Last Updated On November 13, 2019

 

If you could heal a broken heart, Wouldn't time be out to charm you -Guns n Roses

 

 

I’m doing an experiment. On myself. A self experiment in radical mindfulness and mindful emptiness. Its a longitudinal deal- I had a life, a very good one, then I paused my life to handle a big thing that required my full attention. And now I suppose I could just swan dive right back into my very good prior life but…I’m hesitant to do so. I’m not sure exactly why. Am I being contrary? Am I just enamored with being faced with a choice? Do I want someone to BEG me to come back? Am I looking for closure or am I trying to disappear? Am I play-acting my own mortality? Whatever my motivation, I’ve decided there is no harm in allowing myself some experimentation.

So I’m naked. I survived. And now I get to take the time I need, the time that is such a gift to me, the time that I appreciate so fucking much, the time that not everyone gets- to pause. And look around and see what comes and what goes without attachment, free of (most) obligation. I don’t need to be always building an empire. I’m practicing “slow living”. Because I want this misery and confusion and delight and miraculousness to last a good long time. I’m not detaching or isolating myself. I am committing to staying with the path to my most wise and essential self. I’ll re-attach pieces of my old self if and when appropriate, but everything is up for re-examination. Honestly, I don’t even know what fits any more. I’ve changed.

November trees stand bare
Stripped down with cuticle dry and lifting
Giving the appearance of fragility, slight and angular
Silhouettes before monochromatic skies both vast and close
Notches and elbows, broken ends and abandoned growth exposed
A faraway knocking as they are pillaged for insects
A faint whistle as a loose branch swings in the breeze
Their colorful garments have dropped
To the floor now flattened wet and slick
Merely a relic of before
A relic of disguise and decor
A place to rest our eyes

But now she rests in undress
Starting again in cyclic dance re-discovering who she is
In the canopy.
It is cold and often uncomfortable, she shows her many seasons
The creases in her covering
The creping at her junctures
The backsides of roots rising from her chest
Expanding her territory, seeking resonance,
Tripping hikers

Our parts settle in November
Kidneys nestle in once again on either side of the spine
Trailing ureters like elegant bean fruit
In profile they face each other conspiratorially.
On the right she is altered but alive and laboring
Without complaint like kidneys mostly do
They are relieved to be done with the drama and glad to be
Rid of the overzealous scientologist cells constantly evangelizing
And recruiting and intruding upon their twin intimacy

I have psychically burned a window into my back
The surgeons choose the front with their spider-like instruments
Their robot with pixelated heart shaped eyes and
A melon baller attachment on one appendage
But I take the back, challenging muscle, seeking a quieter entrance
But alas, my window is like the snow on a television screen
The kidneys are the Gemini of the organ world
They have no interest in communicating with me- they have each other
They are aloof
Maybe a little rude
But they’ve been through a lot.

This is an experiment that happens all the time
Each season does not begin as seed, as sapling
We only get echoes of the burst and strain
And glow
But we can start over from where we are
Naked in November.

###

 

Last Updated On November 13, 2019

 

If you could heal a broken heart, Wouldn't time be out to charm you -Guns n Roses

 

I’m doing an experiment. On myself. A self experiment in radical mindfulness and mindful emptiness. Its a longitudinal deal- I had a life, a very good one, then I paused my life to handle a big thing that required my full attention. And now I suppose I could just swan dive right back into my very good prior life but…I’m hesitant to do so. I’m not sure exactly why. Am I being contrary? Am I just enamored with being faced with a choice? Do I want someone to BEG me to come back? Am I looking for closure or am I trying to disappear? Am I play-acting my own mortality? Whatever my motivation, I’ve decided there is no harm in allowing myself some experimentation.

So I’m naked. I survived. And now I get to take the time I need, the time that is such a gift to me, the time that I appreciate so fucking much, the time that not everyone gets- to pause. And look around and see what comes and what goes without attachment, free of (most) obligation. I don’t need to be always building an empire. I’m practicing “slow living”. Because I want this misery and confusion and delight and miraculousness to last a good long time. I’m not detaching or isolating myself. I am committing to staying with the path to my most wise and essential self. I’ll re-attach pieces of my old self if and when appropriate, but everything is up for re-examination. Honestly, I don’t even know what fits any more. I’ve changed.

November trees stand bare
Stripped down with cuticle dry and lifting
Giving the appearance of fragility, slight and angular
Silhouettes before monochromatic skies both vast and close
Notches and elbows, broken ends and abandoned growth exposed
A faraway knocking as they are pillaged for insects
A faint whistle as a loose branch swings in the breeze
Their colorful garments have dropped
To the floor now flattened wet and slick
Merely a relic of before
A relic of disguise and decor
A place to rest our eyes

But now she rests in undress
Starting again in cyclic dance re-discovering who she is
In the canopy.
It is cold and often uncomfortable, she shows her many seasons
The creases in her covering
The creping at her junctures
The backsides of roots rising from her chest
Expanding her territory, seeking resonance,
Tripping hikers

Our parts settle in November
Kidneys nestle in once again on either side of the spine
Trailing ureters like elegant bean fruit
In profile they face each other conspiratorially.
On the right she is altered but alive and laboring
Without complaint like kidneys mostly do
They are relieved to be done with the drama and glad to be
Rid of the overzealous scientologist cells constantly evangelizing
And recruiting and intruding upon their twin intimacy

I have psychically burned a window into my back
The surgeons choose the front with their spider-like instruments
Their robot with pixelated heart shaped eyes and
A melon baller attachment on one appendage
But I take the back, challenging muscle, seeking a quieter entrance
But alas, my window is like the snow on a television screen
The kidneys are the Gemini of the organ world
They have no interest in communicating with me- they have each other
They are aloof
Maybe a little rude
But they’ve been through a lot.

This is an experiment that happens all the time
Each season does not begin as seed, as sapling
We only get echoes of the burst and strain
And glow
But we can start over from where we are
Naked in November.

###

Last Updated On November 13, 2019

If you could heal a broken heart, Wouldn't time be out to charm you -Guns n Roses

I’m doing an experiment. On myself. A self experiment in radical mindfulness and mindful emptiness. Its a longitudinal deal- I had a life, a very good one, then I paused my life to handle a big thing that required my full attention. And now I suppose I could just swan dive right back into my very good prior life but…I’m hesitant to do so. I’m not sure exactly why. Am I being contrary? Am I just enamored with being faced with a choice? Do I want someone to BEG me to come back? Am I looking for closure or am I trying to disappear? Am I play-acting my own mortality? Whatever my motivation, I’ve decided there is no harm in allowing myself some experimentation.

So I’m naked. I survived. And now I get to take the time I need, the time that is such a gift to me, the time that I appreciate so fucking much, the time that not everyone gets- to pause. And look around and see what comes and what goes without attachment, free of (most) obligation. I don’t need to be always building an empire. I’m practicing “slow living”. Because I want this misery and confusion and delight and miraculousness to last a good long time. I’m not detaching or isolating myself. I am committing to staying with the path to my most wise and essential self. I’ll re-attach pieces of my old self if and when appropriate, but everything is up for re-examination. Honestly, I don’t even know what fits any more. I’ve changed.

November trees stand bare
Stripped down with cuticle dry and lifting
Giving the appearance of fragility, slight and angular
Silhouettes before monochromatic skies both vast and close
Notches and elbows, broken ends and abandoned growth exposed
A faraway knocking as they are pillaged for insects
A faint whistle as a loose branch swings in the breeze
Their colorful garments have dropped
To the floor now flattened wet and slick
Merely a relic of before
A relic of disguise and decor
A place to rest our eyes

But now she rests in undress
Starting again in cyclic dance re-discovering who she is
In the canopy.
It is cold and often uncomfortable, she shows her many seasons
The creases in her covering
The creping at her junctures
The backsides of roots rising from her chest
Expanding her territory, seeking resonance,
Tripping hikers

Our parts settle in November
Kidneys nestle in once again on either side of the spine
Trailing ureters like elegant bean fruit
In profile they face each other conspiratorially.
On the right she is altered but alive and laboring
Without complaint like kidneys mostly do
They are relieved to be done with the drama and glad to be
Rid of the overzealous scientologist cells constantly evangelizing
And recruiting and intruding upon their twin intimacy

I have psychically burned a window into my back
The surgeons choose the front with their spider-like instruments
Their robot with pixelated heart shaped eyes and
A melon baller attachment on one appendage
But I take the back, challenging muscle, seeking a quieter entrance
But alas, my window is like the snow on a television screen
The kidneys are the Gemini of the organ world
They have no interest in communicating with me- they have each other
They are aloof
Maybe a little rude
But they’ve been through a lot.

This is an experiment that happens all the time
Each season does not begin as seed, as sapling
We only get echoes of the burst and strain
And glow
But we can start over from where we are
Naked in November.

###