love dogs

One night a man was crying,
“Allah, Allah!”
His lips grew sweet with the praising,
until a cynic said,
“So! I have heard you
calling out, but have you ever
gotten any response?”
The man had no answer for that.
He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.
He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls,
in a thick, green foliage,
“Why did you stop praising?”
“Because I’ve never heard anything back.”
“This longing you express
is the return message.”
The grief you cry out from
draws you toward union.
Your pure sadness that wants help
is the secret cup.
Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.
That whining is the connection.
There are love dogs no one knows the names of.
Give your life to be one of them.


~rumi

You waited until you were alone.
Death is a private thing.
You knew your last act
was to a different audience.
As it entered you -
oh how you must have danced!
curving toward God, elegant and alone.
Dear one, what is it like?
Tell us! What is death?
Birth,
you say, your voice swathed in wings.
I am born in the endless beginning.
I am not. I am.
You start turning into us,
we who love you.
You weep in our sadness,
you laugh when we do,
you greet each moment fresh,
when we do.
So may your gift of loving enter our own
and be with us that way, forever.


~ Elias Amidon

from here

stupid cake.

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I am going to a birthday dinner tonight for three of us who have had recent birthdays. I am making cake. All through this cake making, I have become more and more agitated. I keep noticing I am holding my breath. My shoulders are tight, and not just because my neck still hurts. The dog is needy, and I am annoyed at the time I take to figure out what he needs. I was having a good day, and the agitation has crept up on me. But then I remember - or I realize. I've known since I decided to make this cake how potentially "loaded" it was. Every time it came up in my mind, I thought, yeah, but I've made this cake a bunch of times Since. I've even made cake for my friend E.


But I have not made her this cake. The last time I made this particular cake for this particular friend was July 11th, 2009. For her baby shower on July 12th. Which I did not attend.



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singing

Matt and I had some songs we were (very loosely) working on together, him on guitar and both of us on vocals. This one is a wee hard for me to sing now, given the whole river thing, and also of course, I have to sing both parts. But this morning, Boris and I went to the beach after waking to the very pink sunrise, and I sat on the beach and sang. First some old Gaelic chants I knew, then this song. Saw a seal out in the water - first time I've seen one here. Nope, I don't think my singing raised a sea creature. Just was nice to see, and nice to feel my old and usual happiness at the natural world. It's a really pretty planet. Even though my voice cracks on some words.


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is "going postal" still a phrase?

Because I must keep myself from doing whatever "going postal" might currently mean. The new tenant downstairs - a man older than I am - has someone over, and they are very loudly and VERY BADLY practicing on their electric guitars and electric keyboard. The same phrases over and over and over, punctuated with some sort of hideous acid jazz interlude. I've had this place to myself for three blissful months. My landlords lived here before that, and they never listened to music of any kind. And they most certainly did not make these hideous noises that reverberate through my entire house, and blast through even my own now blasting music that I only have on to COVER THEM UP. It is not working. And now, just to escape the noise, I am going to bundle up and go sit outside.

Oh and I was in such a nice mood. So now I will have to tell the man, when he asks, that he is FAR TOO LOUD, because otherwise I will become a passive aggressive bitchy person and shoot invisible daggers at him. No one needs that. And if I tell the landlords, when they ask, without telling him first, well then that will be weird too. Sigh. Angrily wearing earplugs probably won't work in the long run...


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little snippet

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Then I will make up to you for the years
That the swarming locust has eaten…

~ Joel 2:25




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noticing, plus.

In the world of weird lying:

a woman I know tells me things personal things all the time, then posts the complete opposite on her fb page.

Another person I know just spent the weekend at an out-of-state rehab for her alcoholic husband, but writes a long fb status update about how she missed out on these other things going on because she was having a great time away at her husband's medical conference.

Why? I mean, if you are going to lie, or if you're embarassed about what is truly going on, why are you compelled to lie about it online? Why say anything? Humans. I do not understand.

I know I have my own issues and oddnesses. There are just some things that people do that I don't understand. The therapist, the massively judgmental, and the anthropologist parts of me collude on things like this.

Even this is loss - Matt and I noticed these kinds of things together. Meh. I don't feel like adding that right now. Right now I feel the tiniest bit more amused by the oddnesses of people than I do overwhelmed and lonlied by it, so I am gonna try and keep it that way.

>>>

And then an addendum, because I don't feel like a whole other post - I spent most of the day in the ER, in a cervical collar and strapped to a board, because I hit my head really hard yesterday and my doctor thought my neck was broken. Unexpectedly strapped to a board, immobile, in pain, being asked questions about marital status and emergency contacts, trying not to scream for matt knowing he can't answer, trying to tell the nurses that part of my crying is not from physical pain so they wouldn't suddenly do more invasive procedures or something, all while surrounded by trauma triggers. It has been a long and painful day, and I am so glad to be home. No broken bones. Not allowed to go into work for a few days. Must lie down a lot.

I don't have to tell you all on how many levels and in how many ways this hurts.





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Giving up Your Soul

Dancing is not rising to your feet painlessly like a whirl of dust
blown about by the wind. Dancing is when you rise above both
worlds, tearing your heart to pieces and giving up your soul.

- Jalal-ud-Din Rumi



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a new one

Wings

The difference between birds with wings and holy people with the
Wings of passionate Love, is that birds with their wings fly in a certain
Direction, which is always changing, and holy beings with
Wings of Love long only to fly away from all directions.

- Jalal-ud-Din Rumi




I haven't seen this poem before. Nice one.

My kid is here, tromping around upstairs, looking at the upstairs apartment with the landlord. How weird, and good, and strange, it is to have him here. How crazy. Matt's birthday was Saturday. I forgot that other people would know that too, other people would be in more pain that day. Other people would notice the day. J. and I are going to go check out some tattoo flash when he's done talking renovations with the landlord. How strange. How strange. How many different people I am lately.



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pork

I'll maybe write more about it later, but if you are interested in photos from last weekend's Nose to Tail pig event, the slideshow is here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mmdev/sets/72157627747267101/show/


There are no photos of the slaughter itself, for many reasons. The rest of the photos are shots of innards and eviscerating, butchery, and people wielding knives. Caul fat is beautiful.

And, I realized on sunday morning that is was 27 months that day. Woke up in the tent, a new tent, curled in the sleeping bag matt bought me for our first christmas together, made tea on the campstove I bought jake when we couldn't find matt's in the chaotic aftermath of 27 months ago. Walked to the kitchens to begin day two of butchery. And kept glancing at the clock: today, right now, at around 11:35 am, this is what I am doing. I am butchering pigs, not screaming in the woods. This is what I am doing on this day.



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Contemplation

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Just this morning,
contemplation
led me into
the rose garden that is
neither
outside this world
nor within it.

- Jalal-ud-Din Rumi



Not true - the above, but hey, I can hope for it. The old praise poems sung to kings, lauding their merits, were meant as encouragement of what could be, not necessarily what was.

The sun is up, I have tea, I am preparing for this weekend away with pigs. I have the excitement of adventure on me right now, and that is mighty nice to feel.

First on the agenda today: I need to get my license renewed. The thing is, 6 years ago, I was blissfully happy, and it shows in my license photo. I have aged and changed so much in these last two years, I am afraid of what the new photo will show. I don't want photographic evidence of pain looking at me every time I open my wallet. I am sitting here with my "hydrating facial mask" on, hoping it eases some lines and hides them from the camera. Vanity. And comedy. No hydrating mask is going to erase all the evidence of this.

In other news, I don't seem to be able to comment on any blogs lately. Not sure why. I can't even comment as Anon. So in case you're reading this, and I'm reading you - hi.



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just drained

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I am tired of living this.
Preaching to the choir, I realize.

I am tired of all of it,
and tired of the person I am these days,
tired of being down and annoyed and sad at the person I am.

I'd like to go now.

~

Hey babe. Your son is so sweet. He calls me on his way out of work. Calls to see if I want to come have tea with him. He is the only one who talks about you like normal. He's the only one who doesn't seem to give me that pity face I am so tired of. He doesn't give me "meaningful touches" to show he empathizes. Anyway. He is a good kid babe. Handsome. I saw him up at the counter, from the back, and saw shades of your musculature rippling under his shirt. He says he is glad you didn't have to ever get old and sick and be trapped in a hospital bed. That if you had to choose, you would have chosen this way, though older, and not to cause us any pain.

Free to the end, my love.

And, Jake and I were discussing how you used to come up behind and knock our knees out. He told me how some friends of his do that to him now, but he always turns around expecting it to be you. Just the look on his face as he demonstrates for me, I can see, though he doesn't say it, that he is disappointed when it isn't.

I dreamed this morning something long and involved, but in the end, I was laughing. It was a painful dream, but still, in the end, I was laughing. And as I woke up, I thought - man it was so good to laugh.


For our birthday season this year, I am going to learn how to slaughter and butcher a pig. How insane is that. I am camping for the weekend on-site; the first time since way Before. Probably for the first time since we drove cross-country, since we hadn't taken overnight hikes in quite awhile. Remember our very first trip? I hadn't eaten pork in almost 15 years, but we stopped on the way to the mountains and bought thick cut, local bacon. You cooked it over the fire while I was still asleep inside the tent. From there to slaughtering pigs. So much time has passed. So much everything.

I am so tired. I am so tired of coming home after these long ass days that are beating me up and know you are not here. At all. I am tired of missing you, of needing to miss you. Of why I miss you. There is no - good thing. There is no good thing at the end of my day, no rest. Just, as Julia just wrote, just getting up to do it all again. 


That's all. I miss you. I am older than you now, and you won't catch up on these birthdays you have no need of anymore.



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