be...)
Timeless wisdom
buried deep in
oral tradition...
Connections and
nurtured bonds
binding them
forever
together
as men...

WORDSMITH...

2010-05-17T18:10:00.001-07:00

Breathe

Focus
Find purpose
Creative
Informative
Persuasive Own
Process
Process Decide
Design
Rough Mold
Fire
Hammer Shape
Over

Over
Hammer Shape
Inspect & Check
Turn Around
and Around
Fresh Eyes
What do you think?
What does it need?
Fire
Hammer Shape
Over

Over
Refine....
Redesign....
Smooth edges

Refine....
Hammer Shape
Steam....
Test
Test
Hammer Shape
Sssteam....
Ssssteam....
Polished Gleam
Finished Shine
Breathe
BREATHE
Word...

Momma Goddess: a Redo

2010-05-11T20:27:00.000-07:00

She Wolf
Momma Goddess
Hair on fire
Eyes narrowed
Dark as coals
Hissing through gritted teeth
Ears flattened like an angry cat
The earth moved
Dark and ominous
Impending storm
the room filled with her presence....
"I'm gonna make
a man out of you if it kills me"
Pinned against a wall
my brother's burgeoning
manhood melted,
puddled on the floor...
Then the wind shifted
GINGER ANN!
the sound of the last 'n' taking
a distinctively higher pitch....
Now I was in trouble
Should have kept my mouth shut...
I saw my life pass
before my eyes....
Duck and cover
Too late
backhand already in motion....

But when the fury
of the tempest past
and the darkness receded
Brown eyes smiled
warmth and safety and light
Sanctuary in a hostile world...
The laughter, the joy
the acceptance
A belief in a better you..
chameleon molded to her children's needs
children she didn't really understand
but really did...
She was candles
and gentle rains
the smell of dinner in an empty house
Flash Gordon and Godzilla
on a Saturday afternoon...
Larger than life
ever present presence
Ever watching
Even now
Even more
that she's gone
Forever immortal
Forever in us
Goddess ...

Momma....

On Writing....

2010-05-07T16:48:00.000-07:00

"There are no truths,

only stories...."

Acoma Saying

Like most things in life, writing is a journey and a process, not only for the writer, but for the reader as well. It is an essential form of communication and expression. On a much deeper level, writing is a means of organizing thought when navigating a would barraged by sensory overloads in all forms; whole and fragmented, relevant and frivolous. By shaping thought, writing offers a way to master life's chaos, and ultimately provide a means of self-discovery and voice. Writing is a very powerful experience that allows us to make sense of our lives and experiences, ultimately providing insight into us all as human beings. It can be quite empowering.

As for me, I am a wordsmith, sometimes poet and forever storyteller. I have always been facinated by people's stories. Glimpses into the lives of another at an given moment in time provide meaning, purpose and ultimately immortality. It is the connections we develop with others, and ultimately within ourselves is where true wealth resides. The written word helps us reach through the temporal veil of time and space and touch the lives of those we may never know...

Write....

Mother Goddess....

2010-04-08T17:51:00.000-07:00

Hair on fire...
narrow slitted eyes

dark as coals...
Ears drawn back,

flattened like an angry cat
hissing through gritted teeth...
The earth moved
I was in trouble...

Dark and ominous

like an impending storm.
The room filled with her presence...
GINGER ANN!!!!
The sound of the last 'N' taking
a distinctivly higher pitch...
and my life would pass before my eyes.

But when the fury of the tempest passed
and the darkness receded,
Brown eyes smiled warmth and safety...
Sanctuary in a hostile world
the laughter and joy

in the silly things
Acceptance

and belief in a better you
Warm and nurturing

She was also candles and gentle rains
the smell of dinner in an empty house
She, a fashion queen

her daughter in cowboy boots
A child she didn't understand,
but really did...
Cameleon molded

to her children's needs
Larger than life, ever present,

Ever watching...

Shaper, molder of character

and being
even now, even more,

that she's gone.

I was raised by a Goddess...

Words are Watercolors

2010-03-30T17:16:00.000-07:00

Words can be a lot of things, communication, symbolic code for things unseen, or even something to simply tune out. But for me, words are watercolors, delicate dabs on paper, each nuanced in hue and tone; combining the texture of thoughts, feelings, experiences and ideas; different choices, different textures, muted or solid, shadowed or bold in the mind of another. Imagery painted into structured form, watercolors coded into text.... text, like digital rain sequences cascading in our minds create meaning and color our lives. A simple sunrise suddenly becomes a raspberry hued dawn gently caressing the up raised faces of those she embraces... Words, indeed the written word, reaches through the vale of time and space with a magical quality. When skillfully blended, words conjure an alternate view of the mundane, making the ordinary, extra-ordinary...

Hungry Minds

2010-03-30T11:04:00.000-07:00

Frustrated Youth
A wealth of Universe
In their minds
Open and Expansive
The space within
Cluttered and congested
with useless stimuli
No room to Fly
No room to Soar...
Souls weighted into
useless submission
of apathy...
The joy of breathing free
beyond their grasp
Reach them
Lift them
Peel away the trash...
Heal the brokeness
and set them free...
Needing direction
'Please teacher,
Teach me....'

Sushi Girls....

2010-02-14T17:54:00.000-08:00

It was an evening of laughter, plum wine and sushi. It had been weeks in the making, emails flying back and forth confirming and reconfirming attendence and the occasional scare tactic to unnerve the newbie. I hadn't really eaten sushi before, so they delighted in taunting me with eel and fish heads. Undaunted, this was a new adventure for me and so we laughed, we talked and experimented with new textures and flavors under the gentle care of my compadres.

We all mused over how the years have brought us all together. Although all of us went to the same Junior High and High Schools, we really didn't know each other. Some of us were in classes together, even knew each other's names, but we floated in very different social circles. The first of us came together at the 20 year reunion. However, it was the 30 year reunion that acted as the catalyst that brought us all together. It was the first time we all really sat, talked and got to know each other.

Much has happened to each of us over the years, a life time in fact, or hopes and dreams, trials and tribulations, each of us shaped and weathered by an ocean of life experiences. Ironically, we have never really been far from one other and now life has brought us back together again bonding us in ways that cannot be explained.

Unfortunately, not all of us could be there that night, but there will be more sushi and tequila nights. All of us know that even if one of us is unable to attend for whatever reason, we will all be there in spirit. We have become more than friends, we have become sisters.

In the Company of Women...

2010-02-14T12:20:00.000-08:00

Women in my family have always played a major role in my life, shaping my sense of self and identity, fluttering around like ancient midwives ushering me through life's passage. They were my foundation, the earth that anchored me in place and in the blink of an eye, they were all gone, first my mother, then my aunt, and finally, my grandmother. To me, they were the embodiment of the Triple Goddess, Mother, Nymph and Crone, and without them, I was lost, uprooted, unconnected, alone.

The Universe has a funny way of taking care of its own. Out of nowhere, a forest of women rose to take their place; older ones to share their wisdom, contemporaries to nurture, and younger to renew an enthusiam for life. In their capable hands, I have now been ushered into a new phase of life. Where once uprooted and thrown asunder, my roots have reconnected with the earth and new growth, tender and green, reaches for the warmth of the sun and the sky's infinite possibilities. It is the cycle of nature, out of death comes rebirth, and I am born again. The Goddess is strong. Her presence surrounds and comforts me, forever, in the company of women...

Serendipity

2010-02-10T17:40:00.000-08:00

As I walked through the campus, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of nostalgia and angst. It had been many many years since I had just simply wandered the campus on which I had spent so much of my young adulthood. I felt caught between worlds, between eras and times. It was all so different. I tried to look for what was familiar in the midst of all that was new. Buried behind all the new buildings and landscapes was my past, glimpses of the familiar in the midst of so much that wasn't; forgotten reminants of a life so long ago. As I walked along beautifully sculpted walkways, melancholy began to creep beside me. I was out of place, out of time. All around the new totally obscured the past leaving nothing but ghosts of memories and times that once were, and now forgotten. The new had obscured a part of my life that was a simpler less complicated, a period of innocence and wonder, a time full of hope and possibilities. I sighed heavily and suddenly felt obselete. I thought to myself "Maybe I should just get a coffee."

As I quietly entered the unfamiliar space of the snack shop, resignation weighed upon my soul. I wandered about, got my coffee and got ready to just move on. As I stepped up to pay for my purchase, the cashier was staring at me. I smiled and met her eyes. There was something familiar. Tentatively she asked, "didn't you go here?" She caught herself, "you just look... familiar."

I looked at her again, this time our eyes really connected and the vale of time melted away, almost 30 years worth. I was an undergrad at the time, a relatively shy teenager who often kept to herself. Lilly worked in the old Student Union the other end of campus. In midst of all the newness and waves of students she must have negotiated all those years, she remembered me. In one simple moment, the past had reached out comforted and validated me in a way I could never really explain except that she remembered me...

Mirrors...

2010-02-06T19:49:00.000-08:00

It really started as just little things said here and there over the years. He didn't like my perfume, so he picked out a new one for me, encouraged me to change my hair color. He took me clothes shopping and picked out clothes for me. I was flattered. He was interested in me. I thought it meant he cared, that I could do better.

As time went on he complained about my music, he didn't like my choice of restaurant, renamed my dog. In the end, he didn't like much of anything, unless it was something he chose. Of course, when he 'fixed it', I was grateful. It was all so subtle. They were insignificant little incidents spread over a 20 year period. All too often, he was simply dismissive and uninterested. I was invisible. The most frustrating part is that I didn't even realize it was happening.

An accumulation of little things untended become an avalanche.

One day he said "you just won't change, I have finally come to accept that." Two days later, he and twenty years of my life, were gone. Luckily, there is with every ending, a new beginning.

Through much reflection, I have come to realize the process of becoming invisible began many, many years before. It began as a pre-adolescent trying to be perfect, but never quite good enough. I now understand, I chose him because he was a mirror, a manifestation of my self image, my own reflection. He was my insecurities made manifest.

I always swore my life would be different. But in the end, I am more like my mother, my grandmother and great- grandmother than I could have ever anticipated. They, too, were invisible. Each one now part of a series of funhoused mirror images, one within another, going back for generations looking back at me. It is a stream of consciousness, a thread that binds us, offering a greater understanding of not only myself, but of them as well. Maybe, in the long run, that is enough to change the future, break the cycle and free us all from our mirrored prisons ...

The Spinner Weaves
The Weaver Spins
and Laima Dreams

In Stories Told...

2010-01-30T23:40:00.000-08:00

Ever since I was a little girl, my sense of self and identity has been shaped by the women in my family, living and dead, good and bad. Each on has a story of survival and overcoming the odds and the dream of making better for those that follow. Of all the women, my mother was the most influential. In a sense she was a composite of all who had preceded her. The voices of generations were vocalized through her - she was the keeper of the tales, and now that honor has been passed on to me. Momma always said as long as we tell their stories they will never die - immortality is in the remembering....

Loved ones

never gone

Forever alive

thru those

left behind...

By stories told

made immortal...

Thoughts

2010-01-30T15:28:00.000-08:00

Thoughts
and memories
floating around
the edges of
the mind...
Unconnected
random
When collected
and pieced together
become the
mosaic
that is our
lives...

2010-01-29T08:57:00.000-08:00

There is a
stillness
carried in the
breeze...
Joyful quietness
in watching
grass grow...
Finding tranquility
in the space
of one's own
mind....

Revolution Whispers

2010-01-25T18:48:00.000-08:00

Where to begin
to change the world?
So much
beyond our control,
overwhelming
in size and scope
and yet...
The simplest answers
often reside
in the simplest places...
Taken for granted,
invisible in plain sight
A single step
all that is needed
to begin...

Change the self
change the world...

Winter Rains...

2010-01-24T10:51:00.000-08:00

I so love rainy days. Maybe it's because I live in a desert and they come so few and far between, but there is something elemental about rainy days, especially in winter. Unlike summer rains, it isn't so much about being surrounded by it, as being insulated in it. It's about being cocooned in the warmth of a comforter and candle light as if snuggled in the arms of one who loves you. It's about being surrounded in gentle waves of liquid kisses and the steady rhythm of sweet release cascading nature's endorphins through the subconscious to a place where nothing else exists, a deep and peaceful slumber.

Serendipity

2010-01-20T18:47:00.000-08:00

What's in a look
What's in a word
a random meeting
unlikely connections
of common ground
in worlds apart
coming together
Serendipity

Home...

2010-01-15T18:54:00.000-08:00

Home is not so much about a place, but about relationships, the people around the hearth, around its heart. For me, home was a sanctuary from the outside world, a place of safety. Home was a place of warmth and nurturing smells like Italian sausage sandwiches on rainy days, radio theater and candles when the lights went out, and broiled chicken wings and Godzilla's tinny roars on a Saturday afternoon. Home was cuddled crock pot warmth emanating its richness to fill the emptiness of a wounded latch-key heart; a sincere attempt to soften a broken home's lonely reality. The comforting smell of food connected us beyond barriers of time and space. She wanted us to feel her presence, her warmth, her safety even if she wasn't there. She was sunlit beams streaming across the floor, warming us like outstretched cats, filling us with the light and goodness that was her. Home wasn't a place. Home was my mother...

When she died, the house that was once home became nothing more than a shell, an empty facsimile of the life it had once been; no more warmth, no more smells. Evidence that was her life faded away as the house was emptied and prepared for sale. It only became real when the child before me began to cry... "It doesn't smell like Grandma anymore..." He felt it too, and yet....

We shut the door one last time and went home. Even though she is gone, I still find warm comfort in the smell of a simmering crock pot, sausage sandwiches on rainy days, chicken wings and Godzilla movies on a Saturday afternoon. To this day, when sunbeams stretch across the room and warm my face, I feel my mother's touch and no matter where I am, I'm home. I sometimes wonder what my son will remember when I am gone. Whatever it is, I hope it's home....

An Afternoon by the Water...

2010-01-08T17:46:00.000-08:00

Liquid movement
of the mind
Streams of thought
carried through time
our primordial past
just to exist
to simply be
Connect to self
Identity discovered
in the rustling leaves...
Breezes kiss
the Creators mind
in search
of stillness
Rejuvenate
Renew
Become
Whole again.....

2010-01-08T06:20:00.000-08:00

Truth

and Freedom

lie in seeing

The Middle Way...

a path

less traveled

in a world

of Extremes...

Coming Home....

2010-01-06T18:48:00.000-08:00

Life is full of ironies, most of which you don't really catch until you take a step back. Sometimes, the message is in the big picture. My life has changed so much over the last couple of years. I was a daughter, a granddaughter, a wife, a mother, and asundry other roles to varied to mention. Now, all of my elders are gone, my son is grown, and I am single again. I am left to ponder my life, past, present, and future.

When I was young, my focus was always about moving forward; finish school, get a career, get married, start a family. At the same time, I had time to explore myself, be myself. I liked to write. I was a freelance journalist for a while. I liked to workout. I was in a body building contest. I was even a Guardian Angel. Everything was an adventure. I wanted to change the world. I was relatively confident and self-sufficient. I had dreams. Life was challenging, but good.

Somewhere along the way, I lost something. I am still trying to figure out how it happened... I sublimated who I was to meet the needs of those around me, my students, co-workers, family members, and especially those of my husband and son. Things I wanted to do, things I loved, things that made me me, took a back seat and were scheduled around what everyone else was doing and their expectations. Now I am single again, on my own with no obligations, no purpose . I suddenly realized I have no idea what I want to do. I didn't know how redefine myself, my life.

Oddly enough, the Universe has a way of bringing you around to what you need to learn. Maybe that is the greaatest irony of all. It is almost as if the Source must be revisited before you can move on. People from my past have been cropping up left and right; high school classmates, former lovers and friends. They've reminded me of who I was before the roles and expectations took over. The feeling is familiar yet, strange, comforting and awkward at the same time. I am a kid again only better, just older and hopefully a little wiser. It seems I don't have to redefine myself after all. I just have to go back to being who I always was. I just have to come home.

The Spinner weaves
The Weaver Spins
And Laima Dreams

Laima's Dream...

2010-01-05T14:44:00.000-08:00

Goddess of fate
Spinning thread
In rythmic cadence
on a wheel
Threads to
Weave
the web of life
in strands
of consciousness
connected by
generations...
Fragile fibers
of destinies
woven
into what is
meant to be...
Primordial
consciousness
Manifest
in Words
now spun
as Stories
now woven
into the tapestry
of Laima's Dream....

According to Lithuanian mythology, Laima is the eternal spinner, weaving into the tapestry of life patterns of existence, destiny and fate. She is the beginning. We are connected to her by threads of consciousness woven and spun throughout the ages. My Great-Great Grandmother sat before a spinning wheel, as did generations before her, binding threads woven into a piece of cloth. It, like her dreams, were passed down generation after generation, mother to daughter, to me. It is the spinners that bind the family and hold it together. The connection is deep, almost primal. In learning about Laima, I better understand the women who shaped my life and ultimately myself. She is our mother, and we, her daughters.....

The Spinner weaves
The Weaver spins
and Laima dreams.....

Lucky Charm

2010-01-04T18:53:00.000-08:00

A boyish smile
An impish grin
Joyous laughter
An anchor
To save my life
From setting adrift
In times of dispair
Purpose
Salvation
Amidst the Chaos
Of pandora's box
Promise
Of things to come
My heart...
My soul...
My Son...

The Meaning of Life...

2010-01-02T18:16:00.000-08:00

He was once the butterflies I felt in my womb, the tiniest flutterings of life announcing his presence. Today he stands before me on the brink of manhood. Suddenly, I am humbled.

Parenthood is a crapshoot at best. Who knows how it will turn out. The best you can hope for is a whole happy, healthy human being. When I first heard his heart beat, I remember thinking what an awesome responsibility this was going to be, that every decision I made would impact this life forming within me for at least the next 18 years. It wasn't about me anymore.

From the moment he was conceived, he touched something in me. He brought out the very best in me. I wanted to do right by this beautiful little boy. More than anything, I wanted him to know he was loved and valued, that I would be there for him. It was all I knew how to do. I prayed it was enough.

As I look at the young man standing before me, I am amazed. He is everything, I hoped he would be. For the life of me, I am not sure how it happened. I wish I could take credit for it, but I can't. It is just who he is. The one thing I do know is I have enjoyed every single moment with him, every stage of his life. He taught me what was important and filled me with a sense of joy and purpose I never thought possible, and for that, I am eternally grateful, eternally blessed.

Now the time has come to let him go, to find his own way in the world. As he takes his first steps into manhood, I am overwhelmed by the realization that I don't just enjoy spending time with my son because he is my son, but because I enjoy him as a person, as an adult, as a man.

New Beginnings....

2009-12-27T12:35:00.000-08:00

The new year is upon us and as the old winds down, the new begins... a new year, a new decade, a potential myriad of new beginnings, new challenges, and ultimately, new adventures. Sometimes it's about starting over. The question is how does one begin again to redefine a self, redefine a life? I don't know exactly where to begin. I have no clue where I am going. I no longer have a map. This is indeed new territory for me. I just know to keep moving.

At the same time, I am blessed in so many ways, not the least of which are wonderful friends and family that loves me. In fact, it was one of these wonderful people that inspired me to write this blog. The funny thing is, although I love to write, I don't even know where to begin. In the end, sometimes it's just better to jump....

At heart, I am a poet and a storyteller. It is the stories that connect us all and give meaning to who we are. I want this blog to be a reflection of this. Like me, this blog is a work in progress. I have no idea where it will lead. I just hope you will join me on the way....