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Indigo Vales

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Indigo Vales

Monthly Archives: May 2016

The Goddess Is Faithful

27 Friday May 2016

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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evolving, poem, woman

She sits crosslegged in darkened dunes

Mute silhouette with chisel in hand

Tapping at her granite womb, eggs grains of sand

Obsidian thoughts, malachite memories

Garnetsforblood,  a geode soul

Yours for the breaking and the taking.

 

The temple of sorrows she built is falling

falling is fearsome and lonely but

She wants flower thoughts now

Like the wildish ones growing in grassy dunes

Calling creeping ivy up her spine, twining about her neck

Orchids unfold in her lap

Poppies for eggs, rose petal memories,

Honeysuckle bleeding, blackberries with thorns in her soul

Stone and succulent vie for her life on the sand.

She takes root and waits knowing the word is at hand,

And she is

Beautiful in the eye of the honeybee.

Neuro

21 Saturday May 2016

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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human, memory, survival

Songstress, encyclopedic, in the pine treetop; she doesn’t know a single song, yet she recites them all.

A hard rain came in, slanted, and the pine tree where the mockingbird sang dripped fat raindrops, and I fell in love. I opened my apartment door to let in the damp light and the song. The winds blew waves one way this morning and another this afternoon. I brought home artifacts I don’t understand, and that’s okay. Sometimes you don’t hafta understand. It just is.

I read and read and read today, but my eyes kept looking at the tab that said “Edit–Saving A Life.”  I wrote my morning pages in dim light, took care of my home, edited a few words and phrases, but this piece is in no way ready or done. It’s all just socks and sweaters  hanging on the line, not a fine outfit tailored to my body, to my time. I’ve had a lot of input recently, and I question the output. I question everything these days but the mockingbird does not.  I spy a nest on a branch and wonder whose it is. I wonder who will take care of G, the once-neighbor, the now-outcast because he dealt and does drugs, kicked out of his home, the one who needs the most help I will not approach because from experience, if I do, he will never be gone.  And everyone knows it. So we treat him like leper for fear of disrupting our normal fairly-happy selves. I am torn. What does that say about me and my so-called faith?  And us. We are wired for survival. Comfort and pleasure comes later. When did pleasure become more powerful than survival–or is it equal?  The pleasure of warm food at the end of the day, cold water on a parched tongue after a dusty hike?  Why is the exchange of thoughts, ideas, hypotheses as satisfying as a warm meal at days end? How long will I remember the mockingbird’s song, the view from that mountain, anything at all? Where do I keep the memory and the curiousity and need to share her body in the tree?  I don’t know.

And that’s okay.

Gulls Fishing

16 Monday May 2016

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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choice, cycles, woman

Does it all begin with waking up with an eye to the sun and giving thanks for a nice long stretch in a warm house with good food and nice neighbors? Gratitude? Does it all begin with writing down everything I’m thinking since the night transpired (dreamless, again) sorting emotions like seeds into baskets and weeds on a pile for compost? Perhaps it all begins with visualizing what I want, what I believe can be.

I don’t know where it began, or begins, and maybe that’s not what’s most important, but writing it down sure is. I began the day in the usual way with a mug of lukewarm coffee and a walk on the beach, but then I changed the plan: the air was still and the sun quite warm for that hour of morning so I went back in the house, collected my stuff (camera, binoculars, pens, journal, phone) and gave myself the best morning. Had a nice text with my son, too!  Then I settled in to… settling in. Just watching a gull catch a fish in the lowering tide for once. They never seem to catch what they dive in for, but she got it this time! I cheered for her. I watched pleasurecraft, container ships, and crab boats go by. Dog walkers, a jogger, and met my favorite neighbor and we chatted for a while.  In between, the writing. The sorting. Listing my choices. In this becalmed state I believed that right now I can choose what to feel and believe, what to give, what to hold on to or let go. Writing down my choices helped me visualize the outcome of each. Last week I chose to deal with my flow on the beach instead of curled up on the couch, and you know what? The distraction was quite helpful.

I don’t know if it will happen every day; it might just be a coincidence. It might just be that I’m at the end of a hormonal low and now the light is looking better.  It might be coincidence that since I chose breath over breath-holding, fruit instead of cheese and crackers, walking instead of folding over, writing instead of reading the same old story, can it be true that the birds are singing louder? That Johnny Cash is playing outside my window? That new life arrived two doors down, and I was allowed to be a teeny part of welcoming him home? Can it be coincidence that I feel good today, good enough to keep writing and not give up on what a life can be?  Did I write it, believe it, hope and good vibe it into being?

What the fuck else am I gonna write into being?  Oh, mama, that’s a scary.  And I wanna go there!

Learning First Person

12 Thursday May 2016

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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evolving, woman

When is it too cold to put my feet in the ocean? When is it too hot to go outside?

When did I outgrow that dance move, and why do weeks go by before I hear my own voice sing–or speak?

Is it ever inappropriate to drink wine from a blue tin cup or eat an entire chocolate bar, lick by lick, ‘stead of bite by bite, hell bent on not sharing it at all?

When will I stop explaining and disclaiming my work with “well, you know, my childhood was painful,” then dismantling it all before a better truth can ignite?

Oh, everything is by degrees. What was pain in my youth isn’t so troubling now. What were those things I feared, the musician I hated, the heart I loved, all changed by degrees–wisdom by degrees–they’re in their proper place now. I suppose I’ve substituted some of my fears for others, but they are not equal: I stand in the rush of oncoming tidal waters and I feel a herd of horses run through my chest. (Is it fear of being swept away or just the fear that I am in love with the ocean?)  I sleep through storms now because I gave my fear to someone else to worry for me. Most of my fears are negotiable these days, existing, manageably.

Roller coaster? Hornets? Get published?  Oh now there’s some walls of resistance. My feet are in warm sand, my body rests on a lush navy blue beach towel, journal perched on my knees as I contemplate. I write until it’s too dark to write. I think about my perfect life (walls of resistance included) then compare my fears to those who suffer everywhere. It humbles me, a reminder of all the things I take for granted. I gain perspective.  There are people in the world who don’t have time to be afraid of the tide–they’re too busy trying to reach the shore and save their lives. I’m not saving my own life here, I’m just nursing my procrastination habit. Every time I drag my heels a demon gets her wings, so what’s it gonna be,  Krissy Teen?

Fear. Pain. Emotions. Challenges. Degrees. Perspective. Focus.  Breathe. Receive. Let Go. Give.  Write. Write. Write.

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