dream of me

it's curious, this, learning to live happy. it's unfamiliar territory. how can joy, delight, wonder be so daunting. how can kindness be foreign. truly, did i only love those who could not love me. it saddens me to think that thought, so i let it go. i try to delight in who, what, is before me.

as i seek publication and go after that which my heart desires i find myself in a season unfamiliar. there is this part of me which does not understand joy. though i want to change that. more than i've wanted anything before. so i have stopped deadening my senses and sit, fully alive, awake, attentive to the highs and lows.

i trust that all that has happened to this point, has been for a reason. i do not seek explanation, nor do i even seek reconciliation. i have done my best to create goodness between myself and those i love. even those i have walked away from recently. i have done the best i can with the tools i have before me. and now, now it is time to delight. to be the object of delight. i have not experienced this before. not firsthand anyway. but how i've longed for it.

and so, i keep my heart open. i move forward in trust, and newfound joy. embracing the one i love.

and i will learn what it means to write happy. to find words to describe. to convey contentment. and peace.

compiling a manuscript

this morning i sat with my words, listening to them. feeling them run through me again. remembering their power. hearing their voices. and understood, it is time. there is another poetry manuscript class starting in october, and i vowed not to take the class unless i had a new manuscript to workshop. today i begin compiling that manuscript. it is what i do. who i am. my work deserves to be read.

i have been silent and still of pen and mind, for some time. i have spent a great deal of time in the river of late. feeling the current carry away from me all that i have had to let go. so many trials and tears, now gone. i am clean. set free. in this unclouded state of mind, i will begin to piece together the second aspect of the narrative my work is constructing. drawing some old, and weaving in some new, to continue this journey for readers.

i understand art is utterly subjective. saturday at the guggenheim, standing before canvi that left me scratching my head wondering what is artistic about THAT. i realized, it is all subjective. beauty is subjective. what resounds with me, will not resound with you. the most beautiful woman in the world to me, holds little appeal to others (that is not an entirely bad thing when it comes down to it). the same works the other way around, what one finds dynamic, fascinating, captivating about me, the world finds, lackluster, dull, tedious. again, so much the better.

it is not capturing all eyes. it is about getting your soul expression in the world and letting it live or die by its own merit. flaws, strengths, speaking for themselves. let the world decide. though their judgment is not the last word. the last word is the act of release. that your creation is not festering away like some untreated wound, but it has come the complete cycle and stands a chance to catch the eye of the one soul that would be lesser without having experienced it. that is what art is to me. soul expression. and when it resounds with one other, the result is more art, perhaps not fine art (by that i mean, traditional methods, paint, sculpture, word), but rather, more love, more light, more peace in the world. she may reach out and her soul expression may be stopping to help an old woman on the freeway change a flat tire. that is her poetry. that is her art.

sometimes literal meaning can be so limiting. she is creating fine art with every stroke of her hand.

yes, that is it. so this collection, come together, will be turned out into the world for it to rise or fall on its own merits. and i will be grateful for having been a part of the process.

pair bonding

my daughter finally convinced me it was time to launch out and get some new budgies. i've spent the day watching them adjust.

after a tumultuous yesterday, for all of us, they have finally begun settling into the idea of being together, with us. at least this is what i tell myself. i've positioned their cage in a large pane window in the front of my apartment, drew it out of the dark depths of my daughter's room where the budgies will have to sleep in the glow of a blue light, their cage shrouded against the teenager who stays up all night.

we went to one store and could not find anyone we could not live without. i knew of another store, just down the road, and we set off, unsure of what we would find.

i settled upon an azure blue budgie that looks like a storm clouded sky. she has a gentle blue neckband and grey flecks, as well as an azure blue back and white midsection, the rest of her, veiled in cloud and mystery is a delicate white. she seemed the bravest, most accepting of me, as i watched her through the enclosure.

my daughter's eye landed upon a budgie the color of an early morning sunrise. dangling upside down, it made my daughter smile that this one was so playful. the frosty delicate yellow of this budgie accents the cloudy sky of my girl.

my daughter named these budgies vanitis and marluxia respectively.

in the ongoing gag that is my public commentary, i signaled to a store employee (including hand gestures) that we wanted to

grab a couple budgies from the collection.

a young woman walked up, after some time, and proceeded to manhandle the birds. she leaned her body into the enclosure and amdist a flurry of tiny feathers and frantic cries, extracted first vanitis, then marluxia. it was quite horrific.

the budgies were stuffed, more gently than they were caught, into a box to be carried home. i could hear their little frantic footsteps inside the cardboard and proceeded to calm them with my best budgiespeak. after tweeting a bit and clicking my tongue, they calmed and stopped stirring in the box. they even seemed to be utterly still. i was holding the box in the flat of my palm and there was no more shifting as they ran aimlessly about. i was grateful for them and pleased to be able to soothe them.

off to the cages, my daughter decides on a lovely little scalloped topped cage and we proceed to grab food, toys, cuttlebones, and a swing. we're making out way out and still the budgies are calm, silent. awaiting what comes next, i guess.

after a brief pitstop, we arrive home. i had peeked in the box at our stop and the budgies were huddled together and seemingly calm. we also thought their wings clipped. i closed the box before we found out.

safely home then, we unload and i figure,

let's see these babies.

mine proceeds to rocket out of the box and i shout at nee,

hit the ceiling fan!

she goes for it and my budgie lands, ultimately, with me laboring through a teenager's room full of crap, behind her bed. my girl is snickering away in the background and telling me i have to get the bird out of there,

it's dusty.

she says. after that, i grab some millet and hold it in my hand, trying to gently lure the poor dear from beneath my daughter's bed, which i am sure was more frightful than the little box with holes. i pull the bedskirt up and hold the millet. nothing. so i walk away and out comes budgie baby like a bat out of hell. she flounders around on my daughter's vanity for a while, that was the worst possible place for her to land, then heads south. she fumbles around my daughter's closet, with me in a bumbling second, trying to move quickly without hurting myself or vanitis.

finally, my little cloudy sky lands in the dirty laundry basket and i'm able to extract her as she travels ever deeper, her cries growing ever more desperate and loud with each little footstep.

she doesn't come easily, mind you.

this little one defended herself the best way she could by latching onto the flesh of my thumb and biting down hard. fortunately she is young and it didn't hurt too much. meanwhile, marluxia is in the box, terrified i'm sure. i finally get vanitis back in the box, and we close it up. thankfully no one was hurt, yet.

my daughter laments that she cannot get the cage together, she is sprawled out in the center of the room with parts here and there. i try to help and in the process miss the cage i'm trying to hinge onto and nearly rip my thumbnail clear off. i saw stars. nearly passed out, but managed to secure a bandaid after pouring peroxide on the wound (the extent of my knowledge of first aid), my thumb throbbing ever more as the blood seemed to pump out from under my fingernail. i was trembling and almost unable to open the bandaid. the slight pressure from the bandaid on my newly partially detached fingernail was excruciating. i retreated from my daughter's room before i passed out and really hurt myself on all the crap littering the floor.

in the kitchen, i throw a hunk of cheese in my mouth, hands still trembling, as i know i am not to take ibuprofen on an empty stomach. i call for my daughter as i land on the bed, about to faint. she gives me ibuprofen, water, and an ice pack then goes back to budgie duty. i lay there reeling from the pain. my finger run through with what felt like a hot needle under the nailbed.

this morning, the budgies were still in the position they were in when i covered their cage late last night. marluxia aperch the swing, vanitis on top. it took hours for them to release those positions this morning. finally, they began to eat and drink, chirp, and move about at about one pm, almost a full day after their capturing ordeal (and mine!).

i now find them sitting side by side grooming each other. thrust into this union they did not foresee, with perhaps a partner, not of their choosing. they are together now. and i watch them become familiar with one another, and with me and my daughter. i find the whole process, delightful.