The Genius of Little Moments

Talking with Alex about relationships via Google chat:

Me:  you know, it can't be forced

i think it's just what you can stand, on a day to day basis, potentially forever

Alex:  haha probably about the wisest thing you can say about a relationship

Yearly Prayer

Some rights reserved by onkel_wart

 As we head into the season of slowing, I want to remind myself of what I hold dear, and what dearly holds me.

I wrote this poem last year, a response to a particularly moving class I was taking for my MLIS degree.  I think it's an appropriate prayer to repeat for this upcoming year...maybe it will become a yearly missive...and maybe my desires will change, as all changes with the touch of years and seasons.

Desire
or, A Prayer for a Well-Worn Life


Gimme gimme gimme
more tactile experiences,
more open, less closed, fewer back-alley heartaches.


I want what matters-
you know- glitter and shit.


I want to look you in the eye to see what's hiding.


World, please please please smack me in the face with
the breath and
the blood and the
bone of it.


I desire a bumpy ride with good conversation.
I'll take the good ones, but want to know the wicked ones better.
Traitors, start the line at my door.


I want to live sugar cubes and meatloaf and sassafras,
taste more poetry on my tongue,
touch the pupils of open, fearless eyes.


So life? You listening?

Bring it.

© 2009 L.M. Dziemiela

The Wedding

I officiated my second wedding this weekend, and it was just lovely. Though I do get stressed out about having a big part in a couple's big day, I still love doing the work.  There's no better feeling than a

I did shed a few tears during this ceremony; the bride's friend read the following poem in such a heartfelt way, and I couldn't help but get a bit misty-eyed:

Love
by Roy Croft


I love you,
Not only for what you are,
But for what I am
When I am with you.


I love you,
Not only for what
You have made of yourself,
But for what
You are making of me.
I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out;
I love you
For putting your hand
Into my heaped-up heart
And passing over
All the foolish, weak things
That you can’t help
Dimly seeing there,
And for drawing out
Into the light
All the beautiful belongings
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find.


I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern
But a temple;
Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song.


I love you
Because you have done
More than any creed
Could have done
To make me good
And more than any fate
Could have done
To make me happy.
You have done it
Without a touch,
Without a word,
Without a sign.
You have done it
By being yourself.
Perhaps that is what
Being a friend means,
After all.

To all that risk love and choose to see hope...make those temples grand and glorious!

In the best of circumstances...

“Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.” ~James Arthur Baldwin

If you want to be open...

It's been said to me, at least once, if you want to be open, be open. I think the same must go for being vulnerable.

It's so hard to just let things...happen. To really feel things, to really be present, to tell the truth even when it isn't pretty, even when it's going to hurt someone...most of all, when it's going to hurt you. It's a struggle to let enough of life in to be opened and changed, because opened and changed doesn't always mean feeling good. It means feeling real, which is not automatically feeling happy.

Math

I need a solution, not an equation- instead,
A breath, a kiss, a lingering twilight
Not concerned with addition, not fooled by subtraction.

Thoughts on Intimacy

An adult view of intimacy:  knowing oneself deeply, and allowing interactions with others to have depth without letting oneself be reworked/refashioned through the lens of another's perceptions.

Maybe this is the only way we can truly be in relationship with another...we first have to be in right relationship with self.

Life Earthquake

Everything has been shifting, and new opportunities are popping up all over the place.

I'm just trying to hold on and enjoy the ride right now. 

I think the Universe needs to hear me be grateful for once.

I just heard something pretty craptacular.  Instead of griping, I'm going to focus on what I'm grateful to have in my life.

Thank you thank you, Great Big World, for:

- my lil' dog- she brings me so much joy
- my full-time job, where I'm appreciated and allowed to expand and grow
- my roommate B, who is boombastic and really fantastic
- moonlit nights on the library campus
- people who tell it to me straight
- certain people that have been very cuddly as of late :)

Everything is swell.

Writing

I Said to Poetry
by Alice Walker


I said to Poetry: "I'm finished
with you."
Having to almost die
before some weird light
comes creeping through
is no fun.
"No thank you, Creation,
no muse need apply.
I'm out for good times--
at the very least,
some painless convention."

Poetry laid back
and played dead
until this morning.
I wasn't sad or anything,
only restless.

Poetry said: "You remember
the desert, and how glad you were
that you have an eye
to see it with? You remember
that, if ever so slightly?"
I said: "I didn't hear that.
Besides, it's five o'clock in the a.m.
I'm not getting up
in the dark
to talk to you."

Poetry said: "But think about the time
you saw the moon
over that small canyon
that you liked so much better
than the grand one--and how surprised you were
that the moonlight was green
and you still had
one good eye
to see it with

Think of that!"

"I'll join the church!" I said,
huffily, turning my face to the wall.
"I'll learn how to pray again!"

"Let me ask you," said Poetry.
"When you pray, what do you think
you'll see?"

Poetry had me.

"There's no paper
in this room," I said.
"And that new pen I bought
makes a funny noise."

"Bullshit," said Poetry.
"Bullshit," said I.


In the middle of the night I dreamed a poem about the Queen of Cups.  I don't remember much of it, just that her cup was fashioned from the salt of oceans and tears...yesterday, I wrote the beginning of a poem about the Queen of Swords, discussing the strength of the grass as it meets the scythe.  Lines are bumping out of me clumsily, while I brush my hair or do the dishes.  Lines are whispering in my ear while I fasten necklaces and put on rings.  They keep knocking, and I'm starting to write them down so I recognize them when they come to the door again, in another form.

I'm writing on a blog for the Unnamed Non-Profit and I'm also in charge of creating a blog for the library I'm working at part-time. I just wrote my second wedding ceremony, and I think it's quite good (and that's rare- I usually think my writing is rather banal.)  I'm also beginning the first stages of a children's book- S and I are going to collaborate on it, and I'm very excited.

I remember asking the Universe for more time to write. At the time, I assumed I would be writing poetry at 6am or midnight or whatever time the passionate and poetic sit down with their Muse for the Serious Business of Flowing Metaphor. Instead, my Muse hangs out behind my desk, likes Earl Grey Creme tea, reminds me to use fewer commas, pesters me to find upbeat facts about mental illness and encourages me to find interesting things to write about libraries. Yikes bikes! Still, it seems that this work has primed the pump; let's see what comes out, shall we?

I know it's Sunday because I've...

- woken up snuggling a little Yorkie
- made some coffee
- went to church
- had Earl Grey Creme tea while doing a crossword with B
- lit some honey amber incense
- watered the plants
- started some laundry
- answered some emails

I am now off to do yoga, change out laundry, and meditate for a while. Then, on to work.

Life is...life.

Harsh But True

"Sometimes when people get what they want, they realize how limited their dreams were." ~Joan Holloway

Where the Streets Have New Names

AUTOBIOGRAPHY IN FIVE SHORT CHAPTERS

by Portia Nelson

I

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost … I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes me forever to find a way out.

II

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place
but, it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

III

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in … it’s a habit.
my eyes are open
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

IV

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

V

I walk down another street.



I can't tell if T was a "I walk around it" pothole situation, or a "I fell in because it's a habit" pothole. Either way, I think I'm progressing toward walking down another street.

In the back of my mind, I still harbor the illusion that all this self reflection and personal work will yield an easier life. I'm starting to see how that isn't true, and how, instead, it's yielding a more flexible me to respond to an unpredictable and unstable life that is not always bad or good or easy or safe or hard or scary. It really just...*is*...and all this work is changing my responsibility toward it, in that it is changing my ability to respond.

Or something like that. :) Here's to eventually walking down a new street.

Taking the Opportune Moments

As I get older, it is easier to do the right thing for the right reasons and harder to do the right thing for the wrong reasons.

It's just...life is too short to spend time caring more about how I'm perceived than how I'm feeling. Yeah, I might not make everyone else happy anymore. Yeah, I might have to cut some ties and walk away from some reindeer games...

But ultimately? This is the ship I've been charged with sailing, and I'm going wear the shit out of my pirate hat. :P

Bizarre

I'm not sure why I feel more lonely now that I live with someone...but I do.

I think it's that whole "I'd rather be alone than lonely" thing.  I'm not yet used to having a roommate, I need to process, etc. etc.

Still, it's an unexpected feeling.