The walls of rock at Arches National Park are so amazing. And are they arches or are they holes in the wall? And a hole in the wall doesn’t imply the majesty of arches or how amazing the remaining section of rock above us. Magical, amazing, unbelievable, astounding.
I am having nightmares most nights. I don’t think they are about work any more: I think they are about the wars and the people being killed and terror on both sides. That is what terrifies me.
I am in a very big hotel, down near the ground floor at a conference center. There is an announcement: “There is a very violent tornado on the ground, take shelter.” People at the windows are exclaiming. I go to the picture window and see a huge tornado. But I also see my ex-husband and another man, talking, facing me. How can they not hear the tornado? I want to shout, but they won’t hear me through the thick glass. The tornado swallows them and I find a place near the windows. I am on the floor, arms and legs wrapped around an old style radiator attached to the wall. I hope this will keep me from being sucked out as the windows break, and if the building comes down, I am near an outer wall.
I am thinking about monsters That I am comfortable with the monsters in my dreams but terrified by the angels. Though I type angles.
But I also dream that all the angels fall
all are made to fall
they fall down then back up
when they fall down they burn
if they fall here
burn in the atmosphere
then they are red or black and burnt
and we think they are devils: monsters.
If angels are monsters
and monsters are angels
and they go back and forth
and I type angles
because everyone makes mistakes
even angels
and to make something perfect
is an offense to the Beloved
because only the Beloved is perfect
and ineffable.
Still the angels.
I am afraid.
So was Mary, sore afraid.
Monsters are easy: at worst they can kill me
and they never have
in my dreams.
And they are sad and alone and weep.
I comfort them.
Which makes them afraid,
because they are not used to being loved.
I wonder if I frighten them
like the angels frighten me.
And then I can understand a little of why the angels frighten me so much. I too am not used to feeling loved.
written September 13, 2023
For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: bread winner. But I can’t eat gluten any more and my lungs are too vulnerable for the work I love. So how bread and how winner? Maybe the angels and angles and monsters will tell me.
Human, pfaugh
I give up
I don’t want to be one
I can be anything I want to be
I want to be a mermaid
again
I sink into the sea
and down to the depths
scales and tail and breathe the sea
the water cools the burns
my charred burnt skin
and lungs
Such a fail again
every time I try
to be human
yes, legs, I can do that
it always makes my voice hurt
but those damn wings
come with the legs
It’s hard to hide the wings.
I don’t know how
but they sense them
even when I hide them
It really pisses me off.
It’s the broken ones that show up
though now I think maybe
they are all broken
they all wander around
pretending they are ok
using lies to try to appear nice
hating parts of themselves
calling those parts unclean spirits
and casting them out
DEMON! DEVIL!
over and over
I try to pretend they aren’t there
the cast out
and I am human too
but the demons kneel and lay their monstrous heads
in my lap
crying
cluster round me
begging for my help
I always fail.
I try to stay present
with the person and the cast out
but eventually I can’t stand it
and I say something wrong
and the stupid human thinks I am the demon
and casts me out too.
I wait and hope.
I wait and hope with the monsters
with the rough beasts.
“You have wings,” say the demons, “Help us!”
“I can’t.” I say, “The humans must help themselves.”
The monsters weep and wail.
Finally I am sick of it again.
I send them home
and I go home too.
I have failed again
and must endure falling through the atmosphere
my feathers and skin a burning star
I am sick of it.
I give up, Beloved.
I am a failure.
I can’t do this.
I must go to the sea again.
Here is the trench, the deepest part of the ocean
I stop swimming and let myself sink
Slowly the light disappears
I am in the ink black
A friend and I are talking this morning and he is talking about praying daily. “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us”. That turns into a discussion of enemies and ourselves. It’s easier to have an external enemy identified than to deal with ourselves, isn’t it? Here is today’s poem.
_________________________________
Enemy
Do you have an enemy?
Do I have an enemy?
maybe I have no enemy
I have people I have forgiven
I have people who I have asked to forgive me
I have people I have forgiven
but keep distanced
no reconciliation
possible if they continue abuse
blind and deaf
saying “We are righteous!”
over and over to each other
A book teaches me asks what are you most proud of in yourself? Three things: strong, smart, tough. The mirror is what you fear the most weak, foolish, vulnerable I shy back, hate the author and he is correct at least for me
Like the sutra
sometimes I am weak
sometimes I am foolish
sometimes I am vulnerable
When there is a person
or people
I want to hate
What aspect of myself
of my past
of my psyche
are they bringing up?
Are they stronger, smarter, tougher?
Are they weaker, foolish, more vulnerable?
Why do I want to hate them?
It’s easier, I see
to hate another person
and cast them out like a demon
then to look in the mirror
and see the aspect of myself
that I long so much
to hate
That demon
once cast out
will return with seven more
Mirror mirror
on the wall
tell my why
the angels fall
if an angel gets it’s wings
every time a bell rings
each time we hate another, as well
an angel falls heaven to hell
Always, perfect, us, and forever A part of me stands back wondering why I want to believe but cannot almost ever He tells these formidable obvious lies Like my sister you build a story You are the star and say you never lie I blink in wonder at your false silly glory You build a castle of lies while I wonder why I’d like to believe we’ll always be friends A part of me wants security, foolish hope I give it 50/50, unsurprised when it ends I think you should wash your mouth out with soap The best liars adore and believe their own words And it takes years for the real truth to be heard
Today I refuse categorically to yearn I miss stupid things: that you rise early too still this morning it’s annoying to learn no one to talk to at the hour of stupid, no you Impatient with my feelings, I wish you ill hope you wake and want to whine and moan hope you wake early and feel over the hill but have to be quiet and grouse all alone hope your mind buzzes like a hive of grumpy bees while you spy on the internet and feel superior hope you gather more facts piled like logged trees and wonder why the piles don’t make you merrier I hope you slowly open and become aware you think you know everything and nobody cares
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Sol Duc is playing a game alone, capturing her back foot with her front, claws out on both. When she realizes I am watching, she puts her head down and pretends to be asleep. She isn’t asleep, I can tell by the claws and the ear tilt.
Discover and re-discover Mexicoβs cuisine, culture and history through the recipes, backyard stories and other interesting findings of an expatriate in Canada
Engaging in some lyrical athletics whilst painting pictures with words and pounding the pavement. I run; blog; write poetry; chase after my kids & drink coffee.
Refugees welcome - FlΓΌchtlinge willkommen I am teaching German to refugees. Ich unterrichte geflΓΌchtete Menschen in der deutschen Sprache. I am writing this blog in English and German because my friends speak English and German. Ich schreibe auf Deutsch und Englisch, weil meine Freunde Deutsch und Englisch sprechen.
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