Reaching for the stars
When I awakened from the dreamless deep,
I was shocked to realize that my eyes could not see.
I had no way of finding upon which path to set my feet,
because all I’d ever done was walk around in sleep.
But then I found the very stars of which you, longing, write,
and I followed them into the sky; into the sacred night.
Peter Mayer from Minnesota playing “Blue Boat Home”
Okay, so if you read the previous article, you know I REALLY love me some Peter Mayer. His music is considered folk but to me it’s just excellent. He performed back in February at our Sunday Service which was really incredible in and of itself, but his warmth really stood out in my mind. He really doesn’t get why people love that he plays guitar and sings. He loves that he can make a living at it, but it truly baffles him.
Tonight, while he was playing, he forgot some lyrics from one of the songs he was performing. He glitched. He apologized but kept going. I fell madly in love with him at that moment. Not the kind of love you give to a spouse or a best friend, but the kind of love that makes that moment stand out as truly significant. He was beautiful before as I’ve gushed and fan-girled, but that moment, a tiny error of perfection exploded his colors into rich sapphire blues, deep royal purples, and such incredible beauty of humanness that I got the leaking wellies.
I sat at the back of the sanctuary weeping with the knowledge that someone I listen to, someone I know only through music and a couple of random conversations, was absolutely human just like me. It was a profound moment as I heard him asking his Sister Hawk to teach him, his Brother Whale to teach him. As the concert continued he quoted Carl Sagan that we are “…starstuff contemplating the stars…” It meshed completely with what I tell the children when they don’t feel important. I tell them, “Oh but you are, my dear friend. We are all made of stardust and oceans. If we are all oceans, we fill the world with tears. If we are all stardust, we lose our shine. But if we balance between the both of them, there is no end to whom we can become.”
That moment of his human self felt like an emotional anchor snapped taut, that in that moment, I was breathing the same starstuff as my ancestors, of his, and of everyone in the room. It was incredibly moving to me. He was even gracious after the concert when I told him of how beautiful I felt that was. I gave him an Always Beautiful card I like to share with people who move my spirit. He accepted it. I don’t think I could have gotten any more happy than I felt at that moment. Thank you Universe for arranging the starstuff precisely right tonight.
Me and Peter Mayer after the show.
Again, if you want to learn more about him, visit his webpage at http://www.petermayer.net or look him up on YouTube and you’ll hear why I’m such a fan of such a perfectly kind human being.
I am so excited to go see Peter Mayer tonight. Well, technically I’m working the concert, but that still means I get to benefit by hearing him play live. His lyrics are so rich with imagery, peace, and a feeling of passionate comfort with his spirit.
Peter Mayer is performing in Oak Ridge, TN tonight! WOOT!
When he was here in February, I got to talk to him. I asked him if his lyrics came easily to him. He looked at me as if I’d grown another head. He said it was the hardest part of what he does. He works and reworks the lyrics until they breathe on their own. He was not condescending as he spoke. I described how it feels when I get the poem spark, where the lyrics sing on their own. He spoke warmly with me. I was an instant fan.
I’m sharing two videos with you. One is where the lyrics are so perfect, it made sense to me. If it doesn’t for you, that’s okay, but I hope you’ll give it a listen.
My favorite song by him:
To learn more about this incredibly gifted performer and lyricist, visit his web page so you never have to be out of the know again.
http://www.petermayer.net/news/
I should be painting right now, but I’m staring at the canvases lined up thinking of you instead. I say I don’t think of you, but I do. It’s usually late at night in the silence of a sleeping house. I just get the feeling that if you were here, things would be better. I mean, I know they wouldn’t be, they’d be the same, but I could talk to you about them. I could ask for your wisdom and you’d laugh at me.
“Wisdom isn’t something that can be taught,” You’d laugh. “It has to be learned. The only thing I could possibly do is guide you away from what I’ve already tried that didn’t work.” Then you’d ruffle my hair. I’d act annoyed but I wouldn’t forget.
I look at the canvas and I think, “AHA! I’ll paint you!” Because you were always so beautiful to me. So real that even my own body sometimes felt alien, unkempt, and unruly as I watched you move with grace even though your shoulders were hunched over and you shuffled your feet. I don’t know how to capture everything you meant to me. I don’t know how to not cry when I remember the jokes you told me, how you cheated at cards, your morning prayers, poker with buttons, or sauerkraut making in the basement with the family.
How can I capture the truth of what it felt like to be with you? What it meant to be the most important person in the world in a room full of people with every one of them feeling the same way. You never excluded anyone from your love. You never turned anyone away who came asking, or just to be near you. You were filled with an unending capacity that I strive to achieve because I admired it so much.
I sit here looking at the colors of paints in messy bottles, well loved paint brushes drying after last nights foray, and I wish, I just wish I could hug you again. I wish you could tell me with your heart that you love me too.I wish I could coax the colors to obey my command regarding you. But they sit as still as a stalked mouse with me the pouncing cat. The brushes feel like hammers in my hands, refusing as well to obey.
I feel you sometimes, particularly in the wee hours of the morning. It’s usually when I pour my first cup of coffee from the still brewing pot. I sit down at my table and I look at the spot where my husband and usually the guests sit. I can see you sitting there with your own cup, smiling at me. Together we take that sip and the hot bitter beauty washes my tongue with scalding hot communion. We exhale and whisper the prayer together. Then, you usually go wherever you go while I talk to my ceiling and look to the sky.
My canvas is still blank. My heart remembers you. And for no particular reason, my wish is that you hear my words, “I love you so very much.”
Arizona Sunset Painting
Inspired by this photo taken by Benjamin James of Flagstaff, AZ whose work regularly appears in Flagstaff newspapers.
I keep a pocket full of happiness with me almost always. It contains: two rubber ducks (one yellow with the word Believe on its chest, the other silver), a squishy rubber pig, an alpaca, a scarab beetle, a small handmade book, and a full sized harmonica.
Top Hat Ravioli
I use it to bring smiles to children and adults alike. I change it up sometimes so there are different things, but those are typically the staple items. If you want to see someone smile really big, pull something they’d never expect from your own pocket. Fussy kids? No problem, pull out a rubber pig. Cranky adults? No sweat, a rubber duck usually does the trick. Giving them an unexpected surprise from a stranger’s pocket (that isn’t disgusting or ethically challenging) brings joy which is kind of a trademark of mine.
It’s the Monday after payday and our finances have hit as close to nada as they’ve ever been. The ban on overtime (even the measly four hours my husband would get a week) really hurt. Our groceries came out of that overtime and boy are we feeling it.
I felt a tremendous amount of stress when I went to Pet Supplies to get food for the cats and dogs. The bags of food glared hatefully at me, “You don’t have enough money to feed them and you too.” The prices exclaimed disdainfully. I started to cry. I broke down in the middle of the aisle while my frequent companion, six year old (nearly seven) neighbor Nicholas, was off looking at fish, and a guinea pig he insists is a hamster, and scorpions. I just flat out couldn’t keep my cool.
“How can I afford to feed my cats and dogs and my family.” I bemoaned. Despair washed over me as I tried to do math in my overloaded brain. My little dog Piggy needs to have grain free food. She doesn’t do well if there is grains so tack on another 5 bucks just for not having filler. yay.
One of the young women that worked there disappeared as soon as the tears started. I felt really alone. I picked up a 5 pound bag of food for 12 bucks. I went to the cat food and picked up a 20 pound bag for the same price. Here came the young woman who gave me a five pound bag at just over 10 with no grains in the ingredients. She said she was sorry she couldn’t do more.
When I got into the car, Nicholas said, “Are you in a bad mood today, Mare?”
“No, Nicholas. My heart is just sad because I don’t have many dollars.”
“You know what you need, Mare?” He asked while waving out the window absently.
“No, what do I need.” I asked, impatiently waiting for the light to change. I wanted to be home sulking.
“A pocket full of happiness that has $100 dollars in it.” He said just as matter of factly as if he were telling me the weather.
“Indeed, that would be a happy pocket.” I chuckled. Oh, the wisdom of children. Then I remembered, I get to work for some dollars this weekend as a dishwasher. I’ll have enough. I forgot all about it until he reminded me with happiness.
I promised him a Dunkin Donuts (our favorite) when I have dollars again. He was pleased he made me laugh. I was pleased he prodded me to remember to look forward in hope.
PART II
A Pocket Full of Happiness!
Thank you to whomever left the pocket full of happiness tacked to my door with a nose magnet. The gratitude I feel for this is just magnified. I will obey the command that Nicholas get his doughnuts. Thank you.
I asked Nicholas as he walked up the hill to his home after getting off the school bus, “Guess what I got on my door today?!’
Nicholas was so overjoyed to declare it before I even said anything, he said, “A pocket full of happiness with dollars in it so I get Dunkin Donuts!”
I laughed. “How did you know?”
“I just knew it!” He grinned while swinging his Spiderman (his favorite super hero) backpack from shoulder to shoulder. Man, I sure do love that little kid.
We went to Dunkin Donuts as the instructions commanded. Nicholas had a raspberry cheesecake doughnut, an Oreo cookie cheesecake doughnut, a milk, AND a cinnamon munchkin. I got a small coffee and a chocolate coconut doughnut. I mooed every time Nicholas lifted his milk up over the bag we place in the middle of the table. He laughs hysterically every time. Then he started doing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” on my arms and hair so I screamed playfully.
“YOU SCARED ME!” He said as he dropped his raspberry doughnut splatted on the floor while he farted. While we both bellowed peppery laughter, he declared, “Excuse me!” We laughed even harder than the cows. It really was a pocket full of happiness. Truly, thank you with all sincerity.
Old friends are the ones who holds your secrets tightly.You have come knocking at my door with your basket empty of fruit.
You ask to break bread with me once again, I welcome you with a banquet.
Forgiveness is not necessary when there is a parting of ways with no faults
Things just happened to work out where time apart was required to isolate
Not for feeling alone, but for the seeds to take root, grow, and bloom fully
I offer the platters laden with history, telling each yarn with great verbosity
laughing together, we drink deeply, offer consolation, counsel, connection
We cut cheese (grow up!), melt it onto the bread of reminiscing
our peppered words burning our faces with our shocking youthful antics
I sit lounged in my chair, grateful that the air we share is no longer pungent
It no longer stinks of half-truths, unspoken words, and lost opportunity.
We rip shreds of the layer cake we build with our conversation,
skipping layers of icing, jumping slyly from one inside joke to the next.
We burp satisfaction, of time well spent, appreciated, and honored.
As we rise into the light of a new morning, I escort you out with welcome
for warm and happy returns at your leisure when the need is happenstance.
As I bid you adieu at my doorstep, you turn towards me, arms full of bounty.
We smile the smile of 1,000 lifetimes ago, promising 1,000 more.
This is a painting nearly completed. I want to save the finished product for my art show/Fundraising auction on June 20th in Knoxville, TN.
First hint that it isn’t buildings as my husband guessed they were.
All but the shading and some finishing touches to be made before official display. Kawphy Brewed will be the title when it’s completed.
Those who want the world to stop burning must first realize that it’s on fire.
Quit selling me your Jesus. Who is thick with thorns?
Don’t bleed your justification while the poor you scorn
Don’t tell me that my color is wrong, that a prison is a matter of fact
When you took away our baseball gloves and gave us baseball bats
Don’t tell me that I need to work, that I’m just a lazy bum
When you sent my job to the Philippines while calling me black scum
Don’t tell me to step up and be a father, when you took mine when I was seven
My mama couldn’t take care of me, she wept “He is watching me from heaven.”
But she believed in the Jesus you sold her that burns like a cross in my yard
She counted prayers and sang the hymns while my brothers lives are scarred
Quit telling me that I love my forty that dims the daily grind
Quit telling me I’m worthless so why should you educate my mind?
Don’t tell me that you value me just to get my vote you take away
You love me about as much as a crack baby born every day
You took away the healthcare to let my people suffer
While praising God and Jesus, filling up your coffers
You spend our money on bars and chains instead of buying books
You take away from teachers and schools, entertaining disdaining looks
Quit selling me your Jesus who is thick covered with your angry words thrown
While wearing the cross you put on your own back, you’re reaping what you’ve sewn.
Get high in a different way than you’d expect.
Set the clock to zero, forget everything you know
Remember nothing, even your name forgo
Do not look back or check your phone
Leave all gadgets at your home
Wear sturdy shoes and soft socks or boots
Pack a jug of water, nuts and dried fruits
Close up your house, cover mirrors, and lock the doors
Throw your keys away, there’s a world to explore.
No air conditioning to make your lungs thick
No constant hum of electricity keeping live the sick
Disconnect from society to find your humanity
Remember natural laws like seek shelter, find gravity
Feel the blades that you walk on give way to the leaves
Heed the chuckle of streams, find the wisdom of trees
Catch the warmth of the sun, the chill of the night
Greet the symphony with no conductor in sight
Feel the life that is living, not taken for granted
Step the rocks, conquer hills, and climb up the branches
Until you’re told by the clouds, wander near or traverse far,
But do not presume that you know who you are.
Your understanding of how the world works
Has been made up of lies, explained by idiots and jerks.
They know nothing, but you soon will
If you learn to listen to the earth’s active still.
An Independent Nondiscriminatory Platform With No Religious, Political, Financial, or Social Affiliations - FOUNDED 2014
Life is a patchwork of moments — laughter, solitude, everyday joys, and quiet aches. Through scribbled stories, I explore travels both far and inward, from sunrise over unfamiliar streets to the comfort of home. This is life as I see it, captured in ink and memory. Stick around; let's wander together.
Hosanna High Community Burial Project
True wealth is the wealth of the soul
Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
Life as an American poet of excellence
Epic fantasy & military sci-fi author.
Love Letters to the Tar Pit
Making Space for Dreams
binge thinking and other things in life
Mare Martell 