FOCUS

. looking for you .

alphabets.

t is for tabla.
n is for nursing.
p is for phonecalls.
dgf is for delicious good food.
s is for sister.
m is for mother.
f is for father.
hpm is for heloise pinkerton muffintop.
mm is for moo moo is for misha is for lemoncake.
y is for yoga.
my is for morning yoga.
yy is for yesyes morning yoga.
t is for t.
yy my tt mm hpm s m f n. t! dgf!

yield to overcome.

I’m deeply considering this idea today.

so my office mate JB says that I need to have a clear picture of the partner I want

She’s slowly but surely convinced me that this is a priority for me, and I need to get with it, on it, over it, under it, behind it, whatever.

She said “I made a list.” It had things like the colour of his eyes, his height, his intelligence.

I try.

All that comes is:

gnomes
corners
evening sun light
empty glass jars
together alone
create
two pebbles tied by string
coffee
hearts
collapse
rescue
collapse
comfort
hand on my head
shoulder
hand on my head
bow
lay
white
sheets
morning
quiet
sleep
water
splash
close
open
wet lashes

I want to follow my bliss.

Dear Bliss,
Don’t be scared!  I won’t hurt you!  You keep running away from me, I touch your sleeve only for brief moments before you slip away.  Your eyes, so wide!  Don’t be scared!  I won’t hurt you.  I don’t want to hurt you.  I don’t want to crush you.  Let me learn to love you.  Please, let me learn to love you.  It might not be easy or pretty or soft in the beginning.  I might bruise just a little, both you and I– you know, for the excitement of it all.  But sweet bliss, you are sweeter than anything in my life, so how could I not be excited?  It’s been too long.  Let’s finally be together.

why is it that I want to hear from you.

do I miss you. do I? I miss any distraction, so yes, I miss you as another distraction.

I want to hear from you because I miss any distraction.

this is the most important point here.

my feelings are connected to longing for distraction. my feelings here are empty vessels, shallow.

my feelings are weak waters.

I will find other distractions and move on. as I am doing.

is that what my life has been about, I wonder.

moving from one distraction to another.

just like that one man said, the one who doesn’t write back to me any more, the one whose distractee-ness I fell in love with, the one who I felt could distract me for a very long time.

oh god. god god god.

now, I miss you.

shit.

I guess this is how it always is.
I guess this is how it has to be: hard.

why would something like this be easy, after all?
it should be hardest of all: to do the right thing,
to make the healthy choice, for the first time.
and the second time. third. fourth. fifth. sixth, even..

until, it becomes easier to make the right choice.
it becomes natural, another muscle.

until there is a more difficult choice,
for which,
a new muscle,
once again,
must be grown.

other people’s photographs

I am in love with other people’s photographs of their every day kinds of things: colanders hanging from hooks, bananas on a tray.  smoothies with two straws and a bowl of oatmeal sprinkled with flax seeds.  looking and loving and seeking and sighing, their images merge with my images: of sunlight through leaves, of paw prints. a bowl of strawberries and a half eaten grapefruit. we are all so lovely.

Remembering beginnings

Beginnings are hard.
Beginnings have been lonely for me.
They have been about trying to give out goodness and not finding a willing recipient,
or being too scared to try and curling up into myself.  They have been about rejection, real or perceived, and failure, real or perceived. 
Beginnings are scary, and uphill and hard work and risky and stressful.

New city, new groups of people, new job, new skill.

Beginnings can be thrilling.
Some beginnings have felt Right, have felt Yes.
Those beginnings have been warm, inviting, joyful.
Those beginnings have been stressless/ I’ve been overcome by the joy of it all, so engaged that the neurosis evaporates.  (I shake the salts off, refreshed)

New friend, new love, new animal, new book, new poem.

Somehow, both paths – starting from such different places and taking such different turns - seem to lead to the same place, if I just continue on them.

Surrender.

I pause, endure the wait of onions and garlic cooking in a small wok.

I must wait for satisfaction.