Wisdom Hair

Three inches of thin, effervecent white filament grows smack dab in the middle of my chest.  I am a woman, mind you, but this single strand of hair reminds me of an old man's chest or a unicorn's hair.  Is that so strange though? After all, I seek the serenity and self-assuredness characteristic of old age.  I want that wisdom. I want to be magical and beautiful and free like a unicorn. So I just stroke the hair contentedly, hoping that eventually I will grow into my wisdom hair. 

Something I found while excavating my room...

That's my Ottawa, not the remote capital city of a socialist nation, not the frigid city in charge of a massive passive nation but the oasis of warmth in a vast belittling meadow, the parent of naivete, the epitome of kindness, the essence of pure snow, true friends, with the world as your backyard. I am part of that, a little gullible as a part of trusting, a little crazy from the smooth life in a bustling city.

-- circa 2003

I asked Lord Krishna...

From a circulating email:


I asked Lord Krishna to do away with my vices.
Krishna said, "They are not there for me to take away. They are there for you to resist them."

I asked Lord Krishna to complete my body.
Krishna said, "Your spirit is complete, your body is only temporary."

I asked Lord Krishna to give me patience.
Krishna said, "Patience is a byproduct of difficulties. It is not given but learned."
I asked Lord Krishna to give me happiness.
Krishna said, "I give blessings. Happiness depends on you."

I asked Lord Krishna to free me of pain.
Krishna said, "Suffering makes you go away from this world and brings you closer to me."

I asked Lord Krishna to make my spirit grow.
Lord Krishna said, "You have to grow by yourself, but I will prune you to make you bear fruit."

I asked Lord Krishna for things that would make me like life.
Lord Krishna said, "I will give you life so you can enjoy all those things.

I asked Lord Krishna to help me love others like He loves me.
Lord Krishna said, "Now you ask for the right thing."

snowflakes II

Same idea as Snowflakes, different words:

I built a perfect snowman out of pretty white lies.
It turned into me.
My enchanted winter came to an end.
The snowman melted.
I dissolved into amorphousness.
It snowed again.
But this time, I waited till spring, when
snowflakes don their guileless form.
From the mud, a human emerged.
Beautiful in all its imperfect contradictions.

snowflakes

light white snowflakes accumulate in my head,
pristine, innocent, and magical,
individually ephemeral, but as it snows they build up.
i build a snow man out of them, beautiful and perfect and everlasting
just the way i think the world thinks a snow man should be.
i talk to the snow man and it grows, it grows into me.
nature and the world soon take my enchanting winter away,
and the snowman slowly melts. each beautiful lie dying one by one,
until nothing is left in its place.
my head is empty. i have gone away. 

Conversations with Myself

Words tumble out of my mouth,
Round, sharp, blurry, intricate
Just words but at the same time,
Heavy with meaning.

Conversations with myself.
People talk to me, but ultimately it’s a conversation with myself.
They are just the echo.
I wonder if they realize.
They are just the noise.

It’s not their fault.
It’s my circular conundrums,
Uncertainties, attempts to believe
To believe in something.

Conversations with myself.
People talk to me, but ultimately it’s a conversation with myself.
They are just the noise.
I wonder if they realize.
They are just the noise.

As soon as I find something,
My conversation will end.
As soon as I find something,
I will become your noise.

Until then, it’s just
Conversations with myself…

Sand Castle

The sand grains washing away one by one, weakening the walls of the future. I have given up, tired of the futile race against the overpowering waves. My arms have lost the naïve alacrity of childhood with whose strength they had enthusiastically built the strong base, the now-weary walls. People had said it was very good, that it was beautiful and real, that it would last, that it would triumph. But soon I turned my back to frolic in the sea, with its deep, unknown, mystery and intriguing motion. The sea swept me away and for the first time, I tasted the tears of the many before me who had wandered away from shore. I struggled back to shore, weary and bathed in tears and found the castle wilted, undefined. Now I squat over what used to be my future, feeling the futility with which I try to rebuild it, watching the waves carry it away grain by grain, helpless.

Merri-Go-Round

Going round and round and round but not understanding why. Destroyed by the conflicting forces within and without. The world, an intangible, inaccessible blur that I am not a part of. I try to take in the beauty of its sweeping colors but am overcome with nausea. People try to get on with me, but fall off. I try reaching out to them, only to find myself unable to move, unable to touch them, unable to reach them in time. Time, a perpetual enemy yet the only constant in my dizziness. Somebody stop it, let me off. Maybe someone else wants a turn. 

Clichés and Torn Paper

Tinkling melodies of naive hope echoing metallically through the stony chambers of a heart, aimlessly meandering, bouncing off the hardened walls. Find no escape, no crack to inhabit, no window from which to leave, growing louder with each wall encountered. A din builds, a storm brews. A cacophonous music pounds, emanates. No one listens, nobody hears the tinkling melodies that are its noise. Out pour clichés and torn paper.

Superheroes Gone Bad

Glinting metallic plastic guns,
Fire-truck in the corner gathering dust.
Stars crashing to the ground,
The pure white blanket
Now a decadent mess.
I was going to save the world,
But now need saving myself.

Fool's Gold - A Pseudo Sonnet

"She is a treasure," they would say,
"If only mine were so precious."
They only saw the tiny facets,
To the jagged edges paid heed not they.

"Her brilliance is blinding,"
"Among the highest ranks she."
Woe is me,
Numbers leave the true substance in hiding.

So hearing, she made her mind believe,
'Perhaps they are right,
Valuable to the world be I might.'
But she found herself passed through the sieve.

The competition was tough.
Fool's Gold beaten by diamonds in the rough.

Realizations

Sitting atop an unfinished rooftop of a house, precarious, nervous, unsure. Inexplicable, turbulent stillness veering on sadness. Hammer in hand, momentous task at hand.

Attempt 1: failure.
Attempt 2: failure.
Attempt 3: lucky.
Attempt 50: thunk, thunk, thunk, ouch! Not so lucky.
Attempt 67: failure.
Attempt 51-150: dejection and frustrated perseverance, failure.
Attempt 151- 160: silent appeal to god.
Attempt 161: detachment from outcome, correct effort.
Attempt 160-220: not much success but true perseverance.
Attempt 221-240: less frustration, deepening stillness.
Attempt 221: break.

Standing shakily on firm ground with legs weary from holding on. Listening to the story of the future homeowner, my legs her story. New Orleans, upheaval, education. My life is a cliff to her levee.

High school senior and a pneumatic staple gun. College junior and a tape measure. A wish for more self-confidence.

Atop the roof again. A need to help. Admiration for everyone, admiration for him. Turn around and he’s there, on top of this creation, triumphant. Lunch.

His presence, reaffirming. Turbulent stillness calming to silent stillness. Pizza: yummy.

Earth, brown and humid underfoot, the new seedlings unfazed by cold, bleak Night. Shoveling to my own erratic rhythm. Calm, peaceful stillness. Companionship.

Pumpkin pie. Paper, pencil and possibilities. Pensive ponderance. Perfection.