There Gathered The Women

Home and Hearth

And yet, in the kitchen,

where life is rebirthed,

there gathered the women

Deep work of the hearth

The water is boiling

the rags have been torn

Love’s labor is roiling

the guides through the storm;

change the only constant

Lachesis sings then

the hist’ry of what was

Clotho the spinner

weaving fates justly caused

Atropos, the shears

ending life at her whim

The Moirai have weaved

The Fates genuine hymns

A Willow’s Lament

The willow boughs in comprehension

Lose track of the wind

on the mirror surfaced lake

christening the sky

with clear intent

Where is the offin

but sky and earth

the heavens ornaments

of universal praise

And yet, in the kitchen,

where life is rebirthed,

there gathered the women

pottery deep into breakfast

the labor of reassurance has begun

the calm center of the maelstrom;

change the only constant

There is light

Light in the darkness

Light in the chaos

So is life with death

Born when it’s time to be born;

die when it’s time to die.

It’s movement, a process

where peace with time is in repose

there is an order of things

neither joy nor sorrow may take hold

Yet, Spring, herald of rebirth

has abandoned blooming,

it feels like Winter

Like the depths of the ocean

have suddenly become thick air

Upon this fleeting dream-world

Dawn is breaking

Even though some trees are bedecked

The willow boughs in comprehension

Acknowledging the bond

and where

the direction of love is not lost

the deeper treasure of sweetened time

will reap its own reward.

Japanese Death Poems

I’ve decided it’s about time I read the books that have somehow made it to my shelf unbeknownst curated by me from my past self for my now self. I set this goal when I decided that I’d like to be who my bookshelf says I am.

Since there are challenges in my personal life that are coming to pass with full consent, but not without sorrow.

My most recent acquisition of Japanese Death Poetry written by Zen Monks and Haiku Poets on the Verge of Death published in 1986 and again in 1988. This book made it into my hands because a brilliant man died and his widow passed it on to me. I have several books on death and dying that I’ve already read, but this one is of a different ilk than say, Stiff by Mary Roach.

I have so many things I want to share with you. I feel surprisingly alive, clear, and happy. It is an odd dichotomy with the sadness I feel as well. The compilation was made by Yoel Hoffmann.

When I look at the bookshelves of people more well read than I, it is a constant reminder of how much time I spent just trying to survive. Along with the Poems, I’ve also picked up a copy of ZEN AND THE ART OF MOTORCYCLE MAINTENANCE- An Inquiry into Values by Robert M. Pirsig. That one has been recommended by several of my friends so I feel kind of lucky to have that in my collection for right now.

I’m also pondering podcasts. I wonder what I’d do it on…

TAMP: Looney II Crew

I love people who frame their puzzles

and hang HOME upon their walls

I love the people who are never quiet

even as night-time falls

I love the people I call family

as right as any blood

I love the fam’ly of my heart

who love me like they should.

Dearest Mama 2020

I’ve thought about your chronological timeline of our relationship that you wrote with such attention. I wish I could see it like that. The absence of our relationship during the lean years of our emotional lives burdens me to this day, but not how you may think.

With your guidance, perhaps I’d have avoided some of the pain I endured because I refused your matriarchal wisdom. Without you, I kept myself small so that others, undeserving/saints, could shine their sins/lights through me, the prism child. The magical being you brought into this world. With my life reborn here, you’re not losing me, you’re gifted with the light’s rebirth in my spirit. It burdens me because I couldn’t shine for you like I shine here. Know that in my heart of hearts, I am but a reflection of those around me, and around you, I’m at my most glorious.

You wrote of us breaking apart in our relationship, but Mama, this is how I roll. I realize this with Ben and my marriage. I love that man ridiculously. I wish him not a lick of harm which is why I’m away from him. He couldn’t give me what I needed right now.

This was not personal against you, although I recognize how it could feel that way. Perhaps feeling like you’re not enough to keep my heart. As I stated above, it’s because of you that I felt brave enough to step out into the world. It’s because of you, I felt the confidence to face my darkest fears. No ordinary person could love like you, my mother, my heart, my love. You make mistakes, but man, so do I.

This, my beloved mother, is how I want you to know I love you. You’re not a saint, but you’re an angel in a meat suit. I think the world of you even when you’re doing what I call mundane things. Things I’ve seen you both do for a million years; Things that make me want to have a more musical life (like a real musical, not just singing (Hit song quality)). Ones where the true feelings pour out of the mouths of people like you and me in a harmony that is strictly our own. Like the Loon song you sing with Dad, the familiar feel of three-word arguments and ribs with deep gouges from elbows.

Please read this with an open heart so that I can snuggle up inside and feel the safest I ever feel. Allow me to cuddle up against your memories like when we’d watch TV on the couch and I’d get the knee because I was the oldest. How I’d fall asleep on your hip and don’t ever remember waking up. I want to remember how it felt to know I was protected like I feel now.

I know I’m not what you expected or maybe even hoped for. I’m loud, cuss a lot, think nakedly, don’t filter frequently, but I’ve tried so hard not to break your heart or disappoint you. It’s a reason I stayed as long as I did. It’s a damn good reason to stay. That’s not blame, that’s recognition for the truth you showed me through your calming words when I freaked out over stuff that, truly, should never have happened or been said, but there it was and there you were with the dustpan to help me sweep up another mess.

As I sit here in my living room writing this on the computer I’m still paying for, I can’t help but be grateful for the many things you’ve allowed me to achieve with your generosity. You’ve helped me commit to things I was busting buttons proud to do. You helped me realize I’m okay and worth it even when everything went south before I did. I don’t know the right words to express how deeply I adore your generous heart. You are far more trusting of your intuition now that you’re older. I admire the growth I’ve seen since returning as a significantly different person than I knew.

I want this to be a letter that you cherish. If it’s anything but, please let me know. Every intention of these words on the page are to convey to you how very deeply, truly, and completely I adore you.

With deepest devotion, your daughter

Mare Helen

TAMP: Jen Stark

She reminds me of fresh mown grass like spring petricore

Firefly constellations

Under a strawberry moon ripe with bright juices

Celebrating a halo of goddess hair kissing her cheeks with Medusa curls springing like snakes dripping to offer an apple to Eve

Bookshelf

My bookshelves tell the story of who I long to be.
FANATIC!, The Goddess Path, Japanese Death Poems, Seriously Happy
Only not yet read or written:
PASSIONATE!, The Spiritual Path, Death Doula, Dynamic Peace
When:
HOPELESSNESS!, The Lost Path, Writing Eulogies, Common Day Terrors
Then:
REMEMBER!, Your Voice’s Song, Your Purposeful Life, Your Revolution in Love