Dial it Up

I started talking to my children tonight.
I told them what to watch out for.
"Don't talk to strangers."
"If anyone makes you feel scared or touches you in a way you don't like: tell me or your father."

It's hard because I want to tell them everything so they can protect themselves.
I know they'll either be most at risk when they're without us or if we're the ones to fail them.
You can't tell a three year old certain things.
I want to be with my children all the time and when they're adults to know they're okay.

I feel like being a parent is one of the hardest challenges possible to take on.
And yet, so many people do it.
I want to tell my two children to trust their instincts.
I want them to be surrounded by a shield of protection made of the strongest material known to man.

My husband is militial.
He folds his underwear and organizes it by style and color.
If I leave the ironing board up he scolds me.
If I forget the laundry in the dryer he makes me wash it again so it's not wrinkled.

I like it that he's strict and organized, because we're always ready.
He keeps me in line and he keeps me sharp.
My friend told me I'm sharp enough.
I think that's what people say to you who wish you were easier to trick.

We live in a house in Calabasas.
It's a two story house with four bedrooms.
My husband and I always slept in the same room with our children when they were babies.
They were in cribs though, because adults roll over sometimes when they sleep.

I was vigilant and maybe a little too anxiety ridden about their welfare.
In the end it was my husband though who I really trusted to protect us.
I knew there were certain things I had to do to be the best mother I could be.
I had to show my selfless side.

Sometimes I had to suffer so they wouldn't.
Or I had to learn to do things a different way, a better way, for them.
Being at home with them made me happy.
Being with my husband made me feel like I was at last in the right place.

It isn't always easy.
In many ways I'm surprised when I talk to my children.
Because it lets me know they're coming.
It's years away, but they're coming toward me.

Superstition

Visionary work is often overexposed or out of focus.
Say yes to adventures and memorize survival manuals.
The providence of success left me wondering what to do now.
But it was the geniuses who were audacious enough to think they couldn't be kept out.

Watch the disconnected signs vanish: the immorality, the apathy, the irresponsibility, and the laziness.
A dead end was - the truth - it stopped him.
When people "don't get" what you're doing, subsequent discoveries will amend that, in some cases.
There was the fear that empowerment would wrestle the shackles away.

She has the ability to dye her imagination any hue and to recover from anything.
Your chance for stardom is to imbue us not with feelings, but rather with life force.
The rapture of truly living cannot confine us to a zoo, there are no bars where this bird sings.
My totalitarian innocence is better than connecting the dots for you.

"Saturnia" - a definition of sanity - past and present.
The nature of man is the vessel we use to explore life, not hate it.
Cross-pollination is the device, right?
The human adventure is the desire for improvement and God.

Do a back flip, we cannot approach them directly.
Children are the "eureka" that keep everything alive.
We're working on different frequencies.
You and I.

Message From An Island

I heard an angel speak to me.
She said he loves me.
In fact, the angel is real.
She's teaching me about "helping."

And when she speaks I listen.
And I think before I speak.
But when I write to her the quotes don't add up.
I wonder if she will wonder what I'm trying to say.

"I'm" not saying anything, the books are, but it makes me uneasy.
Oh and it also makes me perplexed to have confirmation that he may in fact be in love with me.
We've been through this before.
And I'm beginning to get the feeling we may go through this again.

Is it that I'm shocked?
I did so much work creating a story in tatters behind me.
The remnants are scattered across my states.
The ruin of me.

I'm actually collected.
It's the tale that's in pieces.
Not my version, mine is almost complete.
All the other accounts are distributed chaotically - controlled chaos.

When I hear the words, "I think he loves you."
I feel like a vested part of me is brought to life.
Like a vested interest.
Break, I cannot break.

However, I can sit and think a lot.
This is what I do now.
My mind seamlessly processes everything it's fed.
My most valuable processor.

I'm shy about revealing anything too specific at this time.
To say, "tonight" or "today" gives too much away.
Strangely, I do have a secret to tell you:
Half of what I write is fact and half fiction.

I put it to you to decide which is which.
I used to only write about my direct experience.
When I fell in love, you fell in love too.
I know you felt it.

My use of the word "you" has changed.
It used to mean mainly one person in particular.
Now it mostly means "the reader."
Something is changing, inside and out.

But to have a message from an island, a place where magic is happening.
To receive a message here, in a place that makes me "stronger, harder, faster."
It means, well, it only means what it means.
And to compose a message - a poem is a message - a letter too - is a creation all it's own...

Thanks for Stating the Obvious

I sat down next to him, but I didn't realize it was him until later.
I didn't realize because for once I was wrapped up in a world separate from his - apart.
In my world I wasn't concerned if I looked fat or picked out the wrong color of lipstick.
I wasn't thinking about how my yoga teacher corrected my posture in class.
I wasn't interested in whether or not I knew the answers to everything.

When I sat down I was in my own territory, in a place not a lot of people tread.
Sometimes when I'm there I stop noticing the landscape around me.
It's like when you find yourself chewing on a jalapeno, but you never feel the spice.
Then he said my name, which almost frightened me at first.
I don't know a lot of people here.

And what was he doing in a coffee shop in Colorado?
It was absurd, even to me.
But for me to accuse someone of following me is sheer folly.
Follow me here, follow me there, follow me, follow me, everywhere.
I hope you enjoy your life underground.

Destitute time - what does that mean?
I hope I'm destitute in time.
No one wants to be destitute.
Time is always destitute.
Leave me alone - I'm destitute.

Simply lost in a reverie.
That's where you found me.
Only you didn't really find me, because I wasn't there.
I won't tell you to go away.
You always go - it's my favorite part of the day.

The Past is Not the Present

Sometimes we all need a reminder that things aren't the same.
I know I'm different, but some people seem not to have changed.
I leave a comment here or there, what's the point?
I just wanted someone to know.

I've tried to take myself away from people's lives before.
But they come knocking at my door.
I wonder why?
There are so many others out there who are easier to handle than me.

I listen to advice and insights.
I appreciate sincerity, but I don't say everything.
I wonder how long it will take for the whole truth to come out.
If it ever will.

I learn how to rebuild.
I listen to what my self tells me.
It tells me things in silence at times.
But I get the message.

I hear the innocent words of a friend fall on me like soft rain.
Tomorrow, I no longer look to tomorrow for epiphanies, there is only today.
I continue to feel like I walk a fine line.
Tread here, do not tread there.

But inside of myself I am steadier.
I am more committed.
And I believe in something beyond walls.
I hear the words, "Lucky, I am lucky."

And part of my luck is bound up in something greater.
Definitely something larger.
But it brings me back to myself repeatedly.
"Grow," it tells me to grow.

There is Something Wrong

It started today with a beetle.
Or perhaps a comment about someone.
A beetle and a comment.
I made a comment, a beetle flew into my hair.
I didn't notice the beetle until later.

A beautiful young woman once told me beetles are good luck.
I made a comment about that woman.
I touched the back of my hair and felt a hard shell.
I panicked, not knowing if it was a bee.
So, I leaned over the sink, and pulled my hair tie out.

I saw a black leg drop into the white sink.
I shook my hair out, but I didn't see anything.
I looked on the floor.
There was what looked like a dead beetle.
Its legs were tucked inside.

I picked it up.
I felt like maybe it was alive, but no, it's legs were inside.
I looked at it and noticed it was beautiful, green, a Japanese beetle.
So, I placed it in a piece of kleenex, and put it inside a hand painted box.
Later, I took it out to show to my mother.

I saw black legs through the white kleenex, and I was scared.
I brought it over to my mother.
We looked at it, she took the kleenex, because I was upset.
I knew it was missing a leg.
It started stretching and moving.

She told me things.
How it would be fine, it still had five legs.
I remembered my newt as a child.
It lost a leg and I think it was somehow my fault.
I was not happy.

And my mother took the beetle outside, and put it on her prize white rose.
Even though beetles like to eat roses, or so I hear.
I began thinking about the girl who taught me about lucky beetles.
Was I unlucky for luck even?
Or what happened?

Then, I thought about all the people I know.
I thought about all the problems we have.
And I cried.
The people I know, the problems we have.
Too many people, too many problems.

I pictured their faces, their issues.
I thought about their suffering.
Day in and day out.
We suffer every day.
Is it like this for everyone?

And I was derailed.
By empathy.
For the beetle, for the people.
A train sounded off in the distance.
Something is wrong I know it, something is very wrong.

The Baby Raccoon

it must be that I'm excited - brain whirring into the night
I sit by the open window listening to the summer wind in the trees outside
something happened, something changed
how can this be?
will it last?
I feel full inside
and after many hard days this must be gratefulness
I think about the past
the writings in my book
I think about the future
I think about the young Asian guy at the grocery store
"Are you looking for the apple ginger juice?"
I was looking at the coconuts
he wheeled the juice over
I felt a pang like I didn't want to let go of him
for speaking to me, for being something I liked in that moment
and I thought of all the young men in the store
many men with brown hair and lean bodies
I thought maybe some day I could find someone again
or even just have simple moments over juice
maybe I could - live -
and perhaps I could learn to run again
and surrender the hurt into my bible
my mother called me over tonight
to see a baby raccoon
his little mask was on
and there was yet another moment I could get behind
my mother - the raccoon
and then when I was sitting by the window
I heard a group of young people outside
they were having a party
they came outside
a girl whooped
a guy called his dog
he said, "she was chasing the ra-ccoon"
the way he said raccoon
it became a special word
and someone who used to love me
sending me messages
telling me he still misses me
and again I realize this life isn't over
and the day is behind me
the work I sent out into the ether
I sent it hastily, before I knew what it was
before I could decide this should be this way, and that should be like that
a surrender
it may be only one night, but in this moment I am home again
was I so far away that I could not land for all this time?
paralyzed inside myself - afraid to say so even
only fearless when it came to allowing myself to hate?
and for the first time I think maybe I'll stay here
maybe I won't
but maybe I will
I know at least tomorrow I will go out
and I will look at the clean, bright people
and I will ride a wonderful bike
with shocks, that hops over curbs
and carries me
I will probably wonder about some things
and I may cry again and again
but I will see my mother
and maybe some day I will see another baby raccoon