no knowing

I know next to nothing about anything. And less every day. Every new day leaves the mind's load lighter. And often, for this, the heart's heavier.

I don't know how to breathe well. How to listen with complete attention. How to laugh aloud, spontaneously. How to make really good bread. How to get meaningful work. How to make eye contact. How to shape some thing of beauty with my hands, or to dream it before making. How to maintain sufficient connection with earth. How to ask for the kindness that I need.

I don't know how to sleep: this skill seems a complete luck of the draw, and tonight I drew the low card, and nevermind the pills, and the teas, and the meditations: that's that.

I don't know how to pray. Though soul holds a channel always open. Though heart surfs constant tides of gratitude and need. Though senses stretch toward every greengold whisper spoken in earthtime and in dreamtime. Though in afternoon, when sunshot skies of a sudden folded soft into clouds, like two peaceful hands coming together, and I beneath the five diamond drops of rain that fell as an afterthought was clasped in the center of a prayer, it wasn't my prayer, but the sky's. But that, in the moment, was certainly more than enough.

I can only pray that earth and sky haven't forgotten what they know: that aside from their infinities, they know me as well. As well as they did, back when we were so connected I never stopped to think about what I didn't know.

quote: accept

"He had no choice."
"He did. It was as hard as hell, but he could have gone on. Gone on making himself more and more unhappy. But what he chose to do instead was to go to the brink and look beyond. And he saw what was there and he chose to accept it...Sometimes what seems like surrender isn't surrender at all. It's about what's going on in our hearts. About seeing clearly the way life is and accepting it and being true to it, whatever the pain, because the pain of not being true to it is far, far greater..."
-- Nicholas Evans, The Horse Whisperer

house/sitting

There is no television in this house. No microwave, and no stereo except a portable player, currently unplugged. There was no computer til I brought in my laptop. Outside there are no barking dogs, no music or loud voices to show that the neighbors are home. Inside, the heater isn't running nonstop: in fact it's a little chilly here, but it's quiet. Oh, so quiet.

There are no children in this house. No running feet echoing the floors, no singing or nonsense noises, no fighting, shrieking, screaming, or crying. No sounds at all, except the whirbling of this laptop and an occasional staccato from the corner, where a rabbit sits in a cage. Those are the only sounds. Really. I have to listen again to convince myself it's true.

This house has nearly equal amounts of space and stuff. The part that makes it most beautiful to me. That, and all the stuff seems to be here for a reason. There is one couch only, in the living room. One large plant by the window. Blinds on the windows that face the street, and not on those facing the fenced back yard. Matched handmade pottery bowls on open kitchen shelves. Unvarnished wood counters and stainless-steel appliances. It's a kitchen to be in for a reason. Gourmet cooking, or maybe writing. Or maybe thinking about my own reasons for being here. Not 'here' in any existential sense. Here, instead of the house in which I normally live. In which I normally survive.

The saddest part of survival mode is getting used to thinking in not's. First there's the extras that you negate. Purchases, dreams, soul-nutrition: the category of 'extra' is expansive, and always expandable. Not right now, we can't do that. Not this month. Not this season. Not this year. Then there's the not-rationalization, where you try to feel better about your situation, and perhaps about your choices (if you acknowledge such things as part of the situation). At least we're not ___. At least we didn't do ___. At least ___ didn't happen. At least we have it better than ___.

Sure there's some intention of gratitude in those negatives. But my point is, there are so many lovely yes's in this world, waiting to be appreciated as well. So many powerful yes's, waiting to be given life. When do they get their turn?
When in holding one's own does growth become an option?
Where in the struggle for us does compassion for others get an invitation?
When, in the constant sound, does silence get its moment?
Where in the nonstop asking does gratitude get its place?
Where in the tangle of electrical wires and piped-in entertainment do we find acceptance of all we can live without - and all we can let go?
Where in the giving-up and going-without is there a welcome to all the potential yet invited to live with us?

There are no visible yes's in this house. Nothing that I need to plan, intend, or be on time for. Nothing to which I am asked to adjust or commit or contribute. Only bring in the mail, turn on a few lights, feed the rabbit. There are no no's here either. It's a fine place to rest, in the absence of both answers, until something comes a little clearer.

unraveling

sleep's an unraveling blanket
already barely sufficient for cover
already thin enough for cold wind to discover
every gap in your frayed but implacable conscience

rest is a word about surplus
supposed companion to sleep
supposed reward of a long hard day's labor
too often a luxury for the already-unconscious

present's a gift so misleading
all of the wisdom you thought you were heeding
all of the subleties of pattern repeating
until you step backward uncovered exposed to the whole

relationship's essence is weaving
cross-purposing filaments filling the void between two
no rest can't avoid this arresting design on your life
that uncovers the hidden the unworked the holes
all your frayed threads, afraid nots, offenses
you enter the fray only half-clothed, defenseless
like the dreams where you're trying to dress and redress
while you follow confounding guidance to find
ravel inverted to marvel and wonder
attempt the astounding and maybe impossible
to wake up, rewoven, together

*******

And for my partner-in-lucha, for the first time, I tried translating this using GoogleTranslate. It's not the most intuitive application, so I reworked a lot of this on my own. The wordplays never translate - or perhaps that's only a reflection of my level of Spanish. Maybe if anybody bilingual sees this they can tell me how far off I am.
*******

enredo

el sueño es una manta desenredando
ya apenas suficiente para que cubre
ya bastante delgada que el viento frío descubre
cada hueco en la conciencia deteriorada pero implacable

el descanso es una palabra acerca de sobra
compañera supuesta a dormir
recompensa supuesta de un dia larga de labor
con demasiada frecuencia un lujo para las ya inconscientes

el presente es un regalo tan engañoso
toda la sabiduría a que pensabas que atendaste
todas las sutilezas del patrón que se repiten
hasta que el paso hacia atrás, no mas cubierto, expuesto al todo

la esencia de la relación es tejeduría
filamentos de propositos cruzados llenan el vacío entre dos
no hay descanso, no se puede evitar este diseño que arresta tu vida
que descubre lo oculto el bruto y los agujeros
todos los hilos rotos, las ofensas y los miedos
tu la entras en la refriega sólo media vestida, indefensa
como los sueños en que tratas de vestirte y de remediar
mientras sigas la dirección confundente para encontrar
enredo invertido para la maravilla y el asombro
el intento al pasmoso y tal vez lo imposible:
para despertarse, retejido, juntos