Breathing in, Breathing out

A second hand clicks, the abyss opens,

and a raging eternity begins

volcanic nerve ending hedge row of sooty obsidian trees

grasping at magma oozing across the arching horizon

molten solar flares lashing like acid dragons tongues  

grunting beasts and hateful harpy screeches echo

a second hand clicks

gracious zephyr spirals in the ashes 

a drop of cool water springs from the wind swept surface

for now supple redolent reclining goddess

a bed of nails becomes embroidered brocade silk pillows

moaning lisa smiles.


a second hand clicks.




Buddhism · weak woman



i do a prostration, here on my way into the bathroom,out of the bathroom, on the floor of the doctor’s office, out on the sun porch as the dogs frolic in the snow.

knees hands belly.  and up again.

intimately acquainted with the floor, i find a dog canine.

intimately acquainted with what it feels like to sob uncontrollably in public.

please, please hurry

intimately acquainted with the back seat of my car as i lay on my back hoping no one will reach inside the open car door and rob me.

intimately acquainted with ordering what i want.  you WILL drive me to the doctor tomorrow.  you WILL wait for me.  you WILL take me to the drug store.  ok .ok.ok.

my angel, comes to get her facial creams, rubbing my back as I lean my head on the cash register.  i called ahead i tell her, they said it would be ready.  sorry says the cashier. sorry. i am crying, the pharmacist says, who is crying, then, we are almost done.

sorry i say, i am in so much pain.

i feel like a monk prostrating before the buddha.  i am surrendering to this suffering.  this excruciating pain,

my body says, it is time to release all of this negative karma.

i prostrate my body to the floor,

the dog licks the back of my hand and then stands over me.

sentinel he says, i will watch out for you when you cannot defend yourself

she plays quietly nearby, stopping to look at me eye to eye, you okay down there?  yes?  okay, i go play now.  you okay still?  okay i go play now.  throwing her body against me and promptly snoring when she has tired,

it is elegant, this

so very elegant.

to know so intimately

the pain of suffering.

this awareness.

this understanding.

so very elegant.




Cold moon night

Cold moon

snow crunching

cheeks frozen

dogs leaping and rolling in the high banks

old lady shoveling, do you need help

its a bright beautiful moon lit night

it feels like february

it is so cold

two laps times three, cigar smoke on one end, hi meg

hi mark, you smoking a cigar?


smells awesome.  cold night.

misery in his bed,

joy in me

joy on the street

joyful dogs.


Crawling out of my Skin

Confession:  I over share my inner dialogue.  Yesterday while out shopping for Christmas, and my impending new home, I over shared this thought.  I suck at being a human being.  I know I do certain annoying things.  Do you do this?  Are you judgmental about certain things and totally laid back about other things.  The pirate is out on disability but somehow he has the money to go on a major food and home goods hoard.  Suddenly we have two new totally unneeded cutting boards, a gross of boxed Chinese noodle soups, jars of tea jelly (don’t ask i just don’t understand) and more things to keep the sink from clogging.  How many do you need?  We cannot even pour hot pasta water down the sink because it will damage the pipes.  See how I over share?  I am not good at being a human, but boy do I have jackass and bitch down pat.  

Your inner dialogue should not be one that is putting you down.  I am struck once again at 2 am, how this guy, the pirate, how he is literally my internal ego made visible, it is not a perfect match, but it comes pretty close.  Trip over a piece of fluff, you clutz, not get the gist of something obvious, you idiot, not jumping up and doing housework, you lazy slob, pants not buttoning over belly bulge, you fat unattractive cow.  I watch too, his craving and copying television.  He is a hungry ghost.  The pressure is on from his mom or his aunt the hunger grows.  I say I am moving out in a few months he feeds his hunger with the hoard.  I do this too.  I feed my hunger with the hunger.  I am awful.  I am a jackass.  I am a bitch.  I over share.  Its my own hungry ghost.

I am working on this in therapy.  Once again.  But oddly it is external forces bringing me there.  I am a better person when I don’t have a man telling my I should be doing this or I should look like that or I shouldn’t talk like this or I shouldn’t be doing that.  I judge, why are you wasting your money, you are on disability, and did your aunt give you money again?  Where are you getting the money for this spending spree?  Mortifying my ex husband called it.  

But then again.  I cannot see the kitchen counter for the gross of pasta, and the three loaves of pumpkin spice bread from BJ’s that are already in the first stages of spoiling, and the two new cutting boards, still in their packages, and the two coffee makers.  TWO!  sitting on the edge of the counter instead of being pushed to the back, and the tea jelly and honey and tea boxes, sitting on the counter for two weeks.  I cannot bear it.  How can I survive until June?  How?  I am mortified.  

I scream the lyrics to What Does the Fox say.  I am coated in itching powder.  I am insane with raging sanity. 

I need to get out of myself.  I need to get out of here.  

I suck at being human, I am flawed, but I think, deep in the recesses of my mind that I got this…and few others do.

Wouldn’t it just be easier, I say, if I just settled in and watched TV all day, or gave in and bought things madly consuming and spraying room sprays and filling a house with potpourri so our animal self is disguised with fakeness, wouldn’t it just be easier to eat salads and diet cokes and wear short skirts and the latest fashion.  Wouldn’t it just be easier to not care? 

It wouldn’t be easier for you, she says.  

So here I sit, in my own skin, like a mad man.


Reassure Me

It is the end of the day, and I am tired.  I have this old feeling, a thing that for once I try to name.  I want someone to hug me, to tell me I am beautiful, to tell me I am loved.  I don’t feel good about myself.  See I always get this way when I am tired.  I say to myself, I need to be reassured.  I don’t.  I want it, but I don’t need it.  Why though?  I examine this.  I think about this pirate, how he gets constant reassurance in the way of gifts and money.  That is all he needs to be reassured.  I look for words of love, for affection, for someone to do something for me, and I realize that this is something I look for in my romantic partner.

I wonder where will these things come from in a few months.  And I realize they must come from myself.  Oh and this will be hard, won’t it?  How do I tell myself I look fine, how do things for myself to reassure me, how to I give myself a hug, to give myself affection?  I do not know.  I realize that I tell myself terrible things sometimes.  And I realize immediately that I must stop doing this, even if I cannot say, girl you are looking fine, I have to stop saying ugh, you are nasty.  I said that to myself this morning, that I looked good.  But then withing five minutes I had fallen hard on the ice and felt like a clutz, and felt embarrassed, did anyone see me.  So much for confidence.  So much for that good feeling.  My skeleton was jarred hard as I hit the ground, and once I recovered and got up again, I turned around and got a pill to help mitigate the pain.


This is painful, this feeling of wanting reassurance, this feeling of not reassuring myself, this idea that I have to start, because it won’t be coming from anyone, when I take the next step in my life, and it sure as shit ain’t coming from anyone now.

I think about food, and how food is also a reassurance.  We always got the best treats from my grandparents, salty treats, soda pop, pop tarts and sugar sweetened cereal.  It comes to me that I use these things to reassure me, when I am not feeling the love.

And I think about how social media is such an addiction, and how it is all about reassurance.  We are valid, what we say is valid, what we post is valid, what we like is valid, and what a rush you get from it!

It is all so strange, this, coming to me, and I have to write it down.  To note it, to pay attention to it.  I need to remember this.

It feels profound.

But I am waiting to fall on the ice again.



Be Real

I have been going round and round with this, and it is a difficult thing really to make a decision to move on.  My friends advise, don’t say anything until you are ready to go.  Wait until the last moment.  Hide it, don’t say anything.

I do not sleep at night.

I think about what was done to me.  The months of sneaking and hiding, the months of pretending.  The months of knowing the next step and not telling me.  Springing it on me like a freight train on a bicycle.

What you are fucking crazy woman.  Que la dilla, Que mala.  Que pena.

You hit me with a freight train.  I never saw it coming.

I am awake, remembering.  I am awake realizing that my endless prayer is answered.  Why did he leave me, why.  I know.  I know.  It took me three years to get the answer and it is painful but I understand.  I am so thankful.

Later, as I sit beading glass windchimes at the table, I ask.  How would you feel if I got my own place.  I would be okay with it.  I want my own space, I want my own home, I want autonomy, I have had my own home and my own free will for most of 25 years, it is so hard for me.  I have lived alone for 30 years, this is too hard for me too.

Decision made.

I am strong enough to handle the news.  He is strong enough to handle the news.

How wonderful is this thing, how good it is, how mature and reasonable.