Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Waiting for coffee

Over the last few days I've been honored by others.  I've witnessed great moments of clarity in people who have started shedding layers of false selves, self doubt, unawareness and all those other little ungoodies that we tend to cling to.  They can go unnoticed for years or most of a lifetime until they melt away by an inner chemical reaction; what soda does to teeth.

There are many catalysts that exist today.  Surrounding yourself with people who are already rid of some of their layers helps in itself.  So does mindfulness, curiosity, a good mood or witnessing a stranger smile.  The other day I was waiting for my latte at Starbucks when I overheard a teacher telling her boyfriend about her day.  "I was singing a song and the kids were just sitting there, their jaws wide open.  I thought they were hating it.  When I was done, they all clapped and wanted to stay in class to hear it again!"  These moments are precious, and if you are in the presence of someone experiencing joy, it means that you bring joy to others and are a magnet for it yourself.  These moments are contagious, notice when they happen to you and you'll be privy to enjoying more of them.

Witnessing someone discover a truth about themselves is the same deal.  You know it when you see it.  There's a palpable exchange of energy in these moments and you are holding the space for them to express themselves.  You aren't just listening, you are allowing them to realize who they are.  The scope of the realization doesn't matter.  It could be something as simple as understanding they love their cat.  When you connect all the layers of yourself, mental, emotional, physical, spiritual, etc., there is a feeling of time being stopped.  The only thing that exists for that second is you.  You witness their completeness and they experience it.  It's a great big circle. 

As we all continue to shed our layers of falsity and duality we become clearer and more powerful people.  Better able to hold the space for others and allow them to do the same.  The state of affairs of this world, the natural disasters and the man-made ones are only providing more pressure on us to wake up.  It's time to take off the lampshade.  Let's notice when others are shining brightly, even if you are just waiting for coffee, and we can keep this cycle going. 

Sunday, March 20, 2011


Unorderly. May not work.

I forsee them ending up in lost property boxes, trash cans and back packs. The marking will have to be conspicuous. The contents of interest.

To make people take notice may be out of my power. 

But the fascination is undeniable.

Here goes!

Hope you find one.  I'll be posting clues on twitter and results here. 

Each book will have a number corresponding to a blog post.  The contents will be cataloged and I'm hoping that the finder will leave a comment, even if it's anonymous I'll be pleased.  This desire will be stated on the copyright page or the cover or something like that.  (I haven't made any yet)

I'm wishing this good luck.

I'm making books. And leaving them places.  (see above and below) 

PS: they may or may not contain pornography, if they do, they'll have to be disbursed in bars where no one underage can find them.  Also, these images will be in good taste.  I just like the word pornography.

World English Dictionary
pornography  (pɔːˈnɒɡrəfɪ) [Click for IPA pronunciation guide]
1. writings, pictures, films, etc, designed to stimulate sexual excitement
2. the production of such material
[C19: from Greek pornographos  writing of harlots, from pornē  a harlot + graphein  to write]

If such books do contain pornography, detailed instructions on balancing and clearing the base chakra will be included.

tiny books

i want to make tiny books of pornography.
and leave them sitting on couches and
park benches. floors and tables at restaurants.
i want to be in cahoots with observers.
watchers with cameras to capture the response.

i want to explode people with desires they keep hidden.
i want it to be public and squealed about.  i want someone
to throw one across the room and then go pick it up
when no one's looking.

Afternoon at Owl

I'm following someone and the group he is with is staring at me.

I've seen this man before, the boy, as I call him. He speaks so seldom and when he does he seems no older than 18. This isn't to say that I'm attracted to children, but his face is misleading. The shirt he wears is open, button front and bears a velvet cut out on the back reminiscent of ancient Victoria. His face is scruffy with sleepiness and his voice and intermittent wordings speak of the same.

The group he is with is having a band meeting. They are serious and drinking round after round of cheap beers. Beers. Like a twenty year old would say.

I've seen him here before, where he sat directly across from me, as I am doing now. He was writing in his little notebook. I wrote a poem about him that night, making the artful if not chiched reference to writing about someone writing.

I think the basis for this attraction is his resemblance to Jared Leto, an earlier fascination for me when I was a teenager. His almost Southern, uninterested but not in a pretentious way, baby face has such an appeal. The way that scent carries most of our memories, coming of age television does, too.

I was at the bar earlier with my friend Sarah and this boy kept walking back and forth, up and down the bar looking into the cases of cigars. He walked up to the loose tobacco designed for pipes and stared into each glass container. I was hoping to catch his eye as he walked past dreamily. This didn't happen. I'd smile as he passed behind me, me unnoticed...him, not. "Who are you smiling about? The guy with the scruffy face?" Says my ever perceptive friend.

The fun part is deciding what more can come of this. When you run into a memorable face the second time you decide that it means something. Even if he is no older than 18, 21 or even 23, there is an essence of mystique. The last time I felt this way my radar carried me straight to a poet. One of the most talented people I've ever met, and someone I've shared many lives with.

I can't say if the same is true for this encounter, but the fact that my interest is peaked enough to follow him to the back of the bar and stake out a seat across from him is very telling.

I could look over right now and see the flicker of recognition in his eyes, but that would require courage. He would not talk to me in front of his people. He just sipped his beer, now in a glass. His voice is deeper than I thought it would be. "Yeah." "Yeaaah."

I want to know what instrument he plays. Does he sing? Where can I see him in his element? I may never know. This may be my last encounter with him, though I imagine it is not. The Owl is a small place, and the people who come here tend to come back. My frequency here is increasing so my chances are good.

I imagine the day that we do get to speak to each other; when I can tell him that I've written a poem and a story about him. I don't even know his name.

He's the boy in the velvet embellished shirt for now. The one with the little black notebook.

I hope to meet you someday.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Translating for Jesus at Earth Lodge

Every third Tuesday of the month this is what I do. People ask questions and I translate the answer (as best I can). He's a cool guy and has so much to offer us. I'm always delighted to be in his company. To come, visit www.earthlodgeherbals.com

Thursday, March 10, 2011


Tip o' the ole hat: Mr. Mastri
Thanks, sir.

New Days

Interpret dots of muck.
Muck, I like that word.
It rings outward in waves
like Big Ben would.
Drooping with flaws.

I work now, at a
Mahogany table.
Glass all around.
Cubes of it. I have
to alter my spacing

for Yale professors
and Argentinians. I
must not dance too
loudly.  I am sad.
This year's notes.