quietly.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=86lBWmH3Bzk&feature=fvsr

and one more.

between detachment
and yearning-striving-grasping,
there is something sweet.

haiku

fire is contagious,
from one to the next, reckless.
to quell: use water.

Sometimes I am called an 'optimist.'
I can see how it happens, but it is a misunderstanding.

As they begin to know me,
people see that the moniker is ill-fitting
They are unsure as to what would be more appropriate
Because I do not wear the same guises they have seen before.
They are nervous.

There is no need to be nervous.

If you are on the side of goodness.

If you are on the side of goodness,
you will see the gentleness, the compassion, the caring and thoughtfulness I have been gifted.

Je suis née sous un bonne étoile.

But I am not an optimist.
Optimists see a world I do not.

I am a war-hawk.
I understand too much, and in the world where I live, the third great war has already begun.

I am furious at the fear, the despair, the emptiness, the ignorance and the pain that lead people to cower and manipulate others to create more misery.

My mortal enemies.
I hate them.
And so I fight with all that I am.

I am on the side of compassion, thoughtfulness, understanding, joy, awe, life.

I am infinitely stronger than I look.
And if no one sees it,
Everyone feels it.

Who holds more power?
Forget all of the mechanical shit cowards use. It will fail.
Who, in his very being, holds more power:
The infant who blinks his beautiful seeking eyes?
Or the angry wrinkled man who must spew nonsense to get the attention he craves?

The producers?
Or the consumers?

The givers?
Or the takers?

The creators?
Or the destroyers?
Without creators
Destroyers cannot exist.

No, I am not an optimist.
But there is no need to be afraid, friend.
If you are on my side.

a request, please.

All your noise
is deafening me.
The sounds an ugly melange,
futile cacophony.

if you want to say something:

speak slowly.

speak softly.

speak deliberately.

A melody.

Today was one of those days.

I left my body.
I found myself wishing I was drunk,
or speaking a foreign language,
so that I might excuse my malaise in conversation,
but I was not,
and I was not.

A man invited me to a documentary film screening,
and discussion about globalization and consumerism and the destruction of communities, and I wanted to scream,
don't you see that I am, you are, we all are the problem
and don't you see that today I can barely go on living with myself much less sit and talk, talk, talk some more with you, all the while caught in this terrifying safety net people call civility?
Don't you see that I am unfit for your discourse today?

Instead I say something else,
I don't know what,
and he nods appreciatively,
and then I am talking to some others and I say something else and they too smile and kindly express their gratitude.
I don't even know what I'm saying.

I walk away and stand alone,
and then someone is saying I look thoughtful,
and it is because I am pressing my lips together for fear of what else might tumble out if I allow them to part.

An hour later, I try to go for a run. I am heavy today. Sadness, anger, regret, pain. It does not even belong to me; I pick it up in crowds like so many stones squirreled away in the pockets of a coat that is much too large for me. I run to escape, but today I can't. I try, but suddenly I am slowing, and then I am walking, and my eyes are cast downward, and then I am choking and I can't catch my breath and I think I am crying, but the tears won't come.

I step off the trail. I put my forehead and forearms against a tree and try to find my breath. I don't know how long I stand with this tree in our odd little communion, but eventually I realize that the weight of it all is lightening, that the tree still stands tall, unflinching and without lament, and I am again strong enough to stand on my own.

I walk back to the trail and head for home.

Sometimes
less > more.
In negative spaces,
In silences that scream,
Where we become still.

less > more

Sometimes the noise just becomes deafening. Amid all of the buzz, what is really communicated?

Hedging My Bets

I believe:

When the audience is gone, the show will stop.