emergence

people have asked me many times lately, if i'm nervous about my big nyc debut tomorrow night.

no, i'm not. i don't get nervous about these things (granted, in practice i was a bit off, but that is what practice is for). i thought today, does a bird get nervous before it flies? nah. it just leaps out and lets the wind catch it and carry it where it will.

so i shall be carried to my read and home.

my journal is called emergence. this is it for me. coming out. in many ways. a lot will change for me tomorrow. a lot has changed all ready. many, unexpected changes. losses unseen. but i will weather them. as i've weathered all the losses past.

tomorrow is a new day. time to do what i was created to do. a great adventure begins. something that has been building strength for a great while. the time is now.

my set is kind of a downer, serious with a few light spots. hopefully it will speak to souls, rather than just be ear candy. i want to nourish deep roots. to touch women and explore difficulties.

my life is fraught with difficulty of late. but it all depends on how i look at it. is it a trial or an adventure? i opt for the adventure route. who knows who i'll meet next. who knows where i'll read next. who knows? who really knows?

i've not had time to just sit in the moment and think about tomorrow. too much to do to get away for the better part of the afternoon and evening. but tonight. i'll shut it all down, and sit in silence for a while.

remembering, this is just the beginning. this is not the end.

the best is just ahead, around the bend, where i can't see it.

and i am looking forward to it.

blogger roulette

i'm way too tired to be trying to say anything even remotely coherent now. but, that never stopped me before. it is one of the ways i remove cognition from my process. write when i am too tired to think. the words splash on the page like splatter painting. everywhere, sometimes they say nothing. other times, you can see stuff. which will it be tonight? i don't know, pick a number, spin the wheel, we'll find out soon enough.

went bald eagle watching on the hudson today. seven full hours of hunting down eagles. i spotted several and totaled twelve for the day. not bad for my first venture out birding. we also saw a snowy owl, which everyone had their knickers in knots about. i didn't care either way. apparently they are only in new jersey this time of year. right now. so we ventured off our determined path and saw one who was willing to be gawked at and photoed from a relatively close vantage point. he was perched upon a few old pier pilings in the hudson about fifty feet off shore. very close indeed.

my people were supposed to go with me. you know, the whole native thing. bald eagles are practiacally a religious solemnity. but no, they both opted out and i went alone with a group of strangers. the story of my life. i said very little. i listened a lot. i wandered off when i could. tried to avoid the talkative types. tried to keep my eyes on the eagles and forget about how it was an experience i wanted to share with my people.

now i'm tired since i had to work after the day of birding. i went out today without a single sheet of paper or a pen. an odd feeling. caught in such a state. but i was focused on other things before i left. i had every intention of driving myself, but ended up the passenger of two lovely indian people, with a guy riding along beside me.

the two indians were so ying and yang, it was nice to see. a couple who actually enjoy being together. very well travelled. interesting. we listened to some belize music (i'm not sure the proper term for that), and my back seat riding partner and i caught a couple of the rhythms that alluded to eighties music. kind of wild. music really is a universal language.

i was watching the people in our group, raucous bunch that they were (not by a normal person's standard, but by mine), and two men had these little downturned mouths. i asked the driver, who seemed real well to do (and i don't mean that in a bad way, he was incredibly kind, generous. gracious). i asked him and the other guy,

do you think it takes muscles to frown? or is that just the way some people look?

the indian driver said,

did you know it takes twenty four muscles to frown, but only two to grab the person and bitch slap him.

i laughed. it was great. that was near the end of the day. i hadn't expected it. we were all sitting there in the car laughing.

the indian driver told me of a place in india which the dialect is this really long word that starts with an m.

i've never heard of that place before.

it is the only place with 100% leprosy.

he said.

sounds like a great place to live.

i said snickering in the back.

he goes on to tell me how the laborers have bachelor's degrees.

leprosy?

i said.

literacy,

he said.

we all laughed again.

if i wasn't all ready a half hour late, i could have thought of something interesting to say to them before i left, but i had to go.

fortunately i'll see his wife when we go eagle watching on the delaware.

peace.

soul food

for me the greatest refreshing is communion. communion of soul. looking into someone else's eyes and speaking the language of the soul, being unafraid, standing unadorned, and having someone looking back, unafraid and unadorned. willing to vulnerable. the conversation can drop off at any point, because it will always be picked up at a later date. not necessarily tomorrow, but the next time we talk.

i was explaning this phenomenon to a new friend, my best friends and i can not speak for years, and pick up where we leave off. that is why we're best friends. we meet the husbands, children, friends who have come along in the interim. and catch up on the major events, but then, soul talk. soul food. nourishing each other with communion.

i guess that is a prerequisite for bestfriendship if i was to have one. being willing and able to be vulnerable. who needs an armored saint for a best friend (ha, that image makes me laugh. half armadillo, half heavy metal band member). but really, i don't need teflon friends. i don't want teflon friends.

so i was telling my new friend that one of my best friends is coming to visit.

ah, a tree is coming to visit,

yes,

i said.

she is a tree in my life. a mighty oak. and i need her now. i need her shade. to recline against the sturdy towering comfort that our friendship has been to me through the years.

she said to me recently,

you know suz, i haven't always liked the things you've done. but you can't say i have been unaccepting. i'm always going to give you my opinion and take it for what it's worth. but i will always accept you.

yes.

i said. very little need be said at that point. that is why she is an oak to me. that is why i shelter the storms under her boughs. she speaks and i listen. i have to consider what she says even if she says what i don't want to hear. i would be greatly discomforted if those around me rang out in a chorus of affirmation. i don't need friends like that. those people are not my best friends, those who can only speak affirmation.

but also i don't need a hive of stinging bees, who only buzz about my head in disapproval. i need those, tall enough, wise enough, grounded enough, to be who they are. to fragrance my life with their scent. to shelter me, and receive shelter from me, though it may be, must be unconventional.

i'm not sure what kind of tree i would be. most likely a weeping willow. dancing in the breezes, draging my long members as a veil to create a place of safety and solitude.

i want to be, and i hope i am a tree in other's lives. to shelter and bless. and when the time comes, to be chopped down for the fire that must keep one warm.

a tree is coming to visit. and i could not be more grateful for her timing.

poets, poets, everywhere

so i met three new poets last night. it is always nice hearing new voices. i enjoy our little poetry get togethers, they seem to be a nice blend of feedback and work. i'm going to have to figure out how to keep things moving when it gets bogged down. i've not really used the heavy hand i used to use when i had a room full of moms discussion lactation. i kept it moving, balanced the conversation more. here, i'm not doing so well. i just want to listen to everyone and some people go on and on.

i guess the way i figure it is, we're all adults, take a sliver of time (and since we had some pretty long sections last night, it was probably tough to know what the appropriate length of time for one to take would be). i'll have to be more clear about that next time.

it is always a question, when someone reads some epic poem and another reads a haiku, whether one poem each is right. honestly, i'd rather listen to fifty haiku than an epic any day. though i often have to rehear, reread the haiku because they are so tightly packed, like a bunch of full sized vehicles in compact spaces.

so i read my nyc set last night and i'm glad i did. it was my first time reading some from memory, and it was okay but i was a little nervous. so this week i'll spend practicing. getting my set locked down in terms of delivery. and we'll go from there.

another good thing i realized is how small twelve point font looks on the page when you're reading. i didn't have a lecturn or anything, but i am going to blow up the font and divide up the poems into breath segments (not that i would ever want them published this way), so i can have an easier time toggling through the pages. a three ring binder is probably my best option in terms of conveyance. maybe i'll try to find a nice black leather one. yes. that would work.

my poems were well received, the progression seemed to tell the story as i wanted. all in 17 minutes. so when i practice, slow it down even more (i wasn't trying to speed through it, but in a way i know i did last night, nerves will do that to you) i should fill up the tweny minutes perfectly.

still not sure what to wear.

two poets more

my first experience as a fashionista went well. my feet are killing me, but it was to be expected. i remember last time i had a retail job (circa 1995), my feet hurt just thinking about it.

but tonight was fun. all ladies. some men (all spoken for). if you haven't seen the valentines nighties that just came out, humenah humenah. they are lovely.

i think what makes this job so easy for me is i love the product. i wear the product. it's not hard to sell things that really work. these clothes are flattering on big girls and it's easy to sell something that is actually nice. it was a joy.

the people i work with seem nice. i got kind of nervous when i began because there is a big deal made of the numbers. sales numbers. and i am not into sales. but after tonight's double (i got a second unexpected shift, which is great, except for my throbbing feet, the more money the better, i say).

we were incredibly busy nearly the whole time and that makes the work shift go by really fast. which i am grateful for. though while i was there, i met two more poets.

i noticed a bag that had the pegasus from Poetry Magazine on it. it is tangerine orange. i recognized this bag because my daughter begged me to get her one. when i worked on literary row at the dodge poetry festival, the POETRY mag folks were just two booths down. beside me, american academy of poets, three booths down, american association of poets (poetry.org). then more and more over the weekend.

anyway, i spot this bag and say,

are you a poet?

yeah, so is my girl friend.

awesome! i'm having my first read in NYC at bluestockings on jan. 30.

that is one of our favorite venues, we've both read there. i'd love to come and see you.

i'd love to be seen!

i said, arms outstreched walking away.

we exchanged digits and wouldn't you know, they know a poet i know from dallas. a poet whom i LOVE. joaquin zijatanejo.

you know joaquin, i featured him at my broolyn venue!

he's awesome, i could listen to him all day.

he turns to his girlfriend who just walked up,

she knows joaquin.

well, i have his chapbooks and went to a few of his reads, but i don't really know him. i love his work though.

yeah.

that made my night kids. such a small, small world. and i am in the middle of a poetic vortex. come all the way to dallas to find souls who know and love the same poets i do. isn't it something?

pathology of darkness

i don't usually sit on posts. i don't usually remain silent. but these are strange times for me, and silence is the better option. if you know me, well, you understand. if you don't, i can't speak just yet. this post, i wrote a few days ago, i'm not even sure what i'm saying. and it is a glimpse of darkness i'm not yet comfortable with. the pathology of darkness. am i admitting it is pathological. won't that be more fodder for those who like to judge? perhaps. but i have a feeling there are some who need to read this, regardless of what kind of snarls it elicits from the narrowminded set. i'm just too tired to fight, so if you've got something unkind to say, keep it to yourself. i don't want to hear it. it is not every day i admit this shortcoming, it is not every day i feel this way. so just for today, let it rest in silence if you don't agree.

i am reading the return of the prodigal son by henri nouwen. i love nouwen as most of you know, but we have some new readers and i say this for them. his words are gentle, yet precise. a tidal wave of truth. coupled with merton, these are my mainstays in the reading department. (just about any nouwen book you pick up will be the right book. the same cannot be said about merton. those must come to you at the right time, in the right order. let them find you, don't search them out. but nouwen, go after him.)

this particular book though it be only 139 pages, has literally taken me years to read. i started it on a weekend retreat with a therapist friend of mine, (i actually mention that weekend in my manuscript for those close to me who have read it). it was a gift she gave to those who supported her mission work to russia. she's an amazing therapist, but i can't name her now, because i don't do that. at some future point in time, i'll name names, but not now.

anyway, i only got halfway through the book. only a third, actually. i'm in the middle of the eldest brother right now and i think i was not ready to read more that is why it has taken me years to read this book. one little nibble keeps me for ages it seems. (oh, to write like that!)

here is the particular bit that struck me as profoundly applicable to my present state and previous couple blogs on darkness:

Here I see how lost the elder son is. He has become a foreigner in his own house. True communion is gone. Every relationship is pervaded by the darkness. To be afraid or to show disdain, to suffer submission or to enforce control, to be an opressor or to be a victim: these have become the choices for one outside the light. Sins cannot be confessed, forgiveness cannot be recieved, the mutuality of love cannot exist. True communion has become impossible.

I know the pain of this predicament. In it, everything loses its spontaneity. Everything becomes suspect, self-conscious, calculated, and full of second-guessing. There is no longer any trust. Each little move calls for a countermove; each little remark begs for analysis; the smallest gesture has to be evaluated. This is the pathology of darkness.

Is there a way out? I don't think there is--at least not on my side. It often seems the more I try to disentangle myself from the darkness, the darker it becomes. I need light, but that light has to conquer my darkness, and that I cannot bring about myself. I cannot forgive myself. I cannot make myself feel loved. By myself I cannot leave the land of my anger. I cannot bring myself home nor can I create communion on my own. I can desire it, hope for it, wait for it, yes, pray for it. But my true freedom I cannot fabricate for myself. That must be given to me. I am lost. I must be found and brought home by the shepherd who goes out to me.

no one wants to be lost. no one wants to admit the profound darkness that surrounds. but one cannot help notice how incapacitating this darkness is when it hits. were it not for honest souls who are not afraid, i would wallow in this darkness without a word of kindness.

but sometimes, i think people who can communicate, get to. i can write. i can write about darkness. i do write about that darkness regarless of the response. this is part and parcel of why i get to write about it. why i get to experience it. is it fun? no. it's scary. it's darkness. it's a cavernous hole of longing unfulfilled. it would devour me if it weren't for the certainty, the only certainty i've ever had. ever will have. that darkness is not the end. that we get to escape this land of toil and walk in the harsh light of day. perhaps not here. perhaps here your role is to convey souls from darkness to light (you don't get to do that without dealing with darkness, i'm sorry to tell you).

i've not come to this place lightly. i don't advocate it for any other than those who are called. it is and can be a pathology, but also a remedy to those who are powerless to reach their loved ones lost in darkness.

before i plunged into shadow recently, i got to admonish a dear friend about depression. i said nothing new. in fact, i used the selfsame exhortation i used last time. but coming from me, struggler with depression that i am, he believed it. it soothed him that my counsel was not just manufactured light and postive thinking.

as i've said, i've not fully explored the subject, it's halfbaked here. i've gone over profound points of nouwen to let him speak for himself. i'll try again another time when i have words. until then, let this hymn, which helped me through my dark night of late, bless you.

Abide with me: fast falls the eventide;
the darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide:
when other helpers fail and comforts flee,
help of the helpless, O abide with me.

I need thy presence every passing hour;
what but thy grace can foil the tempter's power?
Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.

I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless;
ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death's dark sting? where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if thou abide with me.

Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes;
shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies;
heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
in life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

style expert

well, that is my new title. i'm not a very well paid style expert. i'm not that much of an expert, truth be told. but it is nice to be labeled something to live up to. and they did manage to pay me more than i expected.

something is better than nothing,

i always say.

look the part,

my manager said.

then i walked out of her office and my hair latched on to her delicate wire rimmed glasses and cast them to the ground.

guess i'll have to braid that for work,

i said.

trouble is, they don't want piercings, and my ears have nine holes in them, which aren't the natural ones. but maybe they didn't mean ears. just noses and bellies and stuff and other places people stick metal.

nothing tasteless,

she said.

i guess, if i was worried about it, i could get a job at some head shop. that is a very laid back atmosphere i'm sure. looking the part is more in my arena there.

but i'll try. it helps that i just bought a shitload of clothes from there and can wear those.

so i'm working weekends kids. and sitting here considering what next three poems i'll enter into a contest. do i send out the same ones i just sent (they're damn good). but isn't that doubting myself, or is it just being safe.

the good thing is, i get weeknights off. so i can do my poetry shindigs, and not miss too much good stuff. most of the open mics i go to are on weeknights. the odd weekend i'll get away for a poetry extravaganza, i'll just have to take off.

so if you have any fashion questions, i'll try to answer them seeing as i'm an expert now. though, my latest fashion acquisition got a,

that's hideous!

from my husband, who has never been too fond of my dress.

my brother said,

you're still a rocker at heart.

i said,

aw, you know me.

and those pants i just got, with the smiling skull and crossbones, how often do you see a skull smiling? i had to, HAD TO get them. they'll be nice at a read or something. plus i bought them from the store i'm working at, so if they bitch about it, i'll be pissed.

i've narrowed down my read choices somewhat (i guess i do think about fashion a lot, more my lack thereof than anything else), and i've narrowed it down to two outfits. if the weather is really cold, that severely limits my options. since i'm taking the train, i better dress warm. though i'll be hoofing it to the bookstore from the subway.

it's all good kids. all good.
style expert signing off.