around the ear globe December 21, 2009

two angels, ( and one devil)

the story still fresh on my tongue:

i am in london,  peters cape town,

off to the globe,

dreamt uv going to this old theatre house

home uv shake speare. across the bridge and

shakespeare in luv, romeo and

leonardo dicaprio, and

the island uv capri,

and the luvley

dreams in between

the stage the stage, and the writing on this page.

let the wind blow me

to land on a new chapter.

it is the final performance. last night. closing.  i found out by chance, really almost missed it.  did not have a ticket.

walked all the way to the thames, with suede brown boots, high heeled uv course, i mean london makes little girls want to be women uv the night wearing leapord print coats, put on ur leather gloves man.

i arrive to a sold out performance, “stand in line” says the ticket vender behind the window, “who knows it might b ur lucky day”…

ohhh shit, i think, this really is my last chance.  i do not even know which play is going tonight, but its the closing show.

waiting for a cancellation.  tick tock, arriving the hr, and yes.

a man comes with a ticket with my name on it. charlie in his chocolate factory could not be more pleased.

for 5 euros! i will be standing right in between the two ailed stages that stretch out,

to have Berowne and Rosaline,

pour words uv sensual, strong, maddened angry, sweet, songlike fiery passionate tempered trinkets uv luv poems to one another, and

all i can see is

u sweet Lyne, and u sweet Peter, ur faces, ur hearts, ur incredible strong bodied performances infront uv me.

tongue hanging from mouth

is this real?  i am in london at the globe and at the voice intensive in vancouver with lyne and peter, all at the same time.

later in the evening, , i am in the bar with the actors, drinking beer, telling them this story, them telling me how they too would luv to do this voice intensive “so

they threw roses into the audience and i caught one. rose in hand, beer in belly, i walked home to find a toy sword on the ground, picked it up and lasered my way home. thru a tube, a long long electirc tube, light switched on in room, and i wrote began to write.

to u, here and now, in florence, firenze,  fiorenze,  fiore,  the city uv flowers.  is this not beautiful ? and the color uv their flag:

violet.

a violet sky the dark rainy night i climbed up the bell tower uv the duomo, on th first full moon, and sent my luv into the sky, literally standing above and below what felt like the sighhhhhhhhsss .  the size  uv

haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!

luv to u both,

heart warmers,

electric performers,

un embracio,

bacioni,

lisa

spirits uv the holy wild December 9, 2009

i am here,  watching into the wild in tuscany.  this film and its sound track, has set itself permanently in my train uv thoughts, feelings, listenings.

la toscana.

where into the wild country side is as artistically cultivated and kept as the oiled luvers put into frames, the madonna wrapped in blu and rossa kneeling in a barn praying for sun, and the father, the son, and the holy spirit distilled and poured every cenna into a bottle uv chianti to dress the tongue in its own beloved color uv deep red.

my red mother tongue is being pressed upon me,  face on glass barrel

i beckon the spirits uv the holy wine,  shared every night around a wooden table, with a young woman, the very own boticelli’s venus, who makes fire every morning to warm her house, who is strong, yet so sweet, straight in her head, zero in her ego, a hero, here…her regazzo, a cacchatore,  an old spirit in a young man’s body who knows everything about plants, and how to grow a garden, so that there are fresh, organic vegetables, black cabbage , to make risotto with panchetta.  ’”people respect him, ” she says, ” because they understand, he knows what to do if ur plants are dying, he knows what remedy to give them, he could save ur garden”.

ooohh mama mia.  questi regazzi sono propio gente di qualita.

it is true.  the people uv tuscany have an understanding for what is quality in just about everything.  the food, boots -ok lets start here.  i have just bought a pair uv hand made artigiano leather boots leather soles that my feet are celebrating today!   my feet are shouting, maybe cursing, “yes lisa, this is how boots should feel. this is how ur body should feel.”

my stomach has been saying this the second i arrived in this boot shaped country.

eating fresh bread, glazed with garlic and uv course the new oil.  olive oil is just being pressed into bottles while right now wine being poured out uv them.  all this talk uv leather boots, gluttonous eating, and perhaps an excessive need for the right bottle uv wine ogni sera may seem contradictive to the spiritual cleansing i am ad hearing to. within the spirit is the ritual and i figure if the priest every sunday at mass can drink the blood uv jesus christ thru a glass uv quality san-giovese, then…

hell with it is always part uv heaven ( just the right blend)!

into the tuscan wild, outiside,  the leaves changing.  falling to the ground.  leaving dust to settle, sift, and resettle.  saddle up the horses, there is a ranch nearby where horse therapy is given to children, at lettori, kids, who are closed and do not know how to be “social”  are given an opportunity to open up, by creating a relationship with horses; compassionate, noble, beautiful, sensitive, strong animals are able to bring sensitve children, who have not “socialized” with humans, into the open, into the world.

what an eye opener.

sumtimes i too feel like a child who has not quite “socialized” adjusted, to the world, to the society i belong to.  i think the powerful innocence uv the child, if they had the words,  when seeing images on t.v. uv kids who have no food,  and powerful adults off to campaign for billion dollar wars, would ask,  ”where is the justice?”.    AD sum JUSTICE dammit, and there might be alot uv people adjusting to the world around them.

within alot uv injustice , how is it this afternoon, simply rolling, pouring my body into the earth, like a fallen ripe plum off my father’s italian plum tree in our front yard-  allows memories feelings injustices, to pour out uv me.

a voice whispers ” the earth heals everything. ”

in the lines of the earth, i see the luving smile, within the lines uv my babbo’s cheeks, always always making the best uv what life handed to him.  this is all we have-  to make the best from whatever beastly burdens this world has given us.

celebrate the clean water, celebrate the bicycle, the bringing people together artists,  teachers,  healers, who genuinely work to create a better future for our children.   (copenhaggen  and climate change right now is on my mind)

i look in the mirror, after tears have poured from eyes, thanking god for all the gifts, all the people, and as if 10 years have poured right off my face, my skin glowing, my eyes bright and full uv light,  i am seeing the innocence behind the eyes, the eyes, all the I’s i have prescribed to, to be ”adjusted” to my society.

“society, u crazy breed!”   every morning, i am tearing off my shoes to message my heals, the arches in my feet, tira vente. pulling wind. i am releasing it burping and laughing.

i hear eddie vedder singing to me ” could it be a big hot sun, beating on the big  people in this big hard world” .  it is lunch time. the sun above my head,  sweetly calling in the leaves, to fall to fall to fall to the ground.

into the wild, yes, the story uv this young man, in between american disillusions, leaves society, to live in nature to find… in to the wild, like a weed, he finally rested his head, baby king, a dandelion pulled out from its roots, to be wished upon, and then blown into the sky…

my family, pulled from the land ,  put into boxes their belongings, to leave where wild dad, roamed free.

this story makes me laugh so much!  my nonna and babbo recount it often: how at five years old, in a little town in the molise mountains, little giovanni had to be tied with rope to the kitchen table so that my nonna could keep him from skipping towns with the older boys.  i have a similar one:  at three, taking a chair in the kitchen, unbolting two locks, and taking my one and a half year old brother to take a visit to my nonna’s house, on the other side uv the neighborhood. oh my mother,  if she had only used rope!

hand grab rope, saddle a horse, pull! or maybe let go uv the ropes inside, the tied up packages, let life pour out.

all the land and families, and the children,  scattered like seeds, dreams blowing b lo wings to fly.

haaaaaaaaa. i whisper in his ear, after a wild game uv tag, breathing hard,

in the botanical garden in firenze,

to my own cacchatore tonight,

“ u caught me, u caught me,”

did u learn sumthing?

shed hed November 27, 2009

fall is here  in full abundance.  this afternoon, i am running, dancing outside the country home ,i am residing in monterefrasine, toscana,  full uv olive trees, and vineyards.  rolling my body on th bumpy cushy land, like a fallen olive into the fresh dough uv a pizza waiting to go into the wooden fire. 

 i am resting my head on the dirt, ears touching the earth, and listening.

 luv listens. luv leaves sheds clothes running naked water against skin swollen, opened, like grapes bursting to make wine.

 i listen to the stem.

 luv listens sempre sempre. (always always)

all ways all ways we go.

as all roads take us to rome. rewind. and one sees only wind returning the spit back, back to life, karma continues, and we start again.

gaining the wind rustling burnt leaves.

 keeps me company,

while my past wrestles with me.  nothing escapes us eventually. 

 i know this and am facing life with my feet on the dirt, wind blowing thru my hair,

 allowing me to blow lovers thru my digestive system,  a coiled snake in stomach,  stuck memories shuved in the shed.

sun breaks thru the small window pain in my heart

liquid  honey drops where there are memories waiting to be stirred to finally relax in the bed uv chamomile flowers i sip before i rest my head at night.

this mid- afternoon, i am rolling on the earth to create momentum, fire, to boil to boil, to b liquid as oil

i am looking for that space, the T time, intersection, cross roads 

 arrival uv when body will agree on the hour ( the hour to eat, sleep is precise in italy)

 to light the wick, put the wind on the flame,

leave the lame vine, and

  f 

a

l

l

 ascend into the roots to be next years wine

grapes delivered to make the holy spirit fly.

 i stand on tuscan ground, full uv bumps and small but sturdy trees,  

land that has equal up and down like two sides uv the same flower.  soft, gentle rolling hills, up and down, tell me they are uv the same oneness; tell me about the natural beauty inside my terrain, my body.

the grass is green on this side and on the other.

enough comparisons, i am sound, i am ground. rrrrrrrrrrrrrr tongue rolling my r’s italian r’s u use ur lingua, to be…

round here the collinas move in long wavy circles like yarn spilling on the ground after the little kitten has decided to play with what nonna was turning into winter socks.  i am dancing, spinning round round,  little girl, spilling my weight,  feet so ready to take the weight uv the world, not on her shoulders, but thru her powerful pelvic hips made to carry water with hands meant to build something stronger thru a spirit that is deliciously stretchy,  rolled out,  hand kneeded, olive oiled dough

 to make pizza. 

                                                                                                                                                                                                    here i am, contrary to the fall’s crisp wind

 ripping off my shoes,  circling the lines around my feet feeling my legs plant into a paradise for fruit to grow (especially the kind that makes wine).   

i walk into the mid-afternoon darkness

uv a small dirty shed, on the corner uv the farm adjacent the land i am living on.

 inside, i am saturated by a thick musky silence.  the grey dusty hue absorbs the loud murmur uv bull shit mind static. there is a smell the best manure to shed head.

inside, there are shovels to dig, buckets to carry, bunnies raised to eat.

hands clumsy, i fumble to open the latch of a tiny wooden window slightly higher than on tip toes, i can reach.

prrrrrrroooow, i manage and a gust uv wind pops it open

to let in the soft sweeping howling uv the wise green mountain side,

where a bell tower, on every half hour rings,

whisper

” u, u, u,

sweet  

luving luving u,

brrrrrrrrrrrrring it

 is time”.

November 25, 2009

tracks November 25, 2009

luv is bright on the other side uv the tracks,
wood lines up,
wheels creaking streaming people across land.

train riding i am transported, eyes opening thru a port uv window.
luv luv luv the riding the
bringing me to the border uv the

infinite being within myself, the self that never ages,

on my way to wards.

i am alive  inside my eyes reach out across the plain.

old wrinkled luving hands uv rome’s tree tops reach back.

i see grand mother and mother, hands reaching across the table,
 i am inside my brown wooden dinner bowl uv salad, tossing up the oil and salt, licking the bowl to get  a tention from the green beneath me.

this land,  italia, is licking me from head to foot, like a dog, with a ball, ready to play.

 this play ground, i am here, and my bones can feel it, losse, bones attached to meat, meat, attached to air, air mixing with blood and the whirl uv encouraging juices

like the push uv hands uv great parents standing behind their little ones on a play ground so they can swing higher and higher on the swing set.  push me harder!  i am going to reach the highest point to  jump off  and land on my cat feet. 9 lives to come weeeeeeeeeeee!

my lifted heart being swirled with memories uv land i tracked “must be in past lives”, says the woman at the airport hair gently lifted exposing her soft all knowing forehead. “its the hairspray” she explains. easily in her sixties but far softer on the eyes than all the walloping twenty sumthings brooding thru bags to touch up their makeup.  she standing upright with a perk in one shoulder and a perk in one knee, waiting to grab her valice ( luggage).

her stance is speaking to me,  “hey, i am a mediterranean woman, we move even when are still.”

 oh, i must speak to her,  she looks like a glamorous actress, sophia loren, aging deliciously each year like wine, with a pair uv hot purple pumps pulling off a pair uv blu jeans dressed with artigiano jewellery and uv course confident italian flair.  so i approach her and within few moments she is already motherly, warning me, “attenzione, the men here will go crazy for a young woman like u, but… they are often married.!”.
(wow nothing gets by her)
“but ur parents are really good letting u come here on a one way ticket.”  “yes i can see that tu sei italian. but it is strange u know. u were born in vancouver. u really were italian in ur past life”.

strange, the second time, since i have arrived and another (non-gypsy) stranger is talking to me about my past lives.
regarding this pastlife buisness, i change the subject, in allegria, in happiness, i tell her how wonderful it is she now lives in london, a city i am now feeling affectionate about, and is able to go between londra e roma, and in celebration uv the nonrational behaviour i am bringing out uv my soul, the walking up to strangers, and sharing our lives for whatever time, even for a few moments, regarding my past life, i say no thing,
instead,
realizing i have set foot on new land where i can re enliven and begin to stir the gestural magic potion thru my body, i smile smile
and let my hands do the talking.

dark night in a purple haze November 19, 2009

writing between time

if felt very important.

meeting strangers, strange meetings that are meant to be. what the heck does this mean? a stranger in the dark dancing upon my consciousness, keeping me aware uv the glad tidings.

his hands held my belly, put two warm teddy bears on each side as blu and red flowers absorbed a harmony uv violet help bring dark demons, bad people, bad to light. 

his pale white skin aglow, hazel eyes beating a soft sad pulse, a pretty boy whose clarity, a sign uv optimism, and strength is beguiling. whose intense ability to see inside is frightening.

it is true, his voice is light and clear as a bell and his touch  has a magical swooshness that puts sum sad thing to sleep, allowing the bad thing to breathe and burn fire to make sum new soft sweet thing grow. who are u?  when our eyes meet a magnetic pull lifts sum stirring thing inside me.

god is lightning my way. 

electric pull uv the moon and genius god boticelli is bringing up the sea woman from the dark shell, oyster her soul is sleeping in.

i sat in front uv the painting until the gallery closed.

shallow water hallow water allow allow the other.

 i realize it is safe it is safe to wonder, open up and say, ” u are good, u are good, what are u giving me? ” 

is it love?

i crack open the bad nut,  offer it

sum purple haze, sum meantime pearl, sum small thing that is

la la la light.

ded aroma uv la vender November 12, 2009

sweet friend, sweet teapot,
boiling water at the base uv ur spine, to taste the honey.

 what is hot becomes steam or smoke, she says.   one chokes and flattens while the other removes impurities to taste a deep orange miele over a cup uv tea; allows distilled aroma uv lavender to penetrate the air; boils lemons to breathe a soft yellow.  moves a train across continents.

i am reading my dear friend’s blog “chara’s tea pot” and empathising about her discomfort, pain, lack uv mobiltity uv her lower back:  a north american problem, i thought, but she comes from europe.  did this start in vancouver i must ask her.

i feel it too at times, a strong burning sensation,  like a strong animal in cage, or money stuck in a piggy bank that needs to be slammed on the floor, broken, to get out.

what does this body spine need-  to be useful to be able to fulfill its function.  is there sumthing we are saving there for a later date only to find out suddenly that currency is no longer current like old lirra.

the lower back’s ability, usefull ness, the sacrum, i believe, is to support the centre, where all flows in and out uv.  life is born in the belly, the face uv the lower back.  

  the lower back holds the sacrum bone, the sacred bone.  it also holds energy the indians have known for thousands  uv years;  they call it the  mother kundalini energy.  only the queens and kings in india understood how to access it because the energy could be potently self empowering and this knowlege better to be kept away from regular folk.  in the seventies, however, kundalini yoga was brought to the west. 

a wonderful teacher and friend hanne, teaching kundalini yoga at unity yoga  on east 10th and commercial at 10 am every friday morning, taught me physical practises that have furthered my belief in the power we have within, and how we are able to summon and  access it, to bring it up and out and into this physical world.

today, thanks to a friend’s plight for lower spinal mobility, i am contemplating the value uv our belly and lower back, our center, our gravitational centre,  the circle, the value uv pi. the infinite irrational, the belly place where millions uv impulses live, are breathed each day, all the possibilities floating in the air because we are breathing it.   life, the exchange, the exchange, and what am i bringing, or rather breathing to it.  or what am i withholding?  saving to be used for a further day?  sticking in a tiny slot in the piggy bank, to find, i no longer can get it out and the potency, the potential has expired, poured into the drain to be taken out with the current…sea.  the stock market crash and i do not know where my savings have gone…

the financial crisis in the world is being felt on many levels.  where and what is supporting us is my question i pose?  the power, the lottery, the bank inside  has a beached whale, a fish out uv water, an unused resource: our ability to breathe, create, bake sumthing real, boil on a fire whatcomes from a higher place, a deeper knowledge. 

i propose to all the lower backs (including my own): it is time to support the everybody, through a new awareness, and investment in the real health and education, the kind that teaches us how to breathe, luv, and trust the natural creativity uv our ever renewing god created bodies.

a time to make a living

 with sum thing living…

mary recieving divine knowledge - the national gallery uv perugia

sum things come from nothing November 11, 2009

dear dear darlings

wwwwww here does the circle begin

dreaming i am herefly fly fly, whispers the clock handle. in my cradled bed the hand reaches out to strike 12. a lucky number, the accumulation uv multiples uv 3.’s that turn false princess fairy tales into real zucca pumpkins to make ME become the sum uv pi.infinitely irrational i the accumulation uv pi. perfect number perfect challenging number.sweating and eating sweet pies sweating and eating sweet pies. sweet is it time to eat ? ”it is time,” the moon says,  ”time for a bigger piece uv the pi”how long have i been sweeping this voice under the bed?  i look under and there i find piles and piles uv scraps uv seaweed paper i had been rolling up wraping rubber bands around to hang up sum time in th future.  dreams scribbled then scrunched to be spread out sum time later. how about now? no i am not ready i respond. spread sum jam, sum jam, sum jam, kitchen retreat to eat toast, tea and pie. sum one responds, U, HOW about no WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW suddenly in my room there is a bridge uv double u’s , me and u, holding hands, holding the hand, looking at the clock,  re winding, while walking forward. holding hands, holding the hand, looking at the clock, re winding, while walking forward.  wind sweepS out from under the bed the sea weed letters written while wiping the weeping tears poured into white glass written to feel the weight one day, uv form that has mass mass mass.  all i see are the heavy word heavy words.i am whispering, as i cross my fingers, slip out uv the kitchen to tip toe along the double Us, the WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW bridge

i glance in my bathroom mirror, “find me a tide, just enough uv a current to catch sum thing coming from nothing”. no thing buiding a NOWWWWwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwWWWWWWWWWWWWWW thing”. 

t o pur chase a piece uv the pi on the other side uv the circumference, i must travel, i whisper, and to get around, i must cross thru a bridge in my mind begins to find a track, a new patch uv grass, a possibility uv a path thy will be built by strange universal patterns not even I can explain.would i miss the opportunity to be a part uv this confusion that belongs to harmonious order?  forget rational time, and take a leap,   a quantum leap, an organized gugun gugun uv a heart beat.here we go, double us, double u, in to the future WoW in the journey uv the mind, i   begin to fall in luv with bridges every where i go, i see the opportunities on the other side, the side crossed with our feet, built by our hands,  with the intelligence uv our body, the arches that naturally support the under side where live the magical men, whose water passes thru to release boats, fish, and uvcourse thoughts flow in and out uv.  thru a bridge, we learn a new pass word. luv a real opportunity to cross the women magical men, and other equations of 3.1345464360697069-592419820380`9828083908129348923WWWWWWWWWWWWWW  are passing thru            

who do we meet?

required capa city uv auda city and moving between countries October 5, 2009

birds over london

grace full ness, what is it ?
leaving the baggage behind, letting go uv the superflous within our own bodies?
or grabbing a bag, packing sum items, and going? moving with as little as needed? using the least amount of effort to do an action.

i remember being instructed in a movement class to pick up a stick and walk around the room, see what that does to the slavish inability to stand up with pride and grace, as naturally all flowers do.
think uv the smiling sunflower in the middle uv a burnt orange field. which way does it face? towards the son, the sun, god yes even the flowers are aware ( and if we believe the intelligence uv our precious spinal chord is not as miraculous and divine as the stem uv a flower, hmmmmm)
to face the world, must we muscle our way thru? can we not just lift our heads solely with the knowledge uv the sun, and hello to our natural way of being gracefull precious precious abundant fields uv fiore (flowers in italian).

oh good grace

if it was personified as an animal, is it a rat in the rat race, scurring from corner to corner, for scraps uv cheese? or a bird soaring high above fully seeing, fully aware of what is above and below, infront uv and behind.
in old relationships we are given the opportunity to learn how to shed our old coat, so that we can evolve from head in the sand reptile to bird who wants to soar free and fly.

(i fly to tuscany, via london, and am elephant between bird’s eyes, time squished between the past and future but… i can see)

we are squirling thru the forest, her and i, a dear friend, old and precious as the leather hand bag that holds my personal belongings, we, discussing these matters, and how facebook sometimes makes us feel awful, looking at others pictures, her fear of the "oh look at her clothes" or "wow shes gotten fat".
hmmm, i listen, and understand. sometimes i believe her and i are like a mirror, or a circuit, where energy can flow and flower thru and return like the flash uv a smile. if our conversation had a voice it would be saying "stay good my dear because u keep me good get it? u flower, i bloom, and the smell on the breeze is sweet but when i see ur pure milky soul turn sour, it makes me feel sick. understand? " uv course not, for i have never spoken this poetically honest to her.
today we are learning about each others nessecary steps to grow. to grow up. keep talking. u and i have a lot to confront and find the front uv.

thru the backings.

so were walking thru the back uv the forest, and she speaks about people who have overcome cancer thru having the support, the backing uv luved ones, we realize how much good prayers and positive thoughts we send one another, actually do affect us. "there have been studies!" she proclaims. patients heal when they believe they are supported backed up by something greater: this thing called love.

the honest kind. not how something looks- or the appearance of a relationship. but the kind that pushes ur buttons. the confrontational kind uv luv. u know the kind i am talking about- we all have mothers! ( and their luv is stronger than anything i know)
but throughout my life, i have been non confrontational. i believed that to go with the flow meant to accept. what i had not realized, (clearly a buddhist in training) ( yes also a catholic) was that i have avoided accepting the truth uv my feelings, and finding the courage to speak it.

i suddenly realize

accepting what is, and changing it, is completely different than accepting what is and
letting it stay the same. presenting a new perspective, confronting someone with ur truth on the matter all in acceptance, will allow change. if grace is flying bird, a seer, the opportunity to kindly see and say, will bring more luv to a relationship. it takes a huge amount uv luv to say to someone what u really feel.

yet, we hold back.
we pretend we are small, or that the other person, is not big enough to handle what it is we are going to say.
we think it will be earth-shattering to tell our friends what we really feel, to let carla know she is too opinionated, and does not let others talk. what does happen is that carla never learns to listen because her friends are too shy and lack the required capacity uv audacity.

in an excersise i did in a clown class created to make us laugh our pants off, a dear friend uv mine was asked to sing about something she felt deeply ashamed uv. she could barely get the words out as she revealed that she had kissed her best friend's boyfriend. sitting in the audience laughing because it was funny to see her sqeamishly apologetic i thought to myself "wow she is really ashamed uv herself and this happened how many years ago?". as i spoke to her about this after class, i realized i too had memories that had made me feel awful when i was a teenager, but that i had simply forgotten about it, or had i?

i decide to tell a long time best friend, guess what this really pissed me off… remember when we were 15… , at this age, i was too scared to tell her that it hurt me. instead, i suppose i dug a deep little place and put it there, to forget about it, or had i really?
adult i am now! i realize that this is a moment in time, i have let go uv sum baggage. in th past, i simply would have not spoken and easily brushed it off.

yes let us brush things off-
immediatley this is what happens when u speak it.
the elephant in the room, we discover, was actually a small fly that came buzzing to give us the opportunity to listen, and then grow. haaaa and i luv u more. who?
u and i.

this thing called luv, it has a front and a back. luv is (con) meaning in italian (with) frontational (front) with front, shows face, shows emotion, honesty and innoncence is this. look a child in the eyes, they will not ever lie to u about how they feel.

might we, (ascended adults) have courage to listen, look and feel like children, who undoubtedly know the world is here to love and hold them in their fears and challenges – that they can run and cry to their parents and be hugged and loved. as we grow up, so must our family, and know we can always run not only to a parent, but to the big mother and father, and uv course, one another!

is there someone today we can take the courage to say what is really on our minds? and be luved for it? how might this small action, change the course uv tomorw and tomorw? does
each step, each attempt at honesty and luv, bring us closer or farther away from the grace uv good,
the grace uv a flying bird, the allseer god in the sky?
i posture, speak what wants to be said, and witness a little part
uv me
let go
the wind blows in my hair, my shoulders drop, and the baggage lightens

all growing up
i am
gracing
age gently

to
become
a
flower!

changes are on the fron tier uv the boat a rockn September 25, 2009

stuck between a hard place...and sea blu mediteranean heaven

read over, read over.

changes are lit when the drift begins to smell.

the engine is a put a put a put. put it where u want it, this little lever, the thing u grab hold uv to send u off in the write direction. (so here i am, writing)

a put a put a put in a tiny boat. i come dressed as a large sea woman, sailing thru
a rite uv passage.

i am scribbling on sea weeds. rolling the sashimi style letter, squeezed into a bottle, i breathe my human voice into it, hoping the echo will be just enough to send it to the other side.

hulahuuu! hello! right how are u? who? u, there on the other side uv this pen. it aint a pen talkin, i am calling from the other side uv the rockies.

no those are my friends sending me hellos from vancouver to toronto. echoes back. certain heart warmers have led me here on this tiny rockn boat. changes on the fron tier. im scribbling. and i hear voices. too many nights out at sea? or has this summer been a hot one? either way i wipe the sweat off the brow and dip my feet in.
there are rocks.

the sharp edges cut thru paper and i seal it with tongue salt. and a kiss.

here is what i say:

tell one another what u really feel. its simple. how are u? eyes bat, look straight into the soft glow uv the cornea and smile. teeth studded in gold sweet swirling juices washed up by tongue needing to talk.

sure we do.

sitting in the living room with a dear friend not to tell our stories over and over again, rather to begin a true talking session, the kind we intelligent folks pay professionals for.

a heart uv gold what is it worth?

in a kitchen, she listens, with a large smile pulled back like red velvet curtains before the staging uv a play. yes i am listening.
we are talking to one another and giving each other the centr stage. i am here. listening to u.
im talking about friend ships sailing one another and

not keeping score.
she shouts from land

” WOMAN the game is on the other side! we must help one another to get there so there are enough players to play!”

the stage yes “im rowing im rowing!”
but all i see is blu in
this back and forth buisness
uv talking. and what if we hit rocks?
my eyes flicker and my stomach quivers as i grab a hold again uv this lever thng and put myself back on course. i speak my truth about my dreams, those things scribbled on sandy nights, and she listens holding my words in her arms like a divine baby.

and instead uv fear,
on this tiny boat surrounded by sharp rocks, my words in her arms,
i FEEL rocked
no no, i feel
rather
ROCKING!