Dying/broken/forgiven.... now I begin

Born: 17-06-56....gemini.... monkey
re-born: 3-09-80
born again\found: 14-04-08
other notable dates: 10-03-68; 03-09-87; 23-03-96;
1-05-98; 31-01-02; 5-04-04

Interests: movement, stressed/transgressive embodiment, lived experience (body\space\time\relation)
expression ( word, dance, text, image, story, music, poetics)
learning, yielding......

Hopes for the blog:
offer up the wild intersectedness of lived experience and engage others in creative, expressive, perhaps irreverant, hopefully playful, and respectful encounters....
enact kindness
create moments of pause for disclosure, discovery, stillness

Friday, December 31, 2021

My mother is a time traveler

 My mother is a time traveler

a trans-dimensional being

she exists in space-time in permeable fashion

here, with us, now

and simultaneously with friends long dead

eerily, radiantly aware of her impermanence 

and confusion

frightened, sad, saucy, funny, and always, always 

deeply connected to the mundane

the small things

not so small at all.

 

My sister is a lighthouse

Solid as the rock that anchors her 

to the land and sea

She withstands pounding and crashing

with grace 

with grit

Resolute and watchful

Exhausted more by the uncertain calm 

attentive to the sounds of winds, waves, and birds

the small things of life

not so small at all. 

 

My mother is a time traveler

today, she takes her longest and most mysterious journey

away from us, in some ways

radiantly aware of her own impermanence

she exists in space-time in permeable fashion

here, with us, now

and simultaneously with friends long dead

The stars are alive with joy at her delight 

in the small things of life

not so small at all. 

Sunday, February 2, 2020

This Skin

This skin I'm in
is
sober
thirty years today
this skin I'm in 
is 
tissue
paper thin and fey
this skin I'm in
is 
leather
flexible as clay
this skin I'm in 
is 
wrinkled
gravity has its say

This skin I'm in 
is 
old
teaching me my name
this skin I'm in 
is 
young
dancing like a flame
this skin I'm in 
is 
stupid
holding on to shame
this skin I'm in
is 
endless
the player and the game

This skin I'm in 
is 
tougher 
than pain or loss or hell
this skin I'm in 
is 
softer
a whisper and a bell
this skin I'm in 
is 
parchment
the stories it can tell
this skin I'm in 
is 
moonstruck
I'm living where I dwell
I'm loving HOW I dwell
in this skin
I'm in

Monday, May 13, 2019

VERTIGO



VERTIGO

The howling began with sounds and syllables, at first
only a buzz
responding at an elemental level to a terrifying felt sense

then, the words and phrases, wailing
axes off kilter
scrabbling and frantic tumbling 
swirling sickening confusion
tilt a whirling 
wild 
a perfect storm
a tear in the fabric
a poet is dead

his sweet wordplay lingers and murmurs
stays with me (us)
I (we) breathe gratitude
 I (we) breathe relief for his reprieve
and  I (we) grieve
this magnificent loss
no one else is 
Carl Leggo

wondering about his grand-daughter's three syllable name.... 
Madeline


the howling began with sounds and syllables
wondering, I am wondering
(my) vertigo at a fever pitch 
sliding off the table of the world 
still here, 
rocked by the randomness of who dies
in the arms of this wild devouring bramble beast
and who lives

Sunday, February 24, 2019

REMISSION 

The dragon is sleeping
 somehow
someday
she will awaken. 
Then, we will journey together
again. 

REMISS I on... a cloud
 of joy
and hope
there are words 
to write the carnal bedrock 
of living with....
NO
of dwelling with
this dragon 

RE-MISSION
as I steal and lean on another's 
lovely words
proud to be a thief 
who knows she needs 
help.
Finally.
First, you make the beast beautiful. 

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

There is a we here


There is a we here
that is not....
a 'we' that is

its embrace recognizes and welcomes
itself;

the insiders form a circle, and mouthpieces
proclaim platitudes of generic appreciation.

The circle is not for me--
neither do I crave it.
This is my sin.

There is a we here that is not....
a 'we' that is
Or maybe, there is a we here
that is
(an) US.

Thus I become
(a) them.


Saturday, May 13, 2017

Triage makes you tired.....


Triage makes you tired if it's all you ever do
Pissed off, shaky, wired with no time for feeling blue
Caught up in the clamour, chasing down the clue
Triage makes you tired if it's all you ever do

Triage is seductive when it takes you by the hand
Surrounds you with its glamour, never boring, never bland
Relentlessly rewarding, something precious, something grand
Triage is seductive when it takes you by the hand

Triage is a minefield where no flowers ever grew
Discard a thousand cries for help and focus on a few
And claim that it's priorities that always make it through
Triage is a minefield where no flowers ever grew

Triage is a danger masquerading as demand
Silence is a stranger in this noisy, cluttered land
And reflection is your enemy until you take a stand
Triage is a danger masquerading as demand

Triage is a habit that can hold you by the throat
When you make a move to grab it, it will taunt you, it will gloat
And the context of its character is fortress with a moat
And the emptiest of vessels are the only things that float
And it takes a lot of push to move a heavy, hungry boat
Triage is a habit that can hold you by the throat

Triage makes you tired if it's all you ever do
You forget to be inspired by its colours or its hue
And you see the complex moving parts, but miss the larger view
And its face becomes a death mask from the poison in the brew
And you recognize the toxin in the words you thought you knew
And you realize this skill of yours is more than guts and glue
That it's not triage that's deadly, it's the hammer and the screw 
In that netherworld of double talk, bureaucracy and poo
Triage makes you tired if it's all you ever do



Monday, March 13, 2017

O (p) press I on



You are sitting at a desk-maybe your desk
Or a table-maybe your table.
Place your hands flat on top
Push hard on the surface
Count to ten
Do it again
Push hard with one hand and do another relatively easy or mundane task with the other hand
Count to ten
Do it again
Are you alone?
Place one hand and then the other on the surface, alternating
As if you are walking on your hands
As if your hands are walking
Make no noise
Do it ten times
Do it again
Are you alone?
Do the hand walking with more force, more noise, BUT DON’T RUSH
 Don’t compromise force for speed
Keep the pressure on…..
Are you alone?
Find a wall. Do it there. Two hands. Then one at a time.
Find another person
Do this side by side
Two hands
Then one at a time.
Now…. About this other person…..

Sit or stand face to face
Place hands against each other’s hands, palm to palm
Push into each other
Two hands, same time
Count to ten
Walking hands, alternating, against each other’s palms
Make no noise
Do it ten times
Practice pushing and yielding against each other
Only the hands
Make no noise
Do it ten times
Find another set of partners
Now you are four
Find a space in the centre of a room
Or go outside, find any open space
Imagine a giant box with a lid on a hinge….
It hangs open
It is your task to push it closed
Approach it as a group
Plan your timing
Gather round….
Open your hands
Push together
Push as if you were actually doing this work
Get under it, push, push
Push it up, now over
Now push it shut
One last push to be sure

Find a place / time to reflect on this
On pushing, pressing
Alone, with another, with a group
Was it exhausting? Exhilarating?
Is it something that becomes habit the more you do it?
Invisible in its familiarity?
It is something that makes its presence felt
Thrumming beneath the surface
Or off to the side?
Does the rhythm get into your blood?
Can you walk away because it left no impression?
(how)(what) Do you forget?
(how)(what) Do you remember?

That’s the question.