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.

srdediting.com

i have another blog, i often neglect it, but i'm going to try to change that, here is a link to the latest entry.

the thing about writing is this, you must go after what you want. believe in yourself, your processes, your style. don't give up. keep after it.

check engine

as the woodchuck works his way through the patch of sunflowers, and momma cat eats from the dish beside my door, her last kitten (at least two years young now), basks outstretched in the sun. before my cruise the second of the the three kittens was dead on the side of the road, and i was on my way to the train so we could not even scoop her up and give her a decent burial like we did her brother. those were my two favorite kittens, but they had good life and are together now playing cat and mouse games in the hereafter. or is it, thereafter.

kitten number three is off to stalk some frolicking squirrels, which is good, she needs the practice. she was never much of a hunter and now, in the absence of her more agile, adept siblings, seems a bit lost.

so i was on my way to harlem yesterday, when the check engine light came on. never exactly sure if this means, disaster immanent, i drove a bit farther, then turned around. not wanting to break down in harlem, so far from my home. it pained me to miss a reading but as a mom, i can't be broke down with no help in some town far away. so i came home. i played it safe. i was able to call and tell the book fair that i had car trouble, but it saddens me to miss any gig. it is the first time it has happened. so my car is parked, and i'm not going to anything today either, until i get a clean bill of health from my mechanic, pony's staying parked.

i find myself in an entirely new phase of my life and i'm trying to set my intent and expect joy. i've long awaited joy in my life. i've spent much time with it. but i want, even in these moments when things don't go the way i have planned, that i can still be joyous about arriving home safely. about my daughter in bed and healthy. about so many reasons to delight in life.

when i got home from my cruise, i wanted flowers. so i planted the three whiskey barrels outside my front door with petunias, sun impatiens, and gerber daisies. i am stationed happily between them with bees flying by and i've seen a hummingbird pass through. i dusted the dirt with seeds of many varieties and didn't expect much, because i guess i had just lost my ability to see potential. i did this on monday, by thursday, the whiskey barrels were green with little sprouts. i planted so many, it looks like i will need to transplant at some point. i hadn't planted these flowers earlier in the season because i wasn't in the headspace to do it. i just kept dragging by, longing for beauty but not taking action. now that i have, i wonder, what kept me from it. the flowers were there to be had.

so have them,

i'm telling myself now. that is how it is in life right now, much beauty is everywhere to be had.

so have it,

that's my mantra. it's time.

turn down

before i forget, i am reading this saturday at harlem book fair, it's a young reader's reading, so i'll be keeping it pg, but it's a reading in harlem nonetheless. i go on at 4:30pm, at countee cullen library, young reader's pavillion.

friday night, i am presenting my writing process to the latino authors and writers society in nyc, also meeting in harlem, at la casa azul bookstore, 6:30pm.

okay, business aside,

i just returned from a seven day cruise. can i just say that seven days is far too long on a cruise. it was american overindulgence at its utmost. the sheer quantity of food, not to mention food wasted, was jaw dropping. we could feed a small country with the remainders from one cruise ship, of this i am sure. the alcohol was flowing, and there seemed to be no stopping it. oddly enough, i was dry the entire time. i drank lemon water, the occasional iced tea. but mostly just lemon water the entire trip. so i was stone cold sober watching this parade of excess waddle by.

perhaps the best thing, no, the best thing for me was turn down service. i've never been a frequenter of fancy hotels. never had anyone fluff my pillows and turn down my sheets while i'm at dinner. it was such a joy to come back to my cabin and snuggle into fresh clean beds, not made or washed by me. only a mom can appreciate this aspect of a cruise. i guess if i could be faulted for excess, this would have been the way. i did use towels only once (i confess), and i went through my share of beach towels poolside. but mostly, i was grateful to see the housekeeping staff smiling every time i encountered them in the hallway. i wore my jingly anklet and many of them would light up and smile when i jingled by. when i wouldn't wear it, they would mention it. so i wore it for them mostly, by the end of the week.

it was, the best part of the cruise for me, leaving my cabin a disaster (i was sharing with two teenage girls), and returning to order restored. and not being the one restoring or enforcing order. it was truly luxurious.

let me just savor that a bit longer.

i enjoyed having so much care put into looking after me. i would like to find the soul who will do that for me willingly, as i will do it in return.

that will be a great day, when i have that realization.

and i will savor it then, as i am savoring this memory now.

turn down service is simply divine.

presence

i've been scouring the ebook shelves for hours now, think i finally have enough loaded on my reader to keep me sated for a while. i have a stack of books to return and a few other loose ends to tie up before my journey, but it is all getting done.

today was a much needed day of rest. i went to yoga, and while maria was kind, her vinyasa usually kicks my ass, especially since it is fifteen minutes longer. fifteen minutes doesn't seem that long, but when you're jamming through vinyasa it feels like forever.

it has been weeks since i have done yoga because while i was at the poetry intensive earlier this month, i think i tore a ligament in my left pointer finger (that's all i can come up with, based on the best guesses of my friends). it wasn't so much painful as a pain in the arse. i had to massage and heat it then ice it. that i actually did those things is testament to how annoying it really was. and i gave myself a break from yoga to fully recover. seems i need to use blocks always, not just let my short little arms dangle.

so i'm standing there getting ready to launch into the next position when i have this thought

this is exhausting

and i continue the thought

it really isn't, i'm just here, in the moment. doing the best i can.

not entirely sure what that shifted in me, but i didn't feel behind or stressed or anything else, i was just calm and peaceful through the class. it was fun. being present is a beautiful thing. at one point, i'm in fish pose, which essentially lets you look at the person behind you, and i was watching a friend of mine in a shoulder stand interlace her legs and cross her arms while she was inverted (i was inverted too, but most of my body was on the ground, mind you. when she finally let her self down from the pose i said, head still upside down,

wow!

i don't know what i'm doing,

she replied.

impressing me, that's what you're doing.

and she laughed.

life is truly beautiful. and i'm grateful for everyone and everything in my life. even the trials. even the fun. today i sat out in the field under a tree and read. one of my cats came over and loved on me a bit, then slunk away in the grasses like a lioness stalking prey, until she came to what i imagine was a grasshopper which entertained her a bit, until she ate him. it was a beautiful day.

and if you've never watched the movie ghandi, so worth it!

what have i done

there is a song in nightmare before christmas, jack sings it, a lament, a question, a triumph of a song. it is the song that comes to me so often. even today as i sat mystified before the unfolding wondering, what have i done.

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i wonder, sometimes, if what has been set in motion, if the large snowball gaining momentum above me is what i need to be swept away in or by, never can tell, really how the sweeping away is actually coming about. all i know, all i pretend to know, is that which needs to happen, does. i believe this.

so i sit here now, staring into a past i hadn't thought about much at all. looking down corridors for strangers who used to look back and me, and whom i once profoundly loved. i have never liked being observed but not invited to commune. i need communion. i seek communion. that is where i've been of late, living my life. with real people.

though i find myself wanting to infuse my days with the familiar. though i've changed so much, everything has changed so much, and i wonder, what does familiarity mean. how does it look. when one is molting, caterpillars are no longer the company we keep. but where are the butterflies to be found. and how can i, in a chrysalis bound, reach those heights where the butterflies will find me. who knows.

i've only ever more questions.

so i've taken to living by my heart. going where i want to go. trying to determine what i desire. i'm still not the best at that, but i'm getting better. and when i meet someone who says,

sell off this part of your soul and come be my slave,

i run away. i say,

no more. not living that way.

and i walk away.

so now i await my equal.

though i'm not even entirely sure i've fully emerged. but when i do. oh, when i do. what a day that will be.