Phoenix the Zen Master

My daughter Phoenix has a new habit of explaining herself by not explaining herself beyond the measure of what she seeks. What I mean by this is she'll say "I want a ponytail because I want a ponytail," or "may I have milk because I want milk?" Her lack of qualifying is somewhat refreshing, and it has me thinking--do we justify our needs and wants too much? (Not only to others but to ourselves as well.) Of course the WHY of things is important, but I find her method akin to some kind of Zen detachment, not in the sense that she is seeking to detach from worldly desires, but that she is unstained by thought, which is the hallmark of Buddhist philosophy. She wants something because she wants something = it is because it is. Anyone who knows Phoenix is aware of the fact that she is happy and spunky and light. She's always the life of the party, she's the spark wherever she goes. And maybe part of that is because she doesn't dwell in justifications--she just is and she is unashamed about that. And so I'm thinking maybe we should spend less time analyzing and qualifying and a bit more time just being--for no other reason than that we are.

Humor Me

I don't know about you, but these long cold winter days are taking their toll. I am fresh out of ideas on how to entertain myself these days. I've done everything there is to do in this part of Iowa in this stage of winter. I like living where there are 4 seasons, and winter for me is a restorative time, a time to settle in and let things marinate. But the extra bitter cold air that has kept us indoors longer than usual has made me restless for something...anything to splice through the monotony of doing the same thing every day. Since it's still zero degrees and I don't have a sauna and the 10 day forecast isn't much better, I decided the only thing I can do is laugh. Did you know the average 4 year old laughs 300 times a day, while the average 40 year old laughs a mere 4 times? So I'll be perusing youtube comedy clips like the one posted here. Enjoy!

Wolf Parade - Modern World (OFFICIAL VIDEO)

I'm Still Here

My absence on here is due to the fact that I've been picking up extra work--scoring essays for the SAT as well as scholarship essays for a local college. And when I'm not reading essays, running the household, parenting, taking care of the dog, getting the house ready to sell, looking for a new home, and exercising, I'm spending the rest of my time with Matt. We are working towards our future together. So right now I'm in the limbo phase again. Come to think of it, I am often in this transitional state. I don't feel like I have ever settled down. I went from graduating from Simpson College to graduate school at Minnesota State University. And then it was on to Iowa City for two years while Derek was in school, before moving to Green Bay--which was to be a 2 year stint and turned into 5. 3 years ago we moved to Des Moines. And then the separation and divorce. I've never felt like I have lived in a place where I can actually set down some roots, where I can plant apple and pear and cherry trees. I wonder--does anyone actually ever feel settled if the only constant is change? At what age do we feel moored to something? I do know one thing--I am ready to plant, ready to settle in with Matt. Maybe this is why hitherto for I've been unsettled. Maybe this is why for years my writing has been plagued with a sense of longing. I was waiting for him. Since we have been together things seem to have just fallen into place, so much so that it honestly feels like our togetherness was crafted by some universal plan. And then these little occurrences happen to solidify that magical feeling--last week Matt was talking with an older gentleman who recommended the readings of Immanuel Kant. And last night he and his daughter Ella were over and Phoenix had gone to my bookcase and randomly pulled out my one and only Kant book and set it on the sofa. Why did she choose that book out of hundreds? And why did she place it alone on the sofa where Matt would easily see it and tell me that Kant's works were just recommended to him? I flipped open the book and read the first line that appeared, which was about how our happiness is a moral law. One of my favorite quotes by Kant is "Morality is not the doctrine of how we may make ourselves happy, but how we may make ourselves worthy of happiness." Maybe all this time I've just been working on my personal growth to make myself worthy. We'll be starting our garden soon, I hope.

"AT LAST" + Lyrics ETTA JAMES - Original Version

...for Matt. His daughter Ella sings an uncanny version of this song but since I don't have a video of her singing this original will have to do. Happy Valentine's day from me and these two lovelies...

Brewing Coffee

I like my coffee dark--the color of black dirt, dark as bald eagle feathers. Several scoops of ground coffee beans go into a single cup. But I notice this--while the steaming water is dripping from its marriage with the grounds it appears pale and tea-like. Every time I think it isn't going to be dark enough for my taste, but yet every time when it all comes together in the end it is just right. How is it possible that those pale drips become a dark cup? It hit me this morning--how the simple act of brewing coffee is akin to trust, to holding to what we envision, to our dreams. Dreams very rarely happen overnight--they are the accumulation of our daily actions and intent. And every good intent no matter how small will build, will become the eventual. Just because you can't see it right now doesn't mean that it isn't happening. We just need to trust that these small things will become the larger thing we are working toward. We just have to hold out. And the opposite is true--think how this applies to pollution. Picture a factory polluting a nearby stream--they may have you believe that their pollutants are minuscule but in reality they accumulate over time. They do harm. Their toxins touch every living thing in those waters. So today I'm thinking this--no matter how small. No matter how small we must be positive.

A Poem On A Monday

I shed a lot of tears yesterday--not because I was sad, but because my heart felt so full and so thankful and I was simply overwhelmed with the feel of it. It was as if the universe bloomed there. I always imagined to love someone was to to feel encapsulated--a box in your chest. But having met Matt, I feel only expansion. Too vast to name. All I can say is that I feel incredibly lucky. And I can think of no other poet than the passionate Pablo Neruda who can give words to that feeling...

Always

Facing you
I am not jealous.

Come with a man
at your back,
come with a hundred men in your hair,
come with a thousand men between your bosom and your feet,
come like a river
filled with drowned men
that meets the furious sea,
the eternal foam, the weather.

Bring them all
where I wait for you:
we shall always be alone,
we shall always be, you and I,
alone upon the earth
to begin life.

And here's a passage from his poem titled "Epithalamium":

...
On the walls the climbing vines
murmured letting
dark leaves fall
as we passed.
You too were a little leaf
that trembled on my chest.
Life's wind put you there.
At first I did not see you: I did not know
that you were walking with me,
until your roots
pierced my chest,
joined the threads of my blood,
spoke through my mouth,
flourished with me.
Thus was your inadvertent presence,
invisible leaf or branch,
and suddenly my heart
was filled with fruits and sounds.
You occupied the house
that darkly awaited you
and then you lit the lamps.

A Selfless Act

I've said it before and I'm repeating it now--I've been blessed to know some really great people. Andy Rosendahl, a friend of mine from my Green Bay years, is a testament to that fact. Think back to your 20s. Imagine if your one-time boss became ill and, it turned out, needed a kidney transplant in order to live. Would you do the test to find out if your kidney was a match, and if it was, would you offer to donate this piece of you? That is exactly what Andy did. The surgery was held this week and thankfully everything has gone smoothly. Andy took a few walks just hours after the surgery was complete, and Cheryl, the recipient of his gift, was told her new kidney is functioning well. I imagine Andy is filling those hospital hallways with his infectious laugh, that his genuine and almost constant smile is making him the top stop among the nurses. His gentle nature and humor has no doubt played a large part in the success of the surgery. Andy--here's to you and your kindness. Here's to your big heart. Not only are are a gift to Cheryl, and in turn her husband and son and extended family and friends and so on, you are truly a gift to the world... Love you!

Space

I like to give my kids the experience of space, be it buildings or downtown or prairie or wooded. Yesterday we took up space in the Iowa State Capital building. They were awed by the architecture and murals and marble, by the sheer largeness of it all. So they're too young to truly grasp the meaning of state politics, but you're never too young or old to just simply appreciate space. And it's a grand place...

 Inside the gold dome.

 They did a lot of this.

 Our favorite space was the 5 story library.

 Here's the view from the library.

 We lunched at zombie burger afterwards. The Pittsburger is my new favorite.

 Zombie face.

Cute buns and boots walking in the shadows.

A Poem On A Monday

My absence on here has been due to the fact that I've been scoring essays for the SAT test so what little spare time I have is spent working. One more week to go. In the meantime, here are two poems to start the week off. (And RIP Phillip Seymore Hoffman. I loved him in every movie of his that I saw. A true master.)

The Real Work

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,

and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.

The impeded stream is the one that sings.

by Wendell Berry

Kissing a Horse

Of the two spoiled, barn-sour geldings
we owned that year, it was Red—
skittish and prone to explode
even at fourteen years—who’d let me
hold to my face his own: the massive labyrinthine
caverns of the nostrils, the broad plain
up the head to the eyes. He’d let me stroke
his coarse chin whiskers and take
his soft meaty underlip
in my hands, press my man’s carnivorous
kiss to his grass-nipping upper half of one, just
so that I could smell
the long way his breath had come from the rain
and the sun, the lungs and the heart,
from a world that meant no harm.

by Robert Wrigley