Category: writing

Short Trip Home

It takes a couple days to fall back into the deep familiar of this old house.

It takes a minute to not be surprised when Lucca, the cat, follows me to the bathroom , because I may need him in the dodgy second floor neighborhood. Thugs and all. He’ll protect me, after his belly rub.

About three days to remember to step close to the bookcase so the floor won’t squeak so loud.

As soon as I’m acclimated to the quirky things particular to a 1933 house, time’s up and I’m repacking a bag for North again.

They know. The cats circle the bag and at least one sits on it, trying to hold me here.

My heart breaks off a large chunk to leave right there by my pillow so they can sit by me when I’m gone again.

Poetry Day…Haiku! What Remains

What Remains

Morning after view

Evidence of their I do’s

Sweet blooms of pale hues

Poetry: Writers Gathering at Mawby Vineyards

A new friend brought me here tonight. Into this bustle of writers where we are working alone or gathered in small groups, talking, laughing, sipping wine with others; gathering here from a 50 mile radius; our host tonight, fellow writer, maker of extraordinary sparkling wines, Larry Mawby.

It’s a picture perfect summer evening and poems are rising. Here it comes….

summer grapes.jpg

Dance of Soil

Vines rise on wire scaffolding

Pushing sunshine up green spines

Still summertime-

and fruit is but a dream

sleeping quietly in the roots

I have seen this dance before on other continents.

Deep in the Barossa-

Strewn across the Andalusian plain

Spread boldly through the valley at the top of California

and here, today-

Teenage vines safely held in the heart of Leelanau

All dancing to the tune

of soil and fickle weather gods

After casting their magic-

some of this …some of that

Leaning air on wood and steel.

Around the world the vintners

wait to plunge

their thief

into the barrel’s heart

Breath held- until they catch the scent

Of devil’s feet and the sound of money burning-

Or rare bouquet of perfect wine-

Kissed by sun and fanned by angel wings.

picsart_07-19-063636342733113602612.jpg
Mawby Vineyards and Winery, Suttons Bay, Michigan

I Knew That…

So, back in 1991, big things were happening. The Soviet Union took the first steps to disband the USSR. Yeah. So, now they are trying to put it back together, but hey, “A” for initial effort. The Internet was made available for commercial use and the number of computers “online” reached 1,000,000. The Dead Sea Scrolls were unveiled, and cyclone in Bangladesh killed 200,000 souls. Ah. You forgot about that. Sadly, me too.

Smaller things happened too. I was writing a regular column then for iCE Magazine in the Ft. Lauderdale Sun Sentinel. It was called Karmic Soup and I reviewed films, books, workshops and new technologies in the Woo-Woo realm of metaphysics. I enjoyed the heck out of that gig. I got to interview some amazing people like Dr. Brian Weiss; a pioneer in past life regression. Edgar Mitchell, the Apollo 14 astronaut who returned to Earth with a whole new thought about what’s “out there”. My favorite was The Amazing Kreskin. I was given a twenty minute time slot with him and when his agent pointed to his watch to call time’s up, he waved him away and we spent two hours talking and laughing. I still get Christmas cards from him.

On a more personal level, I was starting to cook some fiction in my head while I also did intuitive readings and was a part of a fantastic channeling circle. Yes. I did channeling. No. It’s not dangerous. It’s akin to meditating out loud. Trance channel and author, Kevin Ryerson, once said (through one of his guides) that praying is talking to God and meditating is listening to God. Brilliant. And I assume that God would have far more interesting things to say to us than we do to It/He/She.

Today, I was going through one of those scary boxes where you stash crap in hopes of one day organizing it. In among the paperclips, sketches, building plans and writing samples, I found a “list” that I had channeled on some random day in 1991. It was so simple and straight forward that I filed it in the DUH category of my “keep this ‘cuz you might want to use it someday” box.

The list isn’t going to cure cancer but it actually could create world peace if everyone followed each point. Really. No fooling.

I have a slew of things that I’ve written down; big ideas and such. A year or five would pass and there that thing would appear out in the world because someone else had the same thought and actually took the time to do something with it while mine was fermenting in the DUH box. Ask my family. They’ve been witness to dozens of moments when our mouths fell open as we saw the very thing in the DUH box on TV.

Anyway, it’s twenty seven years later, but here is A Plan For Living. Needless to say, the advice herein was mostly forgotten over time, but now I am printing this out and I’ll look at it often to see if I can actually do what I wrote.

Thank you Highest Teachers & Guides. Don’t give up on me. I’m a little slow, but eventually … I get it.

a plan for living

 

Write like that…

chicago-south-loop-hotel-home1-top (1)A good story should bring us into the lives, the homes, the kitchens and boardrooms, the mind, the bedroom, the dreams and the nightmares of our character.

We need to write about real life and not just some hermetically sealed. extra light, fat- free, flavor-free version of life.
Because life is not a continuous loop of polite tea parties where characters glance knowingly at one another or blush in sudden thrall from behind their open fan.
Life is outrageous. Life is humans at their lowest lows; gripped with rage or desperation making horrible decisions for horrible reasons.
Life is humans being their very best selves; putting other people before them and risking everything so that those others can live their own outrageous life.
Life is experiencing the soul shaking surrender to a lover who guides us to deep and wondrous places in ourselves that we never dared imagine.
Life is wringing out the last drop of compassion for another and reaching that place where a required action is business only; no emotion.
Life is heart wrenching sweetness and heart crushing pain.
It’s messy and raw and ugly and beautiful. And it 99% deeper than another shallow police procedural or drably written script where characters follow a Girl Scout approved path from their parents door to their spouses.
Thank fuck that it is. Anything less and we would all perish in a monochromatic, Xanax fog without ever breaking a perfect nail.
Write like that or don’t write at all.

Poetry Day: Red Road

milkyway

Red Road

 

I do not walk the Red Road in this life-

not being a path this body’s ancestors followed-

though I feel that road…over here.

In my bones

there is sympathetic harmony

rising

when I hear the drums

measuring the heartbeat of the Earth.

In my world,

the one that has spent so much time

silencing that heartbeat

using white noise and non-sense;

though it cannot fill up every quiet place,

some still hear its voice.

I have heard it and now it cannot be unheard.

My own medicine wheel has shown me how to walk another road.

I move with humans to my left- where I can feel their presence

animal world to my right- where I can touch them with what flows through me-

Spirit at my back- encouraging me to take another step

And the stars ahead of me-

flung out far into the Universe

lighting my way.

Not a Red Road this time

but one of every color.