ANGEL AND BELOVED

ANGEL & BELOVED

5 0 0 Wo r d L o v e L e t t e r s part I

w/ no editor

they can go plant a tree

Christie Angelo and David Washer met on a Dating Site. Before they met each other in person, they shared some of each other’s writings. David had just finished a story and asked Christie if she would be interested in reading it. She loved it and asked David if he would like to read something she had written. He of course said yes. And He loved it. They like to say it was love at first read. After their second date David asked Chirsite if she would like to participate in a challenge.

Oh yes said Angel I love challenges.

Let’s write each other 500 words. Just write no worries about editing and send them to each other. Beloved was worried she’d think him crazy.

Oh that sounds like an amazing challenge!! Angel was excited.

And so the did just that. (see no editor) The following is the first month... New moon to new moon. We didn’t plan that. We just be magic and so it just happened like that....

The second month will be forthcoming.

The Stories that we shared with each other in the beginning are at the end of this first cycle.

3-1-17

I WOULD MAKE BETTER DOOR THAN A WINDOW I don’t know much. Someone recently wondered if English was my second language — and I have an accent that implies a lesser then intelligence quotient so you’ll have to stumble through this piece and maybe roll your eyes a few times.

I don’t worry about editing — my editor — let’s call her Marsha, is a bitch. If I let that cunt get in the way I would never finish a single thought so Marsha is not allowed into my space. I’m not for everyone.

I might know something about something — maybe about walls and the cages we put ourselves in. About sadness and disappointment and loneliness. I know a thing or two about grief. I know that I want to know more and more and more about love.

We have walls that we create ourselves with great dramatic flourish — like when you’re riding the 43 Masonic (see I did it — I paid attention to grammar - your is not correct but it’s what I wanted to write but I caught it because English is actually my only language — usted esta’). You put up the — I am way too cool for you wall and slink down, pull your leather up a little higher then normal and put on your headphones — don’t fuck with me, no eye contact, sunglasses if possible. DO NOT TALK TO ME ASSHOLE. Then there are the walls you put up when you don’t really mean it but it just happens like when someone calls you fat or tells you that you have beautiful eyes.

You know your (insert eye roll) not fat and that you do indeed have the most amazing eyes but you just put

that wall up because one way or another it’s going to hurt. You look into your own eyes sometimes late at night — you force yourself to look — I forgive you — and you can see everything — the little tide pools of soft white bellies. Those soft white underthings need protection. They don’t even have an exoskeleton or a leg to stand on. Someone could just come along and call them fat and that would be it — like putting salt on a snail.

So you spend years avoiding eye contact with people or with your own reflection. Men call out to you “smile!” “what’s wrong honey — can’t smile?” “Bitch!” Eyes down, pull your jacket up. Walk faster. Get home. Lock the door.

The years go by. You learn things. You relax a little. You start making eye contact with people. Things happen.

Walls fall away. You learn to love and be free and throw your head back and laugh. Sometimes you even forget your sunglasses and someone calls out to you “your smile is amazing!” and you laugh and say “thank you”.

You glow and sparkle and dance.

Then something happens in the blink of an eye and you are living inside a fortress — a castle made of grief and pain with no mote — no drawbridge — no access to the outside world. No one will ever understand anyway so why let them try.

And then you meet someone and something thaws. The sun seems a little sunnier and the birds a little chirpier.

You make eye contact with yourself in the mirror and you think, huh — you really do have beautiful eyes.

3-1-17

WILD GEESE GOOGLE IT He cried sitting next to a person he only just knew She told him her stories about miracles and thunder and candles, about her loss and her grief, her mother her heart and a wound that could not heal but baby steps, comforting comforting such a touching place to hold together they looked into each others eyes and ate Mexican food for breakfast There was a poem she shared, google it haha wild geese and where a world calls itself to your imagination it dropped them both to their knees crushed under such weight but a glimmer of hope of recognition eating guacamole and huevos coffee and sweet witty remarks not on best behavior just real always be real behavior which is the best behavior

The both cried that morning it felt so good to be that vulnerable spoons and coffee in the morning the table next to them drinking beer at 10:00 am He knew they were falling in love at that moment.

It made him so happy, a miracle as if candles were dancing in the dark. she emailed him her letter instead a misunderstanding of one of your rules she said bitterly He stuttered and said something else He felt misunderstood The connection was lost and she said her phone was dead and would call tomorrow and that the feeling of love just made her feel vulnerable and she was sad and was was was and could not say anymore.

She didn’t have the words to say what she needed to say He didn’t have the wisdom to make her feel whole again The miracle in a moment burst into flames of red flags of misunderstanding

They both agreed She had a way of just leaning into to him as if she knew him for years as if she his daughter as if she were alway his lover always would be his partner.

He said lets write something to read to each other when we see each other next… felt so romantic made him miss him miss his girl so much but the blue eye beauty instead made him cry the thought that two people who believe in the faith allows them to hold love like that candle floating candle as the lights go out and Michael and Phoebe and Teresa and Loukas all surround their hearts Creating their own miracle a story to recount.

(This is where you face book texted me and the last two hours we unraveled our hearts and wound strings around our bodies and pulled on the sleeves of our sweaters watching the yarn fall at our feet removing our covers…

Life is not always about miracles and magic but looking each other in the eye and saying what needs to be said… you did that tonight. We will learn we will learn…)

.

The angels said it is okay… you are here to love each other. We will bless you and watch over you as we are glad you found each other

In the end they found their center… it was their first kiss their first moment of that kind of argument that lovers see if they are real or not.

The angels came to the rescue. Said okay… we see your love, we see your vulnerable hearts.

You have mastered the first test. There will be others, but now you have loved and you have learned how to lean into love when love is not just magic and tears but can also be barbs and words of truth that may hurt to hear, but must be heard.

3-2-17

THE EIGHT OF WANDS The girl was born in a cage. For years she just huddled in the corner — no sense in dreaming since dreams could not come true. Why even try? As the years rolled on she started to explore the cage. One day she stood up and walked over to the door and peeked out over the edge — she saw a sheer cliff wall and rolling hills with trees and down below the rooftops of a little village. She could hold on to the bars and peek out over the side and see colors — the greens and golds of the trees — they would change as the sun moved through the sky.

She began to dream at night on the cold cage floor. The dreams were vivid and the colors were magnificent. She was flying through the sky — out and over the tree tops of green and gold and down to the village. She could see the people in their homes eating dinner by candle light. They had conversations about mathematics and farming and tending to the animals. She peered through their windows and flew past their doorways. When she woke up in the morning the dreams didn’t go away. She continued the dreaming, eyes wide open and had adventures. In dreams she was dancing — twirling and whirling around and around the hard wood floor — her shoes scraping and making little noises and the whisk whisk of her skirts. Her hair flew free and whipped around her head as she danced and danced with a fine looking man huge grins on their faces. And the music.

One day she woke up in the cage on the cold stone floor and walked over to the door. She reached out for the bars to lean out over the edge and they vanished. She simply had to step over the threshold and she was free. But she didn’t do that — she just huddled back in the corner — her eyes open and went back into the dream.

3-2-17

SHE TOLD ME SHE LOVED ME She told me she loved me. So many times that word has scared me. So many times that word has scared me. I love to love I love to fall in love I love the romance of love I love that feeling of just loving to love and breathing in the air and listening to birds sing and the warm air on my face, sun in my eyes, wind moving leaves in the trees with a wishing rushing sound I love that with my open heart. I open my arms and say love it all. I run down the beach and cry in the sand and say love. I stare at the cliffs and think of her falling and say how I still love and the pain still wraps around my stomach and the love aches but it grows even larger. I love my father who was so angry at thanksgiving but his soft words could barely be whispered that he loved me as he hung up. I have been loved by love that has been wounded and the love has felt like a noose around neck. I’ve been loved by people who have lost something and don’t know what it was and they just need to say I love you as it gives them a place… so many times I’ve heard the word love love love…. so many times it has tricked me into believing in love, in the words, in the heart, in the healing wound, in the work in progress love, in the saving my life out of love, in helping hands, in digging ditches, in doing the work, in the process in the hate in the bed singing hallelujah…

But all that all that I just want to put it down. Lay it to rest. Say I have seen love and I still believe… but I want to turn it myself and the woman I love inside out outside in… I want to make love my new religion. My new hope.

My new meditation. I want the inspiration. I want the sex that brings the spirit into our bodies. I want the sex that catapults us out our bodies and into stars and galaxies. I want the fantasy and I want the play. The dinners and the candles…

But really really

I want to look in the person’s eyes and see them. I want them to look into my eyes and they see me. I want us to know and to believe.

I have found someone who believes in this. Someone who knows the magic of this world and knows the dark corners. Someone who can see me. trusts that I am the good man, the great man that she has been looking for.

And she sees me seeing her…

Yes in these great minds we find anguish and and uncertainty… these minds are not always supple, but they are tender and open… as they are connected to the heart… connected to the spirit.

And that is fucking hot. I love her so much.

I believe in it again.

She has found me.

I though I was not worthy.

But now I believe I am and that is all the difference in what love truly is.

I am worthy of this amazing woman I love. I will not disappoint myself.

She will know that And this is the love that will change the world

3/3/17

THINGS JUST CLING TO KNOTTED BACKS

She couldn’t sleep — how could someone sleep with the weight of the entire angel kingdom and love and everything that is good and sweet pushing down on her. How could this be happening — that he wasn’t who she thought he was, who she wanted. There was need but she didn’t want to admit that part yet.

And the cage waited for her. It was safe and cold and demanded nothing. It demanded nothing.

and frightening she was left numb with grief.

There is his story and her story and somewhere in the middle lies the truth. And me. I’m there in the middle, in a place I never wanted to be — so the cage calls to me. I am longing to go back. To nothing. Go back to nothing and everything will be as it should be. How could he even ask her to stay?

I want someone who is free to love me. Whose stories are told to me by him and not someone She couldn’t sleep even though her eyes were sore from his past. The past packs a heavy suitcase of and tired and her back hurt from the weight of it all. She had hoped for someone to come along and dysfunction and ugliness. I can not carry it. How ease it a little, maybe shift it a little to the left so she could the sun and the moon and the stars want this for me? How do I get out of this, go back — get could stand up straight or offer to carry her — oh wouldn’t that be lovely to be carried for a while. But away. he was flawed. How could that be? How could the I am in the cage now but it doesn’t fit anymore. It universe want this for her — do this to her, expect doesn’t comfort me with it’s cold blank nothingness. her to be accepting of all these horrific flaws. She only asked for everything and now it seemed like all I know what I want and what I need and it isn’t nothingness. There is a longing inside me — to be she would ever have was nothing. carried and held and seen.

Run! The messages said. He is a terrible man — he will hurt you and lie to you and manipulate you She has a magic pussy. It comes from the sun and and give you horrible diseases and you will end up with nothing. The night was cut short by the the moon and the stars. pleadings by a tantrum so unbelievable immature

3/3/17

FALLING

Poignant though it may seem it remains a simple fact and one so basic it is often overlooked or when it is recognized there is such an array of emotions, uninhibited excitement, even profound joy that we begin to believe in things we’ve never imagined, notice things we never before saw.

It is not magic. It is not synchronicity. It is not angels smiling down upon us. It is not wonder or grace or the fairy magic. It is not the movement of the stars and the time you were born. ( I was born 6-3-55 in the town of orange at 6:00pm). It is not numbers, nor the Chinese new years. It is not how things happen in threes. It is not the power of prayer. It is not kum bi ya. It is not powerful plant medicines handed down by a thousand years. It is not a miracle.

I take a small breath. The moon sliver is orange and it’s cup is facing up and centers between me and the door. I take another breath. And feel thankful and open. I feel centered in my world for this one moment. So many wonderful things open before me. So many opportunities. So many smiles. All along the road there is sadness and chaos and confusion and rage and rants and marches and calling senators… and I walk there also. Yet in this moment. The network of threads attach so delicately I feel like all the stars and all the sands and all the microscopic mysylium surround my body like an electric glowing shield. Yet it is also just a night with this new moon.

It is not that 8.5 years ago I had been dropped from an airplane free falling to earth without a parachute.

Without wings. Without notice.

There is a shift in the world tonight. There is a world and it is filled with magic and wonder and angels and fairy and love and light and all the pieces that I never could have imagined. These 8 years of falling falling falling have been the insanity and the sins and daggers of a life time….

And here I am with all this around me. It is in every breath. it is not anything other than in each breath I take.

When I kiss her now…. It is in each kiss. Making love is no longer about my orgasm or going to some new place of arousal. The stars and stings wrap us in their golden embrace.

I wake up with joy and there is a fox in my window.

I go deep into meditation on the sorrow of our world and there is a bob cat. this morning I miss her there is family of quail and one male watching the same view from my chair. I write a song and listen and the coyotes sing.

My world is filled with particles and light. My world is magic, yet it is just me and my friends. Me and this falling falling falling… When will I ever land?

Still falling

3/4/17

XVII THE STAR Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy. — Eskimo proverb The Star She is the star. The messenger of hope -holding her hands out to welcome all that want to come within. She holds the key to faith. She is the muse. She has a magic pussy. She is the oasis of peace and love and happiness. She is not a goddess or an actress or anything really — but for you she is the Star. The light that illuminates all that is good within you — all that you really truly are — without your ego and your petty addictions and your drama. She is faith. Faith in all that is good and sweet and kind and loving — a soft place to lay your head and feel the warmth that radiates from her very essence. She is the comfort that you crave. That you deserve. She is love. Recognize her — see her. Give her everything and she will illumine you with a greatness you have never even imagined. Allow her to shine for you.

When we are born we are given a seed — the seed of death — that slow march towards completion. Creation gives birth to destruction and destruction gives birth to creation and around and around the Ouroborus eating his own tail — no end and no beginning. Where do we begin and end as lovers? There is no beginning and no end to love if it is truly love. Nothing to gain, no material wealth — nothing to control and manipulate and punch in the stomach. It simply is. It lies within us waiting to be released.

At the end the ego exposes itself — the cage loses it’s meaning and riddled with regret and illusions all falls away. The lies are revealed and everything we thought we knew on this Earth — everything we worked for and saved for and did and had done to us falls away. All will become black and empty and there is just a light — the beacon of truth. That is the star. That is her. She will guide you home. It is in this pit of darkness and despair that the star shines it’s brightest. I am the star. Follow me home. I have a magic pussy.

You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star — Nietzsche

3/4/17

STILL FALLING If men gave birth then this is the kind of falling could be such a thing. That rag doll may tag washing machine slapping and wrapping body parts and heart strings and psychic muscles pulled in all directions. pushed off the top of the building the windows rushing by like a waterfall of opportunities and meaningless smudges. His human body dropping dropping dropping, dancing like a clown, stumbling like a long legged paper-mache puppet.

Some kind of puddle of confusion and sadness propped up like a man who knows something. How easy it is to have life takes a small toothpick and massive dominoes drop endlessly, how easy is it to have a life taken and your life disappears and is pressed down into the earth till being is blinded by grief and all you want to do is get a breath of air and touch your feet on the ground for one small moment. How easy to be removed from what you once loved. how do you replace it. falling falling. Praying for. One small piece of grace where the gnawing in your stomach stops and you say… yes I feel at peace. I can push out the baby now. But it starts over again.

or delicate or strong before. It is transcendental. She is mystery. She knows she is the magic. But only smiles back quiet answers.

For a moment they dance. He pull her close and stiffen.

Magic body parts, bodies body pushing up against moist skin. Sliding inside it. Deeply penetrating the facade of each other’s cage and into another world that is past the dream and into a place that hold no definitions. They move through all the layers of sense of selves. Releasing the shrouds and tangents, all the past mistakes, all the disappointments, all the wounds. All the meaningless voices. Just for that moment. They are starlight. They are dream makers. They are purity.

It is her dream that he has awoken in. It is his arms that has held her when she has stepped across the threshold.

Does he believe in the Cinderella story.? She gets her manni-pedi and tells him her feet are perfect. he holds it in his hand and wonders is this truly her. He kisses her There are moment of grace, there are moments of surfing toe. licks her pussy. Yes this slipper fits. She has another large waves of ideas, philosophy, art, building, creating, orgasm. friends, lovers, but still it is tossing and turning in a dream state. May tagged coming up for air. gulp and Lightening bolts appear as if the Gods that were smiling then sucked back down and in. Rest for a moment at have a sudden flurry of doubt. Or perhaps a sudden sunset and watch the stars come out. But still the cycle is desire to purge the past completely and do so with a swift one of falling falling. and merciless cut of the knife. She has already retreated back to the cage even before the unfair truths bombard In one of her dreams he is there waiting for her. He pops the new lovers in romantic dream land with poignant out of the cycle of nonsense. Stands in a fertile ground. shrapnel perpetuated by a wounded animal’s rage and Surrounded by a clear night sky with a orange new moon rancor. facing upwards like a small tea cup. A cage different than hers. Hers is one to retreat to. His is one that is like They both are flailing, failing, falling, running to find strangling octopus tentacles where turmoil creates foggy their cages. His myopic cage of gauze and her the borders, boundaries are shifting sands. Think to move chamber of isolation… both are gone. The gods and outside, but still a wall right there, it has reformed itself angels do not scoff, they say you are free the cages no as something else. He watches her come dancing from longer exist. You are naked. We have bound you. Hands out of the stars. Shooting star! she exclaims and then fastened. She wants to run, he feels shame and remorse. shouts. I see one I am one.! Barefoot, light and cheerful.

They have landed where there is no longer falling falling.

Light bounces off her laughing face, her cheeks like soft They begin counting days one at a time. There is a path rose petals, her eyes full of turquoise. The words come and they walk towards it. out in a playful way but listen closely as they are knitted together with terse insights that are not masked with ego nor irony. A pureness. A purrness. Nothing ever so real

I am not proud of the quality of this writing - I need to go a little deeper here but this is what came out this morning in the 4 minutes I had before going to the city. I have to think a little bit more about her - she wasn’t just clothing and perfume...that doesn’t feel right but when you are a little kid that is what you see.

3/5/17

NELL MILICH GNESA I hail from great beauty. My Grammy Nell — yanked out of the 5th grade and forced to work on the family farm for wearing lipstick to school. She was a great beauty - perfection. Today I took a Grammy bath — with her bubbles and soap and cosmetics. I wear her red Channel lipstick and carry her Prada purse in her honor. I wear Guerlain Eaux Cologne Du Perfumeur dabbed behind both ears and between my breasts. Grammy appreciated a good décolletage — it was from her I learned to unbutton an extra button and wear the most expensive lace bra you can afford — let it peak out — it is ok to be a woman. When people tell me “you missed a button” I look at them like they just farted. You are a peasant, I think to myself - you know nothing about love and fashion and being a woman.

at the end of the day — and Grammy in her silk pajamas and blonde curls and lipstick. I love her dearly.

Grammy sent things back at restaurants — I would NEVER do that — she would bat her eyelashes and cock her head to the side and ask the waiter at Boulevard “could you put this back on the fire for a lick sweetie?” “Sweetie could you get me a different wine this one is not what I expected” and they would. Grammy wore bright yellow coats and red shoes and whatever the fuck she wanted to wear because she knew her power — she embodied the divine feminine — she created the life she wanted. She deserved it. She met a wonderful man, a gentle man that looked like a movie star and treated her like a Queen. Leo was the man she deserved — he loved her so much and she loved him - the called us from the airport on Today I will wrap myself in her black wool wrap with the the way to Italy - “Oh Hi sweetie - Leo and I got married!” big gold rings and I will glide into the restaurant demanding - they just got married - alone in a church in Carmel. They attention as she did — oh Grammy you are magnificent. love each other tremendously until he took his last breath What a creature of pleasure. and was buried in Arlington. Grammy rests in Arlington She was very sexy but never trashy - sexy without trying too —missing him every single day for the rest of her life. I too hard, just being who she really was - the Aphrodite in long to go there and see them together again. I long for a the room. She wore silk blouses and beautifully tailored love like theirs. It was my one and only example of a solid pants and lots of very creative jewelry. Her jewelry was marriage that I ever witnessed. not your standard channel strand or something from Tiffany’s — that is expected. She wore art pieces — bold Today we go to Scalas in San Francisco — we will order pieces. She took risks. She left her alcoholic husband and a glass of white wine — send it back and get a different moved to Carmel — demanding the life that she wanted to one — we will order the ravioli with half red sauce and live. I overheard her say “that drunk wouldn’t dare drive half lemon creme sauce like Grammy always did. We will the Altamont pass!” — she was safe tucked into an amazing order all the desserts on the menu and have 2 bites each. beach front home - my Grammy left her mess of a husband Celebration of life. Yes — we celebrate you Grammy you and got a house right on the beach in Carmel...let that sink elegant, sexy, sassy confident sweet woman of great feminine in for a minute. We spent weeks and months at that house power. I will always think of you every day when I wear eating salami and french bread on the beach and playing your sweet pink silk robe and dab on your perfume tennis at the club. No one put sunscreen on us or watched us at we explored the tide-pools and swam in the ferocious I NEED TO WRITE MORE ABOUT HER BUT I HAVE TO undertow. But there was always hot food and a hot shower GO!

3/5/17

THE MIRACLE It was a late afternoon and they found themselves walking through a forest.

Is that you? he asked She was smelling the bark of a fir tree. Her nose buried into the bark her hands wrapped around the trunk with the tips of her fingers lightly touching as if she were listening with them. Which she was.

her there. It was something she just knew.

Follow me follow me come on get down here with me crawl silent silent… You will scare them away… I need to show you this. You have to understand. She held out her hand and he took it and held it back.

As he came close he looked at only her eyes. His heart beating loudly he could hear it. She saw him vulnerable and alive. She knew she would love him in this instance there on their knees in the moss and sorrel He did the same and wrapped his arms around the tree and until his and ferns. She leaned forward and gave him the softest kiss not even fingers lightly touched her fingers. a butterfly could feel. The sweet cold moisture on her lips met his.

There was a small electrical shock and a small crackling sound, the smell If it was 5 seconds it could have been 5 hours, 5 days. A new lifeline.

The dizziness vanished and he saw the forest with a clarity never of vanilla and caramel filled his senses. Is that you? He asked. experienced before, as if every detail were intensified clarified as some Yes it’s me! Are you dense? You are touching my fingers. She said. kind of magical etching past his eyes and into his body. Such details he I mean the smell? I mean fragrance. Do you also taste like caramel.? never imagined. Get lower, she said softly and they got on there bellies.

Silly boy, that is this tree. Oh yes she is so so delicious. Me? I smell of stone fruit with a light hint of sandalwood and roses petals after a bath. Now we must become invisible. Put away all of your ego, all of your thoughts, hold my hand we must drop down together now. It was like I feel dizzy, he said, also feeling confused which he kept to himself. they were shrinking and the redwood sorrel with it’s delicate white and She began to laugh. She loved to laugh. She jumped from the tree and pink flowers consumed them. landed on two feet, poked him in the ribs and yelled, catch me! She started running.

Now look. Look. Look.

He was dizzy. He wasn’t joking. The smell of cinnamon and cloves and roses and sandalwood, the crackling of their fingers touching, it was all There was an old tree, gnarled and bent as if the weight of a hundred years had fallen on it’s shoulders and bent the top of the tree so it too much, it gave him vertigo confusion. He saw her white dress with layers of lace and twine, knee high tights and no shoes, leaping through touched back into the ground and then it’s limbs once again, rethe redwood sorrel, over ferns and mossy fallen decomposing trees. She purposed, grew upward into a canopy that shimmered in the last of the afternoon light. It looks human, it glowed sentient. The late afternoon was a vision. He ran after her, tripping on the things she floated over sun was on the horizon, resting on the ridge top shaft of horizontal light barely catching himself. How could she be so graceful, yet he barely moved through the limbs of the tree into the grass and mushrooms on could move in a straight line. He thought himself an athlete, warrior, the forest floor. The golden light moved through the shadows, glowing hunter, builder. He stumbled again. tendrils reaching towards something. She saw it, or it should be said as them, although she had seen it them along, from birth she had been Catch me catch me. Your so foolish. I’m right here. She was laughing, taught in her dreams. He was gazing straight ahead. He saw the beauty certainly not at him, but at the pure joy to be out again. The night the of the forest and all the forms, but he did not see them. gods destroyed the dance, the wild animal scratched claws against the edges of their cages. Scared her. Threatened him. She cried and went back to her cage to sulk. He curled fetal and tight as a knot and rocked Look at me my Beloved. Will you love me only me forever. He did not hesitate. Dear Angel I will love you forever and forever again and again. himself. The next day she woke up and something had shifted in the When he said this he realized that he had already loved her forever. He night. Was it a poem that he had sang to her in a dream. Was it her knew it instantly. She knew all along. Yes yes she said yes yes he said. destiny now that the cage was no longer comforting. She was standing Love opened and the light stopped searching and in the still silence of now and he came to her panting. that moment the miracle was evident.

Ha I caught you. he panted. She laughed to herself as it was obvious It was one thing it was a thousand rays of light, the brilliance of life in she had been waiting. Be still now I want to show you something. She the most delicate balance, the ephemeral waves of love, the gossamer got down on her knees and crawled on all fours. He looked at her and wings of perfection… they danced and flew, they filtered they landed thought, Oh my god she is so profoundly beautiful, so alive, so in this moment. It was like a light was glowing from her skin. She looked back and touched each other. They threw sparkles of dust into the sky and the dance went around and around. The sun in the background was at him. Handsome as he was, it wasn’t that which attracted him to her. slowly setting. The whirlwind of energy feminine and ancient yet alive He was charming in his own way. He tried hard you had to give him and infant swirled around the lovers. The sun set and the light faded. credit for that. She knew that he had the power within him to see her, The fairies dissolved back to whence they came. to see her in a way that could set her free. The cage was gone and she would never think of it again. There was this other life and it took two Angel and Beloved were one. parts to touch the other side. She saw that he might be able to follow

3/6/2017

TWO FLAMES AND A BABY DEER

We may be twin flames she said. I don’t know what that means he said. She sighed and thought about it for a minute and started to explain and then stopped. She was always starting to explain something, realizing that what she knows in her soul sounds bat shit crazy and then stops. So she didn’t tell him that she knew him before she met him — that their souls had played together, courted each other and then waited for just the right moment to begin. She often played with other souls out beyond the veils.

He had waited for her for 6 years according to the blue print — he wanted to be wanted and not needed. He waited for her to put down her walls and open her heart before he could step forward. For her grief to take a pause so she could look around and begin to live again. But he didn’t even know about all that. He just thought he was lucky.

There were so many things she wanted to tell him but didn’t. She wanted to tell him he was wrong about spirit animals — call them whatever you wish but her own sweet baby deer sat on her feet since childhood. Gave her the gift of gentle wisdom and being patient and seeing the details before reacting that she wasn’t born with. She jumped first and asked questions later and baby deer was there to keep her alive. As a child she used to sit in the grass and eat dandelions and think — huh — what if we aren’t really here at all but just the dream of a deer sleeping in the forest.

She felt the weight of the entire world — cried every day for the first 20 years of her life — for Hiroshima, for Anne Frank, for the old drunk on the corner who slept in his own piss — for her own broken and battered heart. She brought half dead birds and mice into the house and nursed them back to health — sometimes they died, and she cried and gave them a proper burial in the backyard with ceremony and flowers and poetry. Sometimes they looked at her with their tender eyes and flew or scampered off to go and fight for another day of life. Her mom was a librarian with no child care so she sat in the musty stacks for days and days and read everything she could get her hands on. She went

hungry. She was lonely.

She sat outside late at night and counted the stars. She brought her prism to school — the one that made the homemade camera box — for show and tell. Her crush stole it from her desk and her heart broke into a million pieces. He was in the yard showing it to the other kids. She never saw it again and the camera never worked after that. And she never crushed again in that same way.

She told her mom she was moving out. She was 6 and she and her cousin hatched a plan. Her Mother didn’t miss a beat and said “I will help you pack”. Another piece of her soul slipped from the protective flesh covering and floated into the universe where it waited for 40 years to return. She went to live with her aunt and uncle for 1 year. It was fun there but she was just a visitor — they partied and stayed up late and ate venison and drank sasparillas— but she missed her brother. There is more to this relationship but I don’t want to scare my new lover — I don’t want him to think that my wounds are too vast. To worry about what happens to a child when their mother screams “I wish you were never born”. At my feet sits the baby deer and he looks up at me within those soulful eyes and says — I am so glad you were born. I will never leave you. We chose each other.

So she thinks about her new lover and how it will all work out. She has a dream about a huge scary spider — it’s dead and crunchy — someone says “it’s ok Christie — it’s dead”.

And she says BUT IT ALREADY LAYED A THOUSAND LITTLE SPIDER BABIES!!!” Then she looks again and the crunchy dead spider starts crawling away — Its alive!!!!! You idiots it’s alive! She has fears.

And then she thinks about her new lover. Her twin flame.

She recognized him the minute she met him — she knows that he is in the blue print. For how long she doesn’t know — she has hopes and fears. She is the Star. She feels seen by him. Baby deer looks up from her lap and she reads his mind — you are worthy of great love. We are so glad you were born.l

3/6/17

OUT OF THE DREAM INTO THE MIRE Long Beach Airport.

Breakfast for mom and Dad. Dave is famous for making eggs with my parents. Dad eats three and for the days I’m down there that is the only food he has eaten. Waiting for plane to take me north. Oh Shit I forgot to give dad his meds. Better call him now.

No Dad in a small glass bowl next to the coffee maker, the coffee maker, not the cabinet, the machine that makes the fucking coffee,a small bowl, your pills dad, no not eggs, glass bowl the size of an egg, yes yes that’s it.

A small song bird trapped in the terminal flies and lands on the chair next to me when I hang up.

Friday to Monday I’m not sure It is possible to recount the emotional movement. Friday a bomb went off, thrown by a wounded attacker. I don’t use the name of the president and I don’t use the name of the person when perpetrated this attack. Interesting how someone who is pathologically damaged emotionally can create such an emotional attack. Sneak into your world and create absolute chaos. Take a reality that you are siting in comfortably and take a psychic terrorist attack and send us spinning.

Cord cut. Freedom.

What happened was unexpected. I landed in her dream Disaster adverted, although to explain took a good and she saved me. Why she chose me even she doesn’t 15 minutes. 2nd stroke dad is diminished, but happy. know. But I’m like the lion with the thorn, the baby Angsty and Angry at Thanksgiving, three months and bird abandoned in the nest that imprints on a healing two strokes later he’s a different man. Soft and gentle hand. In writing this and I’m back in the cage. Yes this and babylike. Memory of past or concept of future is where it is. Moving around the shapes and dulled very slow to conjure up. In the moment. Could be emotions to create nothingness. The grey reality. The the meds. Could be a part has checked out and there is veils. The words that line up to describe dramas and another part that is so satisfied to be softened, tender despair. Writing in the airport little bird on the seat and quiet inside. 4 years ago he had quadruple bypass I am reminded there is that place between the dream and heart went from pretty ok (pacemaker since he was and the cage. Somewhere in this space between grey my age) to 30%. He was sure he was going to die within and dreamy color there is a place where two hearts and the year. But changed his diet, stopped drinking, from souls reached out. 500 words (this is 524). with no edtennis everyday, a life that revolved around growing itor. No rewrite. Raw and honest in everything. We extomatoes and taking Maggie for a short walk. In this posed everything. The wild animal tried to kill with evil place he could probably go another long spell unless he but it actually exposed profound love as the outcome. falls or gets pneumonia. I know one thing he will not We are poetry. We are love. We are magic. We are life. want to go to a hospital again. If I was facing death and We are that tendril of light that exposes beauty where was in the house I raised my family, my wife sleeping by once only cages existed. The other name that cannot my side, my boys lookin in on me, world events don’t be mentioned will be defeated the same way. There are matter much, favorite teams and grandchildren do. things at work now that we do not understand.

Facing death could be a lot worse. He has arrived with a child like outlook. He’s no Buddha, but who says that has less meaning.

I have officially lost my mind - Im sending you the sappiest love prose ever written by a mere mortal.

Aprhodite herself would be ashamed.

3/7/17

Shhhhhhh

She looked into his eyes — she saw the vulner-

Do you love me? How about now? Now? Tell me

ability and the questioning and she wanted to

all about it — our love — tell me! What’s it like

whisk it away. “The louder the world gets the

for you? Do you feel that? How about that? Does

more inner we will go into each other” she whis-

it feel full and warm? Are you afraid? Do you see

pered into his ear. Feathery kisses on his nose

me?

and lips.

Crawl inside me now. Closer. Can you smell that? It’s you — in my hair and on my breath.

This was the home she had been longing for so

Lets make a nest and stay here for all eternity. I

she laid her head on his chest and listened to him will write you love songs and sing them while breathing. Smelled his smells and prayed that

you sleep. I will feed you spoonfuls of honey and

the spell would not be broken. Everything about

rub oil into your tender skin. You can read me

him was familiar — the way her body fit perfect-

your stories and tell me all your dreams.

ly into the curve of his. He was the big spoon.

She wanted to cry when they were together. She

I am listening to you Beloved. I am answering

wanted to eat scallops and chocolate and never

your love songs calling. It is in the blue print. We

go back out into the other world. The world of

have no choice. I have chosen. Please meet me

masks and pretense.

here.

Please.

3/7/17

I PUT A SPELL ON YOU Angel what is this?

This is what we truly are Beloved. We are clear and pure here. We don’t get to live here but knowing it exists. She stopped in mid sentence. Often she would not complete a sentence as if the momentum of words would keep going and her light exhale was more than clunky sounds off her tongue.

I know beauty, I know the sound of water. I can see gold light and I can count whiskers on the bobcat. Clear and Pure. I do not know the sound of this. My legs are strong but my heart is too full to carry all of this. Beloved puts his hand to his chest. But what he really feels is the anguish in his stomach.

He reaches out to touch angel’s hand as if to see if she is really there.

Angel takes it, they are still walking in the woods heading back down a trail. The new moon where they met is half full and has risen early to welcome them and light their walk. Overlooking the vast valley, out across the bay, to city sparkling with lights, soft purple shadows of mountains Tamalpas and Diablo. The smell of recent rains in earth that is early spring fertile.

She stops and looks B. in his eyes. You do not need to feel any shame with me. I know you. I see you. I understand you.

B looks at A. He says to her. He removes his shirt shows her his scar. I feel from a great height and landed wrong.

A interrupts B You said Feel from a great height. Is that what you meant to say.

B says, I have been Falling for so long. I thought I Fell this time. But this time I Feel.

A asks, Then what did you feel B? B looks at her. There anguish in his stomach moves up into his heart. I Feel I am unworthy of true love. my family left, my lover left, my friends left. The broken bone poking into my skin. The Birds, Deer, Fox, Bobcats, Raccoon, they were there in their silent indifference tomy pain but telling me something else.

They were telling you that you were alone but not alone, A says to B B answers, Yes but I knew then that I did not know how to be alone. Alone where you remove all the cages, all the wounds, all the fears, all the teachings, all the searches, all the stories. One by one they pealed off me. The bone would puncture my skin. My blood did not bleed.

If you want to be alone then why did you find me B. I am your A. I am here. I have been waiting. I will always be here. You called for me. You have more than animals around you. A laughs as she laughs at things that only she understands. But when A laughs it divides the world into pieces of joy and her self awareness that let you know nothing is too scary.

To learn to be alone B said, looking into her gazing pieces of turquoise.

Alone! A says a strong voice.

She is strong, but quick to feel and reacts to the word as she also know the quick words of men.

There is more. To know how to be alone but that I am not.

I had given up finding you. In that singular moment when I said that you appeared.

Then dear B what did you say?

I am here to learn how to love and to love you back.

That’s alright Baby. You don’t have to worry.

Why Angel. I always worry.

I put a spell on you because your mine, A smiles and waves her magic crystal. And the trees peal back. And the moon light turns into a spot light. The animals following them eyes light up like small flashlights. They are standing on a large rock over looking a field and it turns into a stage. The world below them turns into a grand theater. She picks up a pine cone that becomes a microphone and stands inches away from his Beloved Nose. Smiling with absolute love.

And sings to him

Text Excerpt Dave

ha ha... that works That is the perfect love song Christie

Hahahaha.

How can you ever doubt me when that stuff pours out of my soul.

Dave

Not sure about the he was the big spoon ha ha... other than that... just kidding that made me laugh it was so big clumsy and perfect sweet... lvoe it baby Christie

we should write a romance novel and get super rich Hahaha.

Dave

That

Christie

I told you I had nothing@ Dave

so what were doing you have the perfect love prose Christie

Hahahaha.

Dave

I’m putting it in the book now... I’m going ot work on it.

Check your mail in the morning I lvoe you baby I’m yours

Dave

LOL ha ha I knew it youre such a tease I love you even more now Christie

I think I could write a 50 shades book and make millions.

Or we could write really sophisticated porn prose for white people Dave

already been done... need to do it for really sophisticated white people then...

Christie

I think we could pull it off.

People would eat that shit up.

Dave

I like what were doing without thinking too much about what it means and just feeling the first line and then go baby go... 500 words or 45 minutes which ever comes first Christie

So we rent a gorgeous place in greece for the summer and just drink greek wine and wear all white and write really romantic stuff. Make love and write.

Dave

Christie

I’ll layout what has been created so far and you can look at it.

Dave

Ok. Night love.

Christie

Fuck baby now youre talking Boys can come too

Ok Night.

Christie

kisses all over you!!!

Dave

Night Sugar tits.

Dave

good night AMP Christie

What is that?

Dave

Angel’s Magic Pussy Christie

Ahhhh. Ok big spoon.

Christie

Yes everyone can come we make big dinners and invite the locals.

Manifesting that now...I’ll make a crystal grid for it.

We need a crystal grid for travel. I want to see the world with you.

Dave

Yes... the world want to see us also. We are both charmers

I put a spell on you because you’re mine You better stop the things that you do I ain’t lyin’, no, I ain’t lyin’ I just can’t stand it babe The way you’re always runnin’ ‘round I just can’t stand it, the way you always put me down I put a spell on you because you’re mine I put a spell on you because you’re mine You better stop the things that you do I ain’t lyin’, no, I ain’t lyin’.

I just can’t stand it babe The way you’re always runnin’ ‘round I just can’t stand it, the way you always put me down I put a spell on you because you’re mine I put a spell on you. I put a spell on you I put a spell on you. I put a spell on you

WEDNESDAY 3/8/17

SEX MAGIC

She locks the door and lights the candles. Takes the altar cloth out of the basket and sets it in the middle of the room. The athame, the cauldron, a red candle and crystals. She gets the sage and cleanses the space, setting the intention to call them in. The candles flicker across the faces of her beloved dead on the altar — she looks at them and asks them if they are ready.

She opens the circle — North/Earth, East/Air, South/Fire and West/Water — water who always knows which way to flow…all that is above and all that is below and center.

She calls in her mighty dead, the ancestors known and unknown and pauses to feel them enter the space. They are here. She calls in Aphrodite and Mary and the great Moon — she settles into their energies all that wanton feminine lusty whip smart and shadowy vibration. She calls in her own Angels and Guides and asks them to please come and do this working with her. It is important — she needs them and they all come in for her. They are here.

She can smell the faint scent of roses and dirt. She can feel them holding her in this space. She is never alone.

She lights the incense from the church in France — his church — Arch Angel Michael and asks him to come to her and bring her more roses. She slips into a very hot bubble bath filled with rose petals and oils and salt from the Dead Sea. She cries into the bath, deep sobs from this life and lives lived before — releases everything into the bath — all the pain from all the past lovers and Fathers and Mothers — it all goes into the bath until she can’t conjure anything else up. He is in that bath — her ex. The water is murky. She pulls the plug and watches as it drains. She stands up and pours a poultice of rose petals and lavender over her head and walks naked to the altar.

A song begins deep in her heart and she starts to sing — the sound is so beautiful — the Angels and the guides and the Goddesses sway and hum along: Show me the way Please help me I’m sorry please forgive me thank you I love you I am a creator show me more Show me the way Show me the way.

She writes down everything she wants in a love, a lover.

She is thoughtful and specific — she pours rose oil onto the paper and little petals from her yard and wraps it up and ties it with a red satin ribbon — she sees a pink feather and puts that onto the spell. She raises the spell to the sky and demands — This! This is what I want. This is what I shall have — bring him to me, I am ready.

She finishes the ritual, closes the circle and goes to bed naked clutching the spell. The next day she puts it on the altar. Everyday she eyes it suspiciously — will it work? Will he come? I don’t want to go through this life alone…one day she knows. She takes the spell and places it into the cauldron and douses it with Florida water and lights it on fire — she watches it burn — the flames dancing the dance of love until there is nothing left but ashes. She takes the ashes and releases them in the backyard and looks up into the sun and says “I surrender”.

It took one moon cycle to complete the spell. New Moon to New Moon. She has a magic pussy.

WEDNESDAY 3/8/17

I HAVE A CRUSH ON YOU

Oh B you look so sad. Where are you. How can you be sad?

Baby… ah my sweet A, how does this really happen. I’m like the school boy. I’m 61 years old and I have a crush. I can’t believe I could feel this way.

I have a crush too. A is happy always laughing. You’re my crush.

Whose your crush baby. Your my big spoon. my sugar tits. Me. I’m your loving baby. I’m cute and sassy and sexy and I see you, I know you. Baby I love you.

A looks at him. Takes the broth cupped in his hands and drinks it. She takes her fingers and outlines the corners of his mouth and lets him taste his own liquid alchemy on his tongue. You are so beautiful my love. What is this?

B looks up. I have been waiting in my cage pacing in it and painting stories on it’s walls. So much pretensions and omissions. I have wounds like all of us. My wounds have put me on a journey that is incomprehensible to me. I feel like fucking B looks up still looking sad. Maybe the word is forlornness with Ulysses returning to the golden fields of his home. So many a hint of pensive and a simmering in a bone broth of empathetic tentacles of wounds wanting to attach to me. All the wounds memory. He holds his hands out like a cup holding his feelings want is love. They are all crying out for love. Not medicine. Not in the sacred gesture. There are tears in his eyes. It is sunrise Narcotics. Not fucking margaritas with miniskirts and knee high there are pink clouds moving across the ridge. High on a knoll boots. I look back through my life. Replay my moments of love. looking down into the valley the tule fog below is like a mystic Maybe my High school sweetheart we did something…. things river softly moving the gauze web like a water in a tide pool. in your twenties don’t count they only pave the road for things to count later. Every love I have encountered feels wounded. I Oh A look at me. How did this happen. I am joyous beyond thought I only attract wounded love. I am wounded love. Every words that have ever been told to me or words that I have ever woman I have ever been with has lost their father before the age tried to write. I am loved. I asked for you. Exactly you. Nothing of 20. That is a true fact. All their stories fill me with sadness. about you is not perfect even the parts that may not seem perfect Yes I loved them back and they loved me. But it was a love to someone else make you even more perfect. Not a fucking that covered me in wet blankets of holding each other to our pedestal. fuck that shit baby… You come to me real all the time. damaged hearts. I would run and then shifting sands always You are fierce in who you are. I love that. But so tender. Look drew me back… It was as if love took away my freedom not here I am writing in third person ( Ha ha pierce the narrative) offered it to me. Sitting here I see that. and it’s inspired by who you are. This is a crush of heart, but also of something else baby. You have pulled the veil back. You After all these years. I understand this. opened me up and shook out the parts that were stuck and filled True love is freedom. them with the muse of your body, heart, soul, spirit, love. You You have offered me that. provoke me, not to run away and count the redflags of fear but I have a crush on you. I am going to take you somewhere baby. provoke me to step forward. run to the top of the mountain We will be Giants and walk like kings and queens build a fire and step into the middle and release every particle of my self to become the greatness you called for.

3/9/17

THURSDAY

It’s Thursday! And my Beloved is taking me somewhere overnight.

A place I don’t remember ever going before so that is very exciting. It’s a place that holds great meaning for him and now for us. We are us. For a while.

The ocean has saved my life before. I grew up on the beach in Carmel exploring and swimming and building things — we lived in Modesto where there is nothing but strip malls and almond orchards but my Grammy lived on the beach so it was vacations and summers. It was the greatest pleasure to play all day and sleep to the sounds of the waves crashing into the sand.

When I first got divorced I went looking for things. Things that would heal me and my tremendous wounds. I was unsure about my body as a 44 year old woman and practicing deep self love. I decided that I should go to a nude beach. What the fuck. It will be a bunch of gay guys, some old guy and a lady with wrinkly tits — and me. I will have a grand solo adventure. So I Googled nude beaches and got into the car. I had on a summer dress — a tube top and a skirt with sequins on it — I love that dress.

nestled in some sand dunes and took off my dress. I let the wind blow over my naked body. I bared my bits to the sea and put my face up to the sun and said “I surrender”. This is me — I am the Goddess. I wrapped my arms around myself and felt all my parts and said — you are perfect just as you are my love. I love you so much.

Then I heard someone clear their throat and whisper — “Dear?

What are you doing? This is not a nude beach!” And I adjusted my eyes against the wind and the sun and there they were — a cute little couple in their REI windbreakers walking their fluffy little nugget of a puppy. “Excuse me?” I said. The woman clutched her “pearls” and the man giggled and I remembered I was fully naked…So I guess I didn’t find the nude beach that day and gave some elders a nice story to tell. But I found the true face of God and the true meaning of self love. There was great healing…

After that I drove there 3 or 4 times a week to write in my journal and heal and watch the whales and dolphins come to me. I built fires and eventually I invited people to join me — I hosted full moon drum circles and roasted corn and passed around a When I arrived at Limintour — when you first round the bend and bottle of wine. I have done several deep magic rituals on that see it — I sucked in a deep breath. I felt a flood of emotion and beach — gotten down on my knees and begged for healing and spiritual energy — I knew there was a God in that very moment received. Got drunk. Fell in the water. Wrote his name in the sand and that I would devote myself to exploring that energy. No I don’t over and over. believe God is the punisher or a dude with a white beard — God is everything and everywhere and the all that is and great love and So today I get to share my beloveds special place and I am so we are never truly alone. honored. I hope I can meet him where he needs to be today. I I was however very alone at the beach…not a single car in sight. know I can. We are so similar. We are emotional and spiritual and I got all my stuff — the bag with the blueberries and almonds and deep and I love getting to know my own self through his eyes. If my journal and headed down the path. It was beautiful and I felt he decides to love me, to walk through this life with me - I will be like a Goddess floating on air down to the water. I found a spot healed. There is a spell - it was cast and delivered.

3/9/17

MY GREATEST JOY

Today I get to take you somewhere. Our last time was sabotaged. Shaken to our cores. Perhaps in someways our greatest gift. Love does not live in just magic and dreams there is a world out there and let just say‌ there is crazy shit that no one knows when and where. Venus in retrograde or not Love transcends. I believe that. Love takes all our senses to hold it, cherish it, nourish it, learn about it.

Today I get to take you somewhere. A place I have gone for a long time. A place I have seen so many beautiful things. It is a gateway. My very own portal. There is nothing magical about it, because all of it is magical, it is the norm not the peculiar. This is how nature makes life work. The river flows to the sea and life wild loves what happens when the confluence of waters meet. Animals flourish here. Drift wood from the large storms land here.

Small gifts of rocks, shells, ancient beach glass, plants, strange flotsam and jetsam wait to be found.

I come here on April 14th. Phoebe died on a cliff above the ocean. She fell at the edge of the ocean. The water touched her. I can never move too far from the ocean. My local mountains, The red rocks of Utah, the rain forests of Oregon, the rivers and streams in our sierras all sustain me. The ocean is where I touch infinity. The west coast is our final destination. We stand at the edge of the ocean and see our future our destiny our last hope out there. As the sun sets here I take a deep breath thank life that I have arrived and feel blessed that I there will be another one tomorrow that I will wait for my next gift to arrive.

So many things this coast brings to me. I am now a man that gets most of his medicine from the forest as I live in it. I ride my bike through it. I have crawled on all fours to be comforted there. But my life and all the pieces it contains has created it’s most profound ceremony at these sands and rocks near the ocean. And this place in particular holds all the pieces. She is my mother. She is where I see God. She is where I am held the deepest. She can be brutal here. Even in tempest winds (and they are more than they are not) there are places in her beach side bosom we can find protection.

It is not legal to make fires on the beach. But I always build a fire here. I make a shelter or add to one that already exists. Once I took my boys out of school. We woke up and as I was making lunch I said guess what?

And told them I was taking them out of school and we were going to spend the day at the beach making a driftwood fort and eating our lunch there. The first thing we saw was a mother whale and her calf playing in the surf.

For Phoebe I always write I love you Phoebe in the low tide sand and watch the waves wash it away. It is the impermanence of my statement but it is the proof of my love that like the infinite horizon goes on forever.

It is my greatest joy to take you here. I am a ranger of knowing magical and beautiful places. We will sit and explore all of them.

3/11/17

JENNER

He gives you everything — he orders the oysters and the wine and the cutest spot to stay in. He takes you to the beach and doesn’t get mad when you are dressed inappropriately and complain about being scared. I am a worrier. I worry that I won’t be able to find my way back — like what if he has a seizure down there on that secret beach and only the acid freak in the unicorn onesie is The problem with falling in love is sometimes you fall madly in love before you even get to know the person and all their quirks there and she is no help and I have to find my way to the top and and “flaws”. So then you have to observe these things through the drive that big truck to go get someone? I mean do they even have tinted lens of emotion and react appropriately. Like when he asks a defibrillator in Jenner — do they? And Joe the only guy that you if he can use your toothbrush and you say no. Is that the reply knows how to use the defibrillator is probably in Petaluma getting of a woman in love, no? But seriously — no. Ha ha. I mean just do the battery charged or going to that specialty meat shop to get his beloved some yummy foie pate. I Googled it and he’s right — it it and don’t tell me…that is exactly what I would do! doesn’t have heavy cream in it…its just all that yummy fat. So he’s right. He is always right.

So he is exactly as he should be — the knower of so many wonderful things. The guy with the kayaks and the best butcher I love him. That is the whole truth of the matter and the reason shop and the cute soulful eyes. He gives you everything and you why I roll my eyes and think — try not to roll your own eyes. You try not to put some walls up and be bitchy because everything is what you wanted exactly and WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? now you have it and you are really really scared.

Falling in love is just about the most important thing anyone can do — for themselves and for the universe. The universe is conspiring right now for you to fall in love too — if you just shut the fuck up and look around.

3/11/17

KINGS AND QUEENS Sometimes you jump in, you jump all the way in. Don’t think. Just We walk slowly looking for things. Talking quietly. There are no Leap. What ever follows you look at, touch, reveal, listen, explore, fortress, lean-tos, driftwood tepees, just piles of winter driftwood. hold, release. Repeat.

We set our things down and clean the area. There are few sticks piled up. There is a burnt piece of a log that has a few rocks like an I do Adventures. I’m the man and I can do that. I know the place alter placed. By end of summer this area will be a community of to buy this food and that food. I know the road to take or the log dwellings. But now it is just us. I make a fire. Set our things on alternate road to take or the small place to pull off or the place the alter. Light Palo Santo. Set the oranges she has brought. to tuck into if there is too much wind or she needs to piss in the middle of no where. These things are my magic wand. She has a We kiss. I say don’t pull away this time. Hold the kiss as if our lives different wand. We both know how to use our magic. depended on it. The kiss starts awkward as there was a challenge and it feels self conscious. But then that changes and the kiss takes The trail down from the 100 year winter rains is much more off and our bodies become lighter. My head slightly dizzy. Our treacherous than usual and even usual is not an easy trail. She feet on on the sand. It is warm. Her sweater is perfect. We don’t brings her fashion sweater (no jacket) and her clean low cut clean need a jacket. Her boots are cute and I love them. The kiss turns sole work Frye $285 fry boots. I say I thought I said you wouldn’t happy. the kiss turns joyful. the kiss turns sexy. The kiss turns need that sweater bring a jacket she says I thought you were erotic. The kiss turns transcendental. The kiss turns timeless. The kidding I don’t do the REI look. I don’t wear that shit. I should kiss turns us into warriors. The kiss picks us off the ground. The have brought my lesbian boots I think. I note we are different kiss has us floating feeling love. The kiss reminds us of the spirits here. But we have jumped in and down the trail she goes. Her Frye we have brought here. The kiss has us hold each other tighter. boots get muddy. She doesn’t care. I love her.

We squeeze each other. We are not breathing. We are suffocating in our kiss. We release all the shadows and we bring in all the We walk down the beach. I am not going back up that in the dark. moments. We open our eyes kissing. Blink and we both let go of No way. I nod. I’ve walked up that in the dark. I know this trail. I the kiss at the same time. know this beach. I assume she will just trust me. I say don’t worry.

I’m a worrier she says. I hear her say warrior. I know you’re a I want to walk back in the dark, she says. Okay I say. But we don’t warrior I say. no I mean worrier not warrior. I say yes warrior or have to. I want to. I want to do something I’ve never wanted to do. do you mean worrier. Yes I’m a worrier. I’m still not sure which She points up at the clouds. A spot has softened and the moon is she is. I think she means worrier. diffused but showing. Look the moon. We will walk back in the dark but it wont be dark. We have that to light our way, I say.

I’m sorry I don’t trust you yet. We are walking down there. I point to the end of the beach. I want to walk down there, I tell her. It is I’m beginning to trust you she says. my place. Protected. I have a back pack. of firewood, firewood starter, bottle of wine, blanket, a down jacket (I brought one as I I’m beginning to love you I say. knew she wouldn’t bring one ha ha). I’ve built fires I know how to make that place feel right. I know it so well. I’m ranger Dave. She We can trust this Love. doesn’t know that. I assumed she did. I don’t trust you yet. I’m a worrier.

The fire grows, we finish the wine, eat the oranges and walk slowly and climb back up the moon lit cliff in the warm evening and back We pick up gifts along the way. Shells, glass, rocks, small pieces of to our cabin with it’s perfect view of the world. We order oysters wood. She opens her hand and it has an array of glass and rock. and eat like kings and queens on the floor.

I say, I’d bring the kids to the beach and I’d tell them that the blue glass is the best. They’d look for hours. She moves the shell and there is a small piece of blue glass. Ah yes she knows. I laugh.

She comments, But this in new blue glass it probably comes from Mexico. I like it anyway.

March 12, 2017

TIME CHANGE

The moon was full and I didn’t even really acknowledge her. There she was up in the sky bright and beckoning. I really am a piece of shit sometimes. I don’t know what I am doing. I am drowning.

He was there with his soft skin and his voice. We went to a bar and I sucked down too many drinks in a small amount of time trying to find myself. Drowning.

I wanted to dance under the moon and make pledges and burn incense and pound my drum and wail and cry and demand something better for myself. I wanted all the creatures of the forest to come to me and share their wisdom. Instead I opened my legs and moved my body and brought him in. He responded well. We are made for this dance.

I got the fuck out of there in the middle of the night — the fog filling the spaces, mascara caked under my tired eyes. I gripped the wheel a little too tightly and begged — please don’t let me hit a deer please, I can’t live with that. But then I saw her — She laid by the side of the road in a pile — the body still warm and steam coming off — blood oozing out and down the street. Someone else has to live with it. Someone else is drowning too. I am so sorry. What is wrong with us. Why can’t people be more careful.

I came home and gathered my stuff and looked up at her, the moon and I said — don’t fucking judge me. I left him there in his bed — I had to go — one foot out the door. Always one foot out the door.

I want things — all the things. I want the love and the companionship and the soft warmth of his body next to me. Yes I want all of that. I just don’t know how to do it without choking.

Short Story Love

March 12, 2017

YOUR TOO SENSITIVE

A arrives. They don’t kiss. A is early B is still cleaning. I haven’t even made my bed yet, B exclaims embarrassed. A says I never make my bed. B wonders really… and quickly makes his bed. Earlier in the day B took his first bike ride after his surgery perhaps rode a little too long and hard and feels dehydrated, a little dizzy, there is a small poison oak tingle in his body from Jenner. B is not quite feeling solid in his body today. B says he has a bit of a headache and makes himself a vitamin C drink searching for Advil and pulls out two likely bottles only to find one is Tylenol PM and the other is a stool softener. I guess these won’t work, says B. Only if you want to sleep and A looks at the other bottle and just laughs. Maybe I should just go, A says.

B feels a bit like wow is she really here? Excited, but asking himself was Jenner real, is this real, is this amazing woman arriving at his house the greatest gift ever B has ever received? Wondering wondering. Earlier he had called her at work and said isn’t leaning into True Love amazing thing? She didn’t answer. Silence on her end of the phone. Maybe she was selling a sweater and this interruption… I’ll be over around 6:30 it’s so fucking slow today, A finally says. When they hung up B is left wondering wondering wondering. Had he spoken out of his heart or out of some kind of fantasy that he is unraveling. Another B Story. Romantic Love can do that B tells himself. A hadn’t answered, the question left hanging. B feels foolish. She is the wise one B reminds himself. But B is filled with a kind of sadness that wraps around a gnawing doubt that his overworked dehydrated itchy body doesn’t seem to know how to understand. NO NO NO don’t go B says emphatically to A, perhaps with too much emphasis, perhaps his emotions don’t balance with the moment. He already has plans for them this evening.

Her leaving would only manifest, exasperate his his anxiety. A answers thoughtfully, oh Beloved I just know that when I have a headache, she strokes his cheek and side of head… I want to be alone. Whatever you need darling…. B wonders is A being loving or patronizing. But relieved she is staying.

They go down to his local pub ostensibly to watch a Basket Ball game but really to get out of the house. She orders vodka and tonic he orders beer and a shot of whiskey. B asks A what is going on he tells her about his wondering wondering. At first she denies it and then she explains that it is natural all so much so fast she needs time to integrate. She orders her second Vodka and tonic. He realizes the basketball game is meaningless and stares at her. Feels love and pecks a small kiss on her lips cool from the ice floating aimlessly in her drink.

March 12, 2017

YOUR TOO SENSITIVE Continued

You are the most sensitive man I have ever met A says to B. She looks at him the way a cat looks at something and tilts her head a little as if to see him clearer. A is the most sensitive woman B has ever met. She can see through things. She is the best writer he has ever met and her words conjure a sensitivity with her voice, stories and objects in ways B could never dream. She has crystals and magic wands and knows enchantments and rituals. She has lucid dreams that teach her sensitive things like how whales fornicate and about magical love. She sees through him and sees his greatness and also see’s his folly.

She is sensitive to the world and can see through its veils with sensitive psychic antennas as if she were from another planet. She is sensitive to the moons and the universe yet always has boisterous optimism and electrified humor, yet within that a quiet sensitive tenderness as if she holds all the wounds of the world, or the small injured deer, in her heart with compassion that is embodied by deepest river imaginable. She is the sensitive that feels things intuitively and her body immediately understands the reference and importance.

He at first thinks that this is the greatest complement ever given him. Yes B is sensitive just like A, but then realizes as her feline stare moves through him that she means a different kind of sensitive. B realizes that A is just saying sensitive as in being too sensitive. B looks at her. All this process has taken the time to glance at the game, sip a beer, taste her cool lips, look into the depths of her eyes.

He sees himself and too sensitive is not the complement he was hoping. My kids used to complain about me always being too sensitive. They would call me weird, I’d get all bent out of shape and then they would all laugh and call me too sensitive. B laughs at himself. He has that quality.

A says yes she means that. A looks at him. B I love you. I love you more than anything I can imagine. There is just more to life than this passion. I need to integrate. Trust me. He does. They get ready to leave. A finishes her third

drink. B kisses her icy cool lips.

They finish dinner and A quickly climbs into bed and curls up fetal and cozy and asks B to come snuggle her.

B straightens his kitchen first and puts away perishables and quickly rinses dishes. There is a party B wanted to go to in Point Reyes for a young friend raising money for community and his musical dreams but he climbs into bed to hold A instead. Their bodies wrap around each other as if they have known each others for many many life times.

He is not feeling sexual but is feeling vast tenderness and loving. They quietly hold each other. She said she had stopped drinking when they first met. But tonight a bottle of wine and vodkas he wonders what she really meant by that and they lay in bed both tired, dizzy and tenderly caring without words and fall asleep. The party is not as important as this connection.

A wakes up at 12:30 and says she needs to go home. Full moon she needs her own space. I am a woman of the moons I need to get rest and do some things. They kiss and B touches her breasts. B is slowly becoming her lover. Yes they have had amazing sex from the moment their bodies have landed in this field together. But B is only beginning to understand her vast road map and understands he only beginning to realize the gift A truly is.

What magic sensitivity really lies below the cellular epidermal layers of this sensual skin. He lightly touches her nipples with his tongue and tries to describe this to her. She touches her self as he sucks and bites and pinches her nipples and she comes. They kiss and do this again this time he touches her wetness and she comes again. A and her magic pussy are soft and full and wet with her cum juices and she exclaims this fact with a joy and open sexuality that is even more intoxicating. I know you said you didn’t want to make love tonight, A says softly, but I want to feel your cock inside me without moving. B hears

her quiet voice that has a new sound and one that is familiar and yet one he has never heard.

He feels different. He is a different man. She is his woman.

She is offering her soul to him. Saying here I am, all that I am, not perfect, but as perfect as I can be and I am offering this to you. This is your greatest love. Bring your cock to me now. You are my greatest lover. Will you only love me?

Yes B says. Can you promise never to hurt me? yes B says.

A is opening her body and heart to B. Yes he says touching her. B climbs on top of A watching her eyes in the red light.

His cock is very hard. Her pussy is very wet and lush. He tastes her first and with his fingers gives her another clitoris orgasm. Some nights she has had 14 or more of these. His cock enters her, slowly slowly slowly slowly slowly. A is trying to impatiently pull him inside her, but B reprimands her and ties her wrists with his scarf and holds them above her head so she cannot change the imperceptible slowness of this moment.

not orgasm now as that is not even close to the fire that he is feeling as she still lifts them into the heaven of this moment…. Higher and higher and deeper and deeper. She comes again and again. He says do not stop do not stop and she doesn’t and she doesn’t. When she has finally finished B pulls out and strokes his masculine hard cock and unloads all his semen onto her soft white belly.

It is 5:30 and she gets out of bed. He knows what she is doing.

It is okay if you need to go B says to A. Thank you she says.

I love you B. You are my greatest lover. Where is my bra? A is looking for her things in the dark.

B smiles and says it is on top of his massage table. You can turn the light on. She doesn’t and finds her bra

He has fully entered her and as he does she shifts her pelvis and releases hips her knees falling back near her ears her pelvis pushes his large body up a few inches and his cock enters her as if a magic cave exists within her. His cock suddenly feels as long as his body. Her body a lake he once saw in a dream of Tibet that he is swimming in. He is not moving and they are traveling traveling traveling.

He loves her more than any love he has ever known. And falls asleep not hearing A leave the room. Later B hears A and calls out to her but it is only the cat and the full Virgo moon setting on the ridge out his window. It is pink and beautiful.

She is the lake and she is also swimming opening her body even further and he deepens into her not thrusting but just deepening deepening. She begins to call his name in a language that he has not heard but has always wanted to hear. She is coming as if the caged animal from within, the fierce lioness, not the kitten looking at him askance, but the vast animal energy that holds all the secrets walks forward.

Her pelvis pushing him upwards with a strength he could not have imagined that she carried within her. They are floating towards the ceiling, past that into the ether. He is not moving yet his entire body is electrified on fire. He will

As is he.

A knows B is happy in her own bed.

Monday, March 13

DOWN THE HOLE

She peered into the vast dark hole — vines and dirt and then nothing. Helloooooo her voice echoed down. Anyone heeeerrreeeee? Hellllooooo?

Nothing. She was alone. She backed up, her bare feet sinking into the soft dirt, took a deep breath then ran straight for the hole and jumped feet first. Her skirt flew up around her waist and down down she went. Past all the roots and stones, the layers of dirt, the bones of the mighty dead — down down past all the crystal caves and rock formations and pockets of gemstones — down down into the belly of the Mother. Splat. She landed flat on her ass in the center of it all.

She stood up and looked around. There were so many tall trees and low trees and ground cover and moss and ferns.

She could hear water flowing from somewhere and a little deer peered his head around a plant — she saw deep into his soulful eyes and recognized him right away. Without saying a word the little deer fell into step beside her and there he stayed for the rest of their lives.

Living a life outside of the cage has proven a difficult task.

There is a fine protective layer of energy surrounding me now as I walk around this life. The protective layer is made of sarcasm and deflective humor. It’s barbed but invisible.

He senses it. He thinks she is pulling back. It hurts him.

She isn’t pulling back. She isn’t. She loves him so much it is confusing but she isn’t pulling back. He has a lot of expectations and rules — he wants the story to go his way.

It doesn’t work like that — the story will unfold as the story sees fit. There is a blueprint.

She wants to have a good time. She wants to throw her head back and laugh. She wants to have amazing sex and kissing and hear all about his day. She wants him to show her things and read her stories in bed. She has her own set of expectations but she is too scared to admit them. She has rules too.

Monday, March 13

I COULD NOT SEE

I was sitting outside because I could not see when this beautiful woman came walking towards me. Smiling. Big strong walk.

Arms swinging. Cool Turquoise leather Jacket with no collar and ripped jeans and sexy white sheer Tee. I can’t see but I can see that. Who is that?

I was talking to my dear friend Renu who saying t I can’t wait to meet your new girl friend. I didn’t tell her. Word is getting around. My friends inside who thought she was coming with me.

Where is Christie where is Christie?. Like why are you here? I thought you were brining her. We didn’t invite you to see you… duh.

I couldn’t see. I had walked into the bar and immediately my left eye started burning. I washed it so much that my right eye started burning. Both eyes felt like they were on fire. Like someone had thrown pepper spray into them. My sinuses became clogged like my nose was a piece of concrete except for a continual nasal drip that stuck to my mustache. It was spring time there was a time change. 6:00 and warm and bright and sunny. California Poppies on the hillside. Everywhere. I had gone on my first bike ride the day before. This day I had driven to Oakland to talk about building the BRC Temple 2017.

It felt like the first day of spring. Christie had left super early in the morning. I was kind of bummed about it. Bur honestly I was so glad to have my house and morning and day to myself. My son called me (he never calls) and we talked for an hour about everything. Oh it feels so good to be a good dad and have a sensitive (good way) son who will talk about everything. We talked about our new relationships. I told him about the 500 words a day Christie and I write to each other and how it has opened me to her, to my self, to my process and to the love of writing. He says hey Dad that is great I think I will do that with Taylor.

While I was talking I walked outside, this perfect spring day sit on the couch overlooking my valley. It still had blankets from the night before where Christie and I snuggled and watched the moon shadows and the stars together before dinner. A bittersweet memory as I had woken sad that she was not there and a few things that lingered. I wonder if something is too good to be true then it usually isn’t. Is this too good to be true. Glistening in the sunlight. Left on my table which is an upside down water trough.

There were her two bracelets. Not just bracelets but her charms.

Her talismans. Her amulets. Her magic curled like a ying and yang. Her left hand and right hand. They filled me with joy I couldn’t describe.

I was sitting outside the bar talking to Renu because I couldn’t see, my eyes burned, my nose all runny and disgusting. My eyes red on fire as if I had some kind of contagious disease. Ugly as ugly.

The beautiful girl walking towards me. I look again she has her hair pulled back and her face is glowing and smiling a smile that holds nothing but joy and love. Oh my god she is my dream.

I can’t see I have eye drops in the car.

Everyone wants to see you.

I can’t wait to see them.

I look horrible No you look fine.

You look beautiful my eyes running like I am crying Sometimes love gets centered on friendship more than magic or great sex.

This morning my eyes are fine and I can see.

Clearly and no stinging fire.

Tuesday 3/14

HAPPY

Happy — feeling or showing pleasure or contentment.

“Melissa came in looking happy and excited” Synonyms: cheerful, cheery, merry, joyful, jovial, jolly, jocular, gleeful, carefree, untroubled, delighted, smiling, beaming, grinning, in good spirits, in a good mood, lighthearted, pleased, contented, content, satisfied, gratified, buoyant, radiant, sunny, blithe, joyous, beatific.

I remember laying on a massage table in a strange room in San Francisco while some guru or healer was trying to save me. He yelled in my face “what do you want?!” I answered “love”. “NO!” he screamed at me — “what do you want?” “love?”. NO!!!!! You already have that — think of your children. What do you want”.

“Love! (I just want love sir…that is all I want — to love and be loved by someone…I’m sorry I am failing this healing that is what I want…) He tried to explain it to me — how love is inside us all the time you just need to lean into it.

I didn’t really get it. I left the healing and I did feel amazingly giddy. I laughed for about 4 hours straight — something shifted.

But I didn’t get the thing about love.

I thought about it and thought about it and thought about it and thought about it. Then I realized what he meant. Like when you are in love with someone but you are angry at them and you don’t feel the love but then they kiss your neck and hold you and you do feel it. It was there all along. Making love. You can just feel into that wonderful feeling and it is there for you — no one gifted it to you — it belongs to you and you alone. Love. That feeling you have for your kids — love.

I am going through something. I hope I don’t have a tizzy and lose the best man I’ve ever known. He really is a great person. I am going through something and I hope he just holds some space for me and helps me through it. That would be incredible. I gave him the stupid plate because when I saw it I thought of him. I thought it would brighten up his day to see that plate and think of me.

Choose happy.

Choose me.

Tuesday 3/14

LOVE ANCHORS THE SOUL

I am the writer with a writers mind to create stories I am the art director with a scanning vision to align aesthetics I am the photographer waiting for the perfect light and perfect moment to capture it in a frame Limantour sunsets with sandy dunes Drakes Bay wrapping it’s gentle arm around the coastal vista with it’s hand being Point Reyes and the lighthouse. Perfect light, sunsets, shimmering water, birds dunes, walking couples, people nestled in the dunes in with blankets and picnics.

This is the poet in me loving all the elements with sweet words to share.

I choose a spot in the dunes, I choose the wine (Crema Pinot gris on sale $5.00 off), assorted condiments— you know red pepper humus, have chips, crackers from Jenner, avocado, pistachios, blueberries (oops not organic from Chile missed that ugh poison) sweet orange cuties… open up the Indian batik blue sheet with white circles and toss it into the light breeze to lay between the soft pastels of the sand and bunch grasses.

This is the art director in me We are lying there so much enjoying the moments. All the pieces of the beauty and love between us. Talking and challenging each other with ideas and philosophies. Sharing stories that tangent on this place and where we are and who we are. Smiling and Laughing. Moments of consternation that turn into moments of understanding. Waiting for sunset.

A group of young people walk by one comes running up and yells can we get naked here. Angel had just finished telling me about the story that after her divorce feel her self alive she came here thinking it was a nude beach. I’ve heard the story and now when I here it I get angry at the gaul for someone to tell her it is not a nude beach.

The woman is at beach edge who yells can we get naked, the gentle off shore breeze doesn’t hold sound back and we both laugh at her words as we are having that discussion in that moment. Angel yells back: GET NAKED. They Laugh We laugh. They walk down the beach.

Sun is beginning to set over the elbow of Point Reyes towards the north end of the beach. Scanning the south end the low light shines with a golden glow. Looking south I smile as I see the young couple, she did get naked and he is with his camera shooting pictures. She is frolicking in the surf, creating poses, seductive, playful, mermaid, goddess, youthful. She is in the water. It is cold yet she plays in the water as if it is Hawaii.

Wow look at that I say to Angel.

We see two different things in this moment. She sees two people ignoring the perfection of the moment and creating posed photos that will probably be put on line and sold as pornography.

I see two playful adults being art director, poets and photographers enjoying dancing in the moment.

We have one of our playful barbed intellectual stimulating conversations about our different perspectives. Is it better to just be People walk by. Dogs run around and sniff each others butts. in the moment or is it okay to be in the moment and to photograph Sunset late afternoon light glow. the tips of the bunch grass light up it as well… Somehow, and maybe it is the wine, or maybe it is the I take a photo with perfect light. challenge of getting to know each other… the conversation takes on a more of a I am right you are wrong kind of tone.

This is the photographer in me You have a lot of rules she says. There is a name thrown in with There are things that are our gifts and there are things that are our it. I say you shouldn’t say a name like that. She catches herself and curse. In me they are the same thing. As they say— too much of a says Oh shit I’m sorry and then turns over into a fetal ball and says I good thing… want to go now.

I say don’t get into a tizzy it is okay. We don’t want to leave before sunset do we?

She is silent. Sulking.

Suddenly I see that poet, art director, photographer in me. I have always had such complements for these parts of my self but somehow with all that the person who I am reaching out to and wanting to anchor our love I can see them as controlling, yes controlling the moment for my own ego. Yes even beautiful rules are still rules and perhaps I have too many. I see the treachery of what I see as beautiful for someone else can seem controlling.

Angel sits up… laughing did you say tizzy. My therapist said don’t go getting into tizzies. The spell is broken and she is laughing again. I’m sorry I called you that name. I didn’t mean to sound like I meant it. And I don’t. I love you very much. I’m sorry.

We pick up our stuff and watch the sunset as we walk up the beach towards our truck.

As we drive out Angel exclaims pull in her pull in here. You have to park a certain way. I understand and park a certain way. She laughs and leaps out of the car. I’m not sure what she is doing but runs to my side and opens my door. She leans forward and lifts her dress. Oh baby baby… I’ve never done this before but I want to do it now. She bends over her perfect white form vulnerable and magic before me. Waiting.

We hold hands all the way home. Our hearts open. No words, no aesthetics, no photos just joy and love and the moment we have surrendered to.

Love anchors the soul.

March 15, 2017

DREAMS

The first time I went to a psychic she told me I had the biggest heart she had ever seen. So much joy and love she told me.

She said other things too like I was like a rose reaching up to the sun…it was awesome. I had past lives so long back she saw amoeba — talk about an old soul. So of course being a double leo firesign I wanted to hear more great things about myself… meow — so I went to a second psychic. This woman has her phd in metaphysics and studies the energy fields. She wrote a book. Her name is Zorica. I mean come on.

Buy a prefabricated Geodesic dome and put it on the property.

Put the kitchen in the middle and build the other spaces around it. Get a couple of rescue dogs, some chickens and 2 goats — rescues — oh and a bunny for Gio. Plant some things that like to grow and attract butterflies and bees. Partner with a responsible permaculture group and get some shoeless hippies to live in a trailer on the property and grow the food.

Put a big farm table under a tree and have meals together.

Plant a garden just for the deer to eat.

I settled into the chair all excited to hear more about my roseness and my big love and what a free bird I am. I could feel her inside my energy field — it felt odd. Then she started to cry. I wiggled in the chair to find a comfortable position but I couldn’t. After a while she opened her eyes and she said “It’s just so sad. So much deep deep sadness. You don’t even dream.

You’ve been led to believe that dreams don’t come true for you so you just don’t even try.” Um. Oh fuck. Yes, this is true.

I worked with Z for several years and I learned how to sparkle and shine and dream and expect great things. She moved away but whenever she comes we catch up and visit.

Dream #2: Rent the Debbie Does Desserts space in downtown San Anselmo. Call it Raven. Have divination tools and classes and make crystal crowns with a big torch in the back room.

There is a tree growing on the back patio and little altars for people to leave their dreams…help others. Host writers workshops and sex magic classes. Wear really witchy clothing and keep people guessing about what my powers are exactly.

So now I have a few dreams. Somewhere deep inside I distrust them but I think I am just going to have to manifest them now. Fuck it. What do I have to lose?

Dream #1: Buy a plot of land on a hilltop in Marin county.

If you are wondering why you are not in here - in the dreams. You are. I am just too scared to admit that part yet - that part seems really far fetched. I want to share these dreams with you. I want to know your dreams and help you to attain them. I want you with me all the way to the end. To the part where I hold your hand and tell you to let go and visit me in my dreams - when we are very very old.

March 15, 2017

THIS IS NOT A LOVE POEM I felt a tingle. She said she would kill me. Married twice a few wonderful year to 4 year relationships, a few one night stands, never gave anyone anything.

I went to planned parenthood. Sat in the lobby waiting, watching Office with no sound calling my new insurance to see if they would cover STD panel and Vasectomy. If I felt a tingle that would mean that the herpes might beginning to show and I wanted to confirm if it was or not.

This is so not poetic. This is so not about love… This is so not a love poem.

Or maybe it is even more so. Suddenly, I feel like this is a woman worth fighting for. Being real as real as I can be. Honest as honest as I can be. Forthcoming as forthcoming as I can be. I say when I meet a person I’m about to have sex with… I’ve been tested and have been with good women I feel very confident about. But then again what is confident? I say I have a herpes on my spine shows up a few times a year. I’ve never given it to anyone. When you google herpes the information says that 80% of the population has it and that only 20% of the people who have it show signs. This means like everyone except like 6 people are walking around with an STD. And my baby is one of those. Or so she believes. How would you know if you gave anyone anything or if they already have something. Its a mind field and a mind fuck.

My X sent out notifications to everyone that I was a sex addict, a pathological lier, had STDs and didn’t tell people, had multiple affairs on her, pimped her out for sex, and fucked prostitutes. This shaming and humiliation texted, facebooked, emailed, called or spoken to my friends, lovers and x lovers, my father, my mentor, her own children wounds my inside in a way that even when I know that each one of those things is not me and her truth suits her own purpose not reality… that at some level she is saying them to say yes these are you. Fucker. Duche bag. Narcissistic Asshole.

Masogonist. Manipulator. How can someone who loved me for almost 5 years use such terms? True or not true… at some level they are all me. My movie a rouge accounting, a terrorist slander, a violent violation, a hurt saboteur doing dirty work? Even with the reasoning and context how could someone trust or love all that

even if 1% was true?

So I’m sitting in this room. I’ve sat here before as it is low stress and a sliding scale. I tell my new love that I made an appointment for a male birth control. They have a clinic once a month and it’s only $600. Talked to her even more openly about the STD things and the herpes.

She says she trusts me. It is the most gracious thing. She says we can go in together and get tested for herpes. It opens my heart that someone will love me with all the names with all the uncertainties that this world brings to our plates. You meet someone on line and you just don’t know.

I opened up Facebook just now and this is the first thing I see from my friend Polina…

When you finally muster up the will to go on a tinder date and the date says, “I think i’m the next Mahatma Gandhi or Malcom X,” and when you joke that that sounds a tad bit arrogant he responds, “I’m sorry you’re so deeply insecure you need to cut my down. I hope one day you can see your own greatness.”

In truth everyone is a bit insecure about there own greatness and everyone puts on a bit of a show.

When she says she trust me. It was really me she was talking to.

When she says she is working on becoming a better person. It is the first time I see a person that I love and already cherish say she want to love deeper and more openly and with more heart and love fully in ways that are real and honest. Even with the real and honest are showing sides that we are afraid to reveal.

That is the purest trust and the cleanest deepest love that includes the shadows that are not always clean and not just deep but buried.

We love to open all the doors. To become our greatest potentials.

The world is a sideways motherfucker these days. We only move to our greatest potentials otherwise we might as well be hermits.

This is a love poem.

MARCH 16, 2017

THREE IS A CROWD ]

I am a new relationship. It should just be “dating” since I think it’s been about three weeks but it’s a relationship — shaping up to He is strong willed. He likes things to go a certain way. He is the man. He wants to go to the MOMA but I was just there. When I be something big and juicy and rich. was in college at SFCC in the late 80’s I would go to the MOMA 2 times a week for a class. I would sit with my journal and I can’t help but wonder however if I am the rebound girl. The sketch book for hours and hours — alone. I was always alone. It’s rebound girl is sexy and fun and takes you away from your last destroyed relationship so you can break away — get free. I hard for me to want to go there on a date with a man who might want to have things a certain way. I might get moody. I might have been the rebound girl before only due to a tragedy and a want to break off and go look at things by myself so I don’t feel shit ton of grief it lasted much longer then it should have and pressured to nod and smile. It will make me rebellious. It will instead of the rebounder feeling joyful and free he is crushed.

He hung around too long — he didn’t get the memo about what make me want to pound a bunch of drinks and create chaos.

Have a tizzy. a rebound girls does.

I know way too much about the new guys last relationship and she knows way too much about me. I can’t help but feel her in the room with us. It casts an energy field around me and I can’t shake it. The energy is angry and sick and sad and it just lays there and pouts. It looks like one of those dark grainy pictures of a weird fish creature under the sea — his mouth gaping and grotesque — feed me!!! I feel dirty. I need a vacation.

I need to lighten things up a bit. He likes to talk about it. He is processing. He needs to grieve the relationship but here I am wanting to be loved.

I like things a certain way too I guess. Lighten up. I can do this.

Calm down. Be good. Don’t be bratty. Stop having tizzies. Don’t break away. Don’t be alone. Smile and nod. Act normal. Kiss longer. Use more tongue. Drop 20 pounds. Do more. Be more.

Find your talents.

Cue tizzy.

MARCH 16, 2017

IN ACCORDANCE There is a fullness in my heart that I can not ignore. There are also other things in my body that are pulsing and throbbing. I get everything. My body is my litmus. The fullness is that I am in the center of the universe and my life is in balance in accordance to this time and place.

drinking water and just wait to die. In that moment I thought of a neighbor who had lost two beautiful young sons nearly the same age of Phoebe.This moment feels like the awakening moment.

In the morning on the following day I got up early and sat at my table. Lit my beeswax candle laid out my Pachebo Cloth from the I have never said that before it just how I feel getting up early to type. amazon, placed pieces of things I deem sacred and pulled out cards for Not quite enough hours to give me rest. This has been a winter of Jetara and her two boys. I wrote her a letter. I spoke about the Obama getting not enough rest even though I was sat down on my ass by a moment and how much in disbelief she must be feeling. I reread the protruding broken bone and then a surgery to fix it and all the healing letter and I saw that it was also about the loss of our planet, the loss and recovery. A winter of healing and recovery. Sit my ass down. Rest of our community, the loss of our hope. In that moment I saw the my body but activate my soul, sprit, emotions, heart, mind— I’m not writing and the significance of being aligned in that moment. I closed sure what aspect I am supposed to align to this healing and recovery… my eyes and meditated and sat quietly going deeper into this feeling. but certainly it was much more than just my broken bone and broken The alignment, the balance in accordance to this moment. But even heart. more significant I was feeling my daughter as if I had forgotten what that grief truly was. The kind of power and beauty that underlies the And let this be said. I am mended but I am not recovered. But life in deep sadness and also the rawness that this woman now must feel and balance in accordance to this time and place that feels right. Whatever can not possibly decipher. I felt a profound epiphany in that moment road map was placed in front of me, whatever road I am walking down the letter warm with it’s wrods, the candle burning, the soft light of the these days. Feels proper and alive with intuition, significance, light, early morning beginning to awaken the day. awareness. There is always my ancient sorrow, my constant nudge of anxiety, a hint of trepidation, shards of shame, sadness an relief from I opened my eyes and saw an animal in through my window of my the final broken cord…. but mostly a enlightening sense of well being door. We are at the same level. She did not stop. She did not turn that allows me to say yes Yes YES! I am alive and feeling great and I and face me. When I opnened my eyes i saw this beautiful creature. welcome this new path in my journey. I welcome this new love. I Full winter coat shining in the morning light. Every detail perfect welcome my new skin. I welcome and am grateful for this process. lit to capture the ripples of color and texture. Each whisker. The tuff of white on the tip of each ear. The tuff of white on it’s short bobbed On January 10th 2017 President Obama gave his farewell speech. The tail. The strong feline muscles frozen still as it moved slowly without Chaos of the new regime had already started and the cut into our skins fear or trepidation across my plane. It moved past. I walked to the was palatable. President Obama represented yes disappointment that window and took a photo of it as it turned down the hill. I walked someone we put so much hope still continued a horrible war and other outside to watch it disappear into the woods and underbrush, down domestic and political travesties but still I felt he was one of us. I have into my valley. I looked up and over us was a rainbow. I have lived in no TV so I watched and listened with a number of devices trying to my sacred home ( I feel so fortunate to land here) and have not seen a catch what he was saying but as he spoke. Watching him standing with rainbow, a few hints of colored prisms filtered in the clouds. This was his wife and one of his daughters I was filled with a powerful feeling one as if drawn by fluorescent sharpie pens. The bottom just below my that had nothing to do with politics. Whatever words he was saying, beehives and the end of it on the other side of the valley. A rainbow of honestly, were gibberish and meaningless. I heard maybe 4 words, but the exclamation point just to say… Dave do not miss this moment. You I was crying filled with a kind of grief and awakening. are alive and living in a world that is filled with magic and wonder and you can live within it.

Phoebe died the year we elected Obama. It was 8 years that he has been in office. This is a period of time. This is a bracket of life. This is There has not been a day since that moment that I have not touched a definition of my journey to this point. I lost Phoebe April 2008 and that feeling. That voice saying to me over and over now it is 2016. The sea has parted, the road across the mountain has a gaping chasm across it. I remember putting so much hope into that Dave do not miss this moment. You are alive and living in a world that election. My grief unsurmountable and fresh and confusing believing is filled with magic and wonder and you can live within it. if Obama didn’t win that I would just give up crawl under a bush stop

March 18, 2017

FUCK IF I KNOW

I am running through a grove of trees. The trees are glowing with soft light from the waning sun and I can see each foot fall. Breathing hard and moving fast I fly through the forest — beat, beat, beat my bare feet hit the dirt. It starts to get darker and the trees thicker and I am lost and confused. But I keep running. Running and running and have no fucking idea to what.

If I were a Witch I would fly over the trees looking down and then cast a spell over this great Earth — a spell of peace and desire- for all creatures to know peace and desire. I would mix herbs and tinctures and finally know why I was born with this nose. If I had a dollar for every time someone needed to say “you have a big nose”. Yeah, you have a really stupid brain. You don’t know anything — here drink this little bottle — you are turning green, you are melting now. Good your gone. No one will miss you. Oh wait, was I talking about peace and desire…oops. Fuck if I know peace and desire.

If I were a Goddess I would carry a golden rod of lightening — ring of golden leaves around my head — my skin dewy and glowing, my breasts perky and ripe. I would create great drama in the God world and be the lover and the confident to the powerful and eat grapes — you know Goddess shit.

Think Aphrodite not that creepy fat saggy tit goddess that people make beeswax candles out of. I would use that lightening wand to make humans fall in love with each other and orgy out. Shut up and stop trying to control each other and stop trying to be in the “in group”. Eat some grapes and shut the fuck up. There is no in group you know. We are all just idiots.

But I am just a woman and a mother and a lover. I have flaws and a vulnerable heart. I don’t have a lightening rod or a broom and a cool hat or ravens that follow me around and do my dirty work. I drive a hand me down volvo and sell sweaters. Somehow things just don’t add up? I feel so powerful and yet do nothing.

I have to admit that I don’t fucking know.

March 18, 2017

AGH AGH AGH Agh Agh Agh I just wrote 300 words and then hit delete

Once on a journey to Mexico I got sick. Even yesterday my mother started crying telling me the doctor did not think I was going to make it.

Came off the plane in a wheel chair, she’ll never forget. 135 pounds in I wrote 200 words yesterdays and then got up and went to work and they the hospital with bottles of liquid in my arm and a funny looking beard no longer matter. and John Lennon glasses always looking hopeful. I am always hopeful.

My charm and my decent into madness I guess. Doc said I would be My body feels like a clump of 50 wet burlap sandbags. If this early morn- hunchback and have a short leg and need a funny shoe would probably ing inspiration of writing about growing love is an astounding clear run- end up homeless and broken as most people just go insane or commit ning river through my soul then my body is this brownish mass of dull suicide. Doctors running out to get their cameras to take pictures of a aches that has stopped it’s wondrous course. My body is this machine, small lesions on my knee that looked like an ancient campground of a it is my miracle. Just healed faster than the doctor has ever seen before.

100 Tepees growing on the petri dish of a swollen knee. Souls of my feet Angel doesn’t trust it and is scared that it will condemn her to a life of that could not bare my weight. I had taken a year off from school to pain and disease. Who can blame her. I saw a new doctor and he gave me travel to write a book. I thought myself a writer. This body and my inspia medicine that will suppress it. Doesn’t matter. ration wanted to travel. I got something they called Reiders Syndrome.

Not writers syndrome. Crutches and couldn’t sneeze (back spasm) till I My body is my source of everything. I have gotten the green light from was almost 30. A small lesion on my back I always thought it was part of my injury and I’m running and jumping and rode my bike. Yay I’m back. this and was happy that was all that was left of it. I wrote a novel about Yet in this moment she is taking a break to sort out can she be with a it. Have never read it. Honestly. man that has a body with an HSV virus inside it. That is the simple fact.

I don’t feel like running and jumping. Is it me or does HSV sound like For years I was grateful that I had dodged a bullet and only a small sore HIV? on my back for 3 or 4 days a few times a year. But now it is called an STD. HIV is an STD. HIV turns to Aids. Aids has killed my friends.

She will barely tolerate to kiss me. Holds my hand under duress. Will Cancer has killed my friends. Bodies falling off cliffs have killed… I don’t let me buy movies and a sushi dinner and thank me for a beautiful evehave to finish that. ning but our love suddenly feels lost behind a body of moldy burlap and lesions. Certainly not inviting me over for a shot of patron and canceling My beautiful body has been condemned by people I have loved and the weekend plans… agh I don’t want to write this shit. people I now love. It is worse than a killer it is a body of subterfuge. She said I lied about it. The river of inspiration has given up hope.

I have ridden my bike in ways that made me feel like superman. It has made love that has taken me flying on magic carpets across etherial Fuck if I want to write about this shit. I fucking give up. She says she skies and made me feel like an ancient God. It has climbed to the top of hasn’t. But I don’t believe her. I said take your time. Something doesn’t 14,000 foot peaks that have made me feel small as an ant at the doorstep feel right and I don’t believe she knows how to find her way back. I have of heaven. It traveled across oceans and continents and rugged trails and the pills and my latex unitard. finally to a dusty sacred town at 21,000 foot in Tibet to serendipitously meet a boyhood friend who gave me a spiritual secret that changed my Agh Agh Agh. I hate writing. I hate this. Love where is love? life. It can dance like a mad man. It can do back flips. It can give massages. It can juggle. It can read tiny print. It can hold a baby. It can squeeze Feel so fucking alone. Maybe that is where I am supposed to be. X not you with the strength of a papa bear. to be mentioned and that asshole doctor when I was just 19 are so fucking wrong. Fuck you Dr Bohan. He’d be dead by now so fuck you again It has never hurt anyone. My body is innocent or at least seemingly so. doctor. I’ll take my anger out on him. I’ll go ride my bike now.

She says she will kill me if if hurts her. It has hurt me.

I have charm and I never give up hope.

So does Angel.

I hope.

March 19, 2017

NEVER ENOUGH

I am not going to be enough for him. I like sushi with fried soft shell crab. That’s not cool. I like to be alone. No one can judge me or correct me or make me feel weird when I’m alone. I mean it’s just me and I really like myself.

When I am alone I can watch bad tv shows or do magic or listen to 80’s new wave and dance naked. When I am naked I am free.

I don’t think he is going to like me when he gets past the Angel phase. So I better just dump him now and save myself all the anguish. I mean my house is a little dirty and cluttered.

No one likes that.

Then I look around and I know, I mean I really know that I am the cats pajamas. I am really cool and funny and amazing. When I look around my house I think — someone really amazing lives here — look at all my stuff — it’s really cool.

So how come I always doubt myself. How come I am not enough. When will I be enough.

So I will hide now. I will hide away and hope that he just goes away. I can’t. I am not enough. I need space. He will hurt me. And then I will be alone so I just want to be alone now. I need time to think. I am not enough. He will realize that and hurt me.

I am not enough.

March 19, 2017

LOVE POEM

I have dreams and most of them have to do with creating something bigger than me. I want to write a script and film a movie, I want to write a great story. I want to sing something and play a guitar or the piano. I want to travel and find secret gardens, perfect food in a small adobe house on top of a mountain. I want to build fires on the beach and look up and see birds circle overhead and know I live in magic in every breath.

And baby I want to do these with you. My dream has a partner in it. My dream has a muse and a love that is my inspiration. My dream has my woman adoring me for who I am and makes me the better man. My dream has me adoring her building shelves and planting tomatoes reading our stories to each other. We meet as equals. We meet as the sum that is bigger than its parts.

I don’t have to change the world. When I write, I write for one person. Sometimes it is a 24 year old female. Sometimes it is for a 19 year old male. Sometimes it is for my best friend. Sometimes

it is for my lover. When I write for me I go into my body, into my heart, into my field of vision that lies behind that proverbial third eye. I start here. You my love are now the first filter. Actually, that is not true‌ Phoebe has always been the first filter. She is the one that always says go deeper dad. Do not be afraid of being honest.

Do not be afraid of being real. Being you. Your love says the same things, your writing deepens everything. Phoebe is not eyes she is angel. I believe in angels now. You are my eyes and that is the key to my open heart.

I will founder without you. Baby steps she says, baby steps. The flowers are blooming. The world is magic. The world is cracked open and breaking in front of our eyes. Who has time for baby steps‌ but yes, there are always red flags and old wounds that wrap fear around all the we step into. Faith does not come as easy these days. Sometimes you just have to dare to believe. When there is magic then we will know.

Another love poem We make the fire on the beach angelic sparks spiral prayers to heaven we draw names in the sand and let the tide wash our grief with the sea the birds fly lofting overheard circling back-it clouds sun rays filtering through sacred gauze as delicate water color pastel fingers we bring love to this moment we build love for this moment far beyond our erotic secretes and romantic charms the episodes and the markers left behind anchors and walls melt away This is how we touch magic in a place like this. we are here to do only that we are the poetry that says without love it is only sand

X

NADA

March 21, 2017

SOFT SHELL CRAB, OSPREY AND PISTACHIO SHELLS I’m training now. Have to put hours in on my bike. Lousy day.

Suddenly feeling uncertain about this new relationship. She had turned invisible and when I spoke to her or read her text she sound unfamiliar. Huge anxiety. She said her stomach hurts and she is sick sick but never gets sick. Something not feeling right, partial truths hurt more than lies, my stomach aches with anxiety. I get anxiety when I feel things out of balance. I finally realize that. Yes I am sensitive. I ride my bike towards Fairfax. She said she sent her homework but I did not get it and she is aloof about it. I ride by her house knowing she won’t be there. She is not. I ride up to the top of hill and stop and check my phone. Her homework has arrived. I read it and it does not sound like the same voice. And it is saying she wants to run away. Deep fried Soft Shell Crab in sushi can that be it?

I call her and ask her if she just wrote that, this was not what you wrote earlier. That is not the piece she said she was going to send. She tells me that is so. I tell her I do not like it. It does not sound like her writing. Not her voice. She doesn’t answer. I am confused. She’s saying she wants to quit trying. I’ve scared her away. I tell her I’m going to ride my bike to an osprey nest and hopefully I will see these birds and a young family. Spring Equinox is here everything is full of meaning right now. There will be a story. I tell her that. I tell her I see the birds that will make me happy.

When I tell her this I am at a spot where we took our first walk. It wasn’t that long ago, but it seems like forever already. Facing a wall of Serpentine rocks that look like a candy bar of delicious nuggets. So clearly remember us here. The road is closed. Nice to ride as there can be no cars. This road is clear. I have not ridden on this road for a long time. I do not ride this skinny tire road bike very often anymore… but training and injury it seems like the best way to get the body and psyche back into the flow. I am excited to see the nest.

I ride down towards Alpine Dam. I want to know why the road is closed. I am expecting a huge landslide as the reason for the closure.

It is only small cracks in the pavement painted fluorescent orange, but closer you can see it is undercut with no supportive earth and even though you can drive partially on the pavement there are blind corners from both directions. It seems insignificant but this road will be closed a long time because of these unsupported cracks and blind corners. Metaphor? I wonder as I ride fast down hill.

This is a wonderful place I found a few years back. Haven’t visited for a while. Standing on the road the nest is 100 feet away and just a few degrees below eye level. It is a rare opportunity to see something like this. Often I come and I only see an empty nest, but not this time. I am right. The juvenile is startled at my clumsy dismount and she is crying loudly and the valley echoes her screeching call. She gets out of nest and walks to the end of a branch. I am saying don’t be scared, don’t be scare. I apologize. Sorry Sorry didn’t realize you were here.

Sorry sorry. Mad at myself for not arriving stealthy. Not being more sensitive to the situation.

Juvenile flies off nest. First I’m afraid I’ve made it fly too early and she will not know what to do, but she lands pretty graceful on small tip of dead tree nearby. Still Screeching.

I know mother or father will be back soon. I can wait. Please calm down and fly back to nest. I repeat over and over. I am sorry I scared you please come back. The small point she is standing on looks treacherous to me. She is crying loudly high pitch noise filling the air. I see a silhouette circling high overhead. Cannot tell what it is.

Repeating over and over don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you. I am watching it. There are Pistachio shells next to me. Someone else sat here watching the innocent fearful bird. Another man leaving his fucking pistachio shells also scarring the poor bird. I close my eyes and trying to make myself invisible. Make my ego tiny hide it under that pistachio shell. I climb in under it. See I’m not really here. You can feel comfortable now. I am not going to hurt you. I swear. You can order any kind of sushi you want.

I open my eyes and I see the mother circling overhead with a good size trout in its talons like a torpedo hanging off an old jet fighter.

The parent hears the frightened bird. I’ve poked my head out of the Pistachio shell but she sees me and lands in a tree on the other side of the valley waiting. Baby is still crying but I’m silent and she feels better I can tell. She opens her wings and makes its dive towards the nest and lands perfectly. The mother instantly lofts from her promontory branch and soars without a flap of wing, arches and curve and stalls and lands. Touch down with food for baby. She’s happy. It is magnificent. They are together. It is beautiful. It is perfect. They touch beaks. Touching.

I feel good. Yes it is a happy ending. I scared her but I made myself I never ride to the nest from this direction. Always on my mountain quiet and she came back and the great mother brought her the gift bike coming down from above via the Nail Trail. Very special area. At of nourishment. I am happy. I feel relieved. That letter about bad the dam I turn off on an old gravel access road. Skinny tire on a gravel sushi was just a startled animal crying. The two birds seem happy and road takes a lot of concentration. Muddy, lots of debris, chance of content. Rain coming soon I have a long ride ahead of me. I start to flats and since have not ridden this bike in a long time not sure what stand up but remember wait move slowly… but too late. would happen. Do I even have a complete tool kit to fix the bike?

Concentrating. So beautiful. Lots of water and lots of birds as I ride As I stand up with my plaid turquoise blue shirt helmet and stuff I to the spot. Seem further than I remember. I come around a corner carry the ospreys are startled out of the nest and fly off. Good bye. and I don’t see anything but I feel like maybe Ive gone to far and stop my bike and get off. Not quiet or graceful. I hear loud screeching and Damn it I really do scare things. They can return when I am not here I look around I see the nest and there is a juvenile and I have scared it. and I ride home.

The nest is massive, minimum 8’ x 8’.

She never did send that other writing. I wonder if this story is a The road is a side cut into the hill. The bottom of the drainage is the metaphor. Or just a story. very end of Kent lake and it is perhaps 200 feet down. The tips of the I’ve learned don’t be the story. Just tell it. trees here are quite large and many of them dead. The tops break off and the Osprey love to make their nests in these broken tree tops.

She will have to tell me now. I’m just confused.

March 22, 2017

BATHTUB FOLLIES

I am in the water, the vast wide ocean. I can see the layers as the sun comes down and shines into the water — the bits of sea life and single celled organisms and krill — tiny pieces of flesh and bone that cast out of the whales mouth as they glide through the water sucking in sustenance and spitting out the waste like breathing. The water is the color of green tourmaline with layers of dark and light. I can hear the dapple dapple of the movement of the waves at the top. I can breathe.

I am not drowning in this space — me the woman from Atlantis. Mermaid of the sea. Ancient witch who mixed herbs and tinctures to heal her community. You didn’t work alone you worked in a tribe the seer made a point to say. You needed people then too.

I adjust my eyes and wave my arms to stay suspended under the water scanning and searching. Tears start to flow. The sadness washing over me like hot pee when you go skiing — steam coming off, relief.

I ache with the sadness of a thousand lifetimes of longing. I know love. I know heartache and the wrenching sadness of an unrecognized soul. I know disappointment and tragedy and loss. I know the pain of the greatest love of your life choosing to never talk to you again and hiring a lawyer to say the things that need saying because it is just to painful to face and then taking the sadness and anger out on your kids because they have your face. I know these things. My body remembers things that I don’t remember from all those lives, all that shame and regret.

All that love lost.

My body remembers the Earth and the forest. It knows how to move swiftly through groves up trees and how to dig in the dirt for Earthworms and bones and shell. It remembers how to pick herbs in such a way that doesn’t deplete the plant — how to honor the plant — I know I need you. My heart is aching and I want to scream. I know intimacy. how to talk to plants and hear what they have to say. I can match the I know the tenderness of an earnest kiss that can shoot sparks down vibration of a redwood and hear all the wisdom of a thousand year into your toes. I know seduction and longing and feeling my pussy old tree ring. “I thought you would be more agile in nature”, he says. get wet just looking into the eyes of my lover. I know how to create orgasm just with my mind and the hotness of the sun shining down He doesn’t know. onto me. I know tantra and sex magic and how to breath as one until your bodies rock together and heart center to heart center you conBut I don’t know how to tell him that I want him so he’ll listen. That nect on a soul level. No one has to teach me these things.

I picked him. That our souls recognized each other but that I let the Earths trauma get in the way. That if he just sat and closed his eyes I am a soul so old they see amoeba. Do you know how hard it is to and thought about my perspective he might understand me betwalk this earth again and again searching for love? Do you know why ter. So tomorrow I will mix the herbs and cast the spell in the new a soul would say — sure I’ll do it again — sign me up, over and over. I’ll rose quartz bowl. I will call on Aphrodite and the ancestors and the pick that deranged family of misfits and see what lessons are there. mighty mighty dead. I will call on the Great Mother and my own When I say I am tired I am centuries tired, rings under my eyes so sacred soul. That I will call in a great sea of love — the murky waters old I can taste the dirt from a million years ago — the mineral content. of emotion with bits and pieces of waste and sustenance — love like breathing underwater. The thing to do to stay alive.

I remember.

I am not drowning.

March 22, 2017

I’M A NARCISSIST I went to the psychic Dana. She went with me. Dana had cancer scarf around her head. It made her look wiser somehow. She looked different. She is going to die. We’re all going to die. She told me some things I didn’t really care about knowing. She asked a lot of questions and got a lot of answers and asked about her boys and saw how horrible the father really is. How special her boys are. I asked about Henry which of course brought up Phoebe and she said Phoebe is like a rose to Henry looks after him in a kind mother way. I repeated that back to her how Phoebe is a guide to me and a mother to Henry. I could not finish the sentence.

I felt Phoebe so strongly in that moment. Her arms around me squeezing me. My chest constricted. Huge weight. My body like 300 lbs but also strong but still could not resist the feeling of being choked. Not be grief. I saw Henry’s mom so in trauma asking so much of Henry not as mother anymore but as a grieving widow, not even mother anymore. I felt Phoebe’s love and I saw Henry as of strong and brilliant and in his own rights and so proud. I saw Phoebe always standing behind him, beside him. Such an Angel. I saw my own life and all me misdeeds and all my disappointments. So many so many. Even in this room with her next to me I was feeling disappointment. misunderstood. I cried deeper till it hurt, till i couldn’t breath.

Choking on crying.

she kissed me with cold cold lips and she died the next day.

Said she loved me and asked me to do her ceremony. The property was in disarray. She lived on 3 acres in Sleepy Hollow in an old adobe home. I took my crew and transformed the property, a kind of miracle… I stood in front of many people I did not know and take about life and death and Lisa and loss and grief. Words came clear and strong. Her kids were well served as I had been asked to look after them. I left my Tara on top of the hill looking over the property. It was the day after equinox. A day to take her home. I placed her by my front door.

When I got home the ache in my chest was so strong. It felt good to have a heart ache like this. I sent a text to Angel saying things were not right she was asking for space she should take it. Find out if she want to love me. Asking her to be honest.

She reacted strongly with a Fuck You. I guess I have to say I expected her reaction to be strong and angry.

Later just before midnight after a day of sad and angry texts and sad and bittersweet phone call we decided we would just call it break.

Break in my heart. She says it’s not always about me. But right now it is.

When I was done no one said anything. no one mentioned it. no one touched me. no one said wow that was a beautiful moment.

That was powerful emotion. When we got back to the car she was in a hurry to get to work. Still would not kiss me, did not want to check in.

I am so fucking sad. I cannot be loved.

I went by my project. No one there. Just after a rain. A project I worked on for almost 5 months. This post rain light. The water on everything glistening. Flowers everywhere. Birds going crazy. I made this. I walked on my paths. Such views and such beautiful work. So many relationships to materials and space. I knew I was brilliant. It is not like an ego. It is like when I make a good meal and I complement the food. The food made this great I just facilitated them. I feel like this about this project. My crew and the people who live here. It is brilliant. I am also. The ache in my chest was powerful with emotion still.

She thinks I’m a narcissist with herpes. Wow… how writing brings truth.

On the way home I decided to go by Lisa’s house. She died almost two years ago. I was there I saw her on my birthday and

For all my tactile brilliance, all my glamorized grief around my broken heart, all my love and big showy heart I am not worthy of the kind of love I ask for.

I’m not sad. Narcissist don’t get sad. We fake it to get what we want. cue evil laugh.

Heart aches why can’t love just be true and clear? Why am I not worthy for that? Phoebe’s strangle hug today is my reminder that I do know truth and am loved by an Angel.

We take a break. Maybe the 180 days was her vision.

March 24, 2017

ALONE

I am alone again. Like always. Alone in this house. The wounded one is across the street, the one I dream about in San Rafael and the one — the one I want is somewhere far away with other people — probably some beautiful woman by his side while I am lying here alone worrying.

Worrying is really hard work. It takes a lot of energy and there is a this thinking — real doom and gloom shit. Worrying keeps me from living a full life, from getting proper sleep. I would like to give up worrying and be free. I can’t remember when the worrying started but I would really like to stop.

He tried to break up with me — just like the worrying said he would.

He tried to break up with me and I cried like I haven’t cried in years.

The real cry — the fetal position on the bed crying. Unstoppable sobbing. The type of crying that says “you are fucked” so you might as well just cry. Nothing to do but cry.

I don’t know if we can put it back together now. The beast has been released. Trust. It will be really hard to trust. I read my cards and they never lie and they said no.

So I am destined to be alone. I don’t have any soft place to lay my head — no one to pet me and tell me lovely things about our future.

I have so much desire inside me. So many moments of unrelenting desire inside me.

March 24, 2017

SHE IS A WOMAN I fell in love with a poet. I fell in love with a woman who tells me she is a shape shifter on our first date, tells me she is such an old soul that she remembers the original amebas. Her voice moves from sound to laughter, from laughter to tears from love to rage from a babies whisper to grand piano striking chords that sound like the ocean, like wind that sound like rain like thunder, like lightning. She is the light in the room.

She is the light from the promontory beacon lighting the way.

She can be invisible and she can be bigger than the room she sits. Her mind is always swimming, always stroking, always moving fluidly. fearlessly, through a river that no one else sees. Her mind can bend time. Her mind can see space that is behind space that is not space but a glimmer from something shining, a atom spec of light that turns into an angel just for her that opens up for the world. She laughs like a comedian on stage a kind of self enthralling laugh that sees humor and irony in a way no-one in the audience imagined yet hearing they understand ahh yes it was always so… She laughing is this funny, ironic, exceptional, spontaneous combustion of the moment?

Yes yes it is. She invites you to see it too. Away from your ego, away from your stories, away from expectations, from judgment, from rules, from doubt, from fear— if you could travel here you too would see everything and could only laugh. Her laughter invites you in and says do not be afraid young ones for here is a place that will not hurt you. I will not hurt you. laughter is the salve of the gods. I am Aphrodite doing stand up. I am pagan witch making tickling tinctures. I am death Doula opening magical shadows, I am dikini Buddha sharing stories to make you smile. I am Medea bringing the golden fleece. Be warned, it is full of spirit, full of life, it is so beautiful, it so powerful it is so consuming. But I am not for everyone. I can scare people as well. They do not know me. They cannot understand me. Their sense of reality is threatened if I am not careful to cloak all that moves within me. Ahh laughter is my cloak but be careful with me. In the same moment she will cry. Her eyes are always translucent colors that change their meanings, mirror of her soul, from a the morning light of the soft gray kitten to a penetrating turquoise she-wolf scanning in the dark. Her eyes show everything and they will turn glassy and hold tears that fill them like ancient tea cups. These eyes have held more than thimbles, not tea cups, not gallons, but oceans of tears. She is made of the water from tears. The

first thing she says to me in a letter is I also know grief. Her story she sends says things no one else can know. This is grief that bellows from the ocean. She knows mine and is gentle with me. Hers comes from leagues under the sea and follows a mythology that even the greek poets could not fathom. Her crying comes from a soul that is deep and large, she is made of water. Settling placid, pacific, serine. She will sit softly, quietly and openly as that sacred lake in Tibet. But one word that is out of context to what is real in the true nature of the moment can shatter everything faster than the speed of light. As there is no time and space here— no gauge of time. A small word, a gaze, a decimal, a point, an atom set with inappropriate intention can flip the switch and she is packing her bags of gems her crystals, her candles her cards her fabrics her ointments her incense her aromatic compounds… all her luscious magic. She calls it a tizzy and in that moment it is like watching a movie in fast motion in reverse where it is sucked back into where it came and she is disappearing out the door. The moon is calling me lover I must go don’t worry I love you. I’ll be back. Out the door she is she-wolf going into the night. Media conjuring another spell.

She is also a woman. She is also a mother. She is also a woman who shows up at a job with a boss and a clock and a door that has to be opened and locked. She lives in a house with no yard, windows with no view, on a busy dangerous street. She has two remarkable children that she raises ostensibly alone as the man she has known forever and who she chose as their father has disappeared into unrecognizable shell that hurts her as she sees it hurting her children. She eats and breaths. She does therapy and see chiropractor and healers and psychics. She has a mother and father who she loves and holds at protective distance. She has a brother who she adores and his son Loukas who died so recently who now is her guardian angel Michael.

And as she reads his name this will bring tears to her eyes as she loves this boy so much and she knows grief and love are the same and he is the spirit that heralds her darkest and most sublime heart to the realms of which he calls to her and protects her and loves her. She is a woman and her body is lush with secrets. Her skin is that perfect pale white skin that is like touching silk, like kissing perfection.

March 24, 2017 continued

She has nipples that I will suck for days. She loves her magic pussy and is not afraid or ashamed of naming it that. She is not ashamed of sex , but something to celebrate, something alive and living that brings two spirits together to travel in all the realms without ego or fear.

I can be wise. She can be wise. We both know this. We are both human. We can be fools and fragile as fuck. We both have places of courage and confidence that few can know and we travel there and know we are fortunate and blessed.

We have no money we have only the small things we love.

We have our children. Yet we go alone. We bring back our treasures to share, charming spirits sharing sharing. We both believe that here is someone I can share this with who will understand me and (perhaps) help sustain me. Going alone is so fucking lonely. Both of us know that. Both of us have the desire to share it.

I came into this knowing everything the first moment I read her story. She surrounded herself in barb wire hissing at all the frogs trying to engage her. Daring someone to knock on her door in the deep dark forest. Ah witch dressed like snow white with her poison apple of love‌ but for the right man she will be the slipper when he comes knocking, dismounting from his silver dodge ram V8 hemi steed. We surrounded We both are trying to learn how to trust something that has ourselves in mythology and magic the moment we met. A different kind of love at first site. I will write to you if you will no road map or kea instruction or easy cosmopolitan selfhelp guide. write to me.

She said she called me in. And the other day I wanted out.

She scared me. She disappeared and cloaked herself in something I had not seen nor did not understand. There was no laughter no tears just something I had not seen before and it scared me. She will not tell me what it is.

Love opens us and love wounds us. Love gives us clarity and love shrouds us with delusion. What do we trust and what do we flag as beware beware. What sustains us into evolving forward forward (dad always go forward) and what grabs us and pulls us back into cyclical shadows that spin you backwards backwards.

So. Here we are.

I love her, I cherish every morsel of this phantasmagorical woman.

I said lets take a break. She shouted (actually texted) fuck you but yes I love you but you will never see me again. Can we call it going slowly and learning how to trust each other? She cooed. Kissed me long and wet in the silver Hemi. Held my hand in public.

So. Now we learn how to trust.

March 25, 2017

THE MAGICIANS Shapeshifter. Witch. Seductress siren muse goddess. Learning — always learning about all the different aspects of my divine feminine.

I will never have all the answers to what it is to be these things but I know a hell of a lot. I can bring men to their knees. That is not always a good thing. I am not bragging. It just is. They are all back there wondering what they did to fuck it up and where I went. Shapeshifter. Muse.

Gone.

The Magician is number one in the major arcana — in the Tarot. Shit what was lemniscate again — infinity. The Magician is everything — infinite knowing, a master manifester — holding in his mind what he wants until he has it. I am The Magician, I hold the longing and the key to my own life. What do I want? The universe is confused as I am confused.

Get clear it shouts to me. Get fucking clear so we can give you what you want. Him. I want him.

The Seer said my Beloved navigates between Heaven and Earth (I was so jealous when she said this to him — with him I have to share the magic).

He is lovely. A real man but with all the gauzy aspects of the light world.

He knows how to cry and love and fuck. I never recognize him…he said this to me too but I had to think about it — when I look at his picture or hop in his car I am startled. He is beautiful. I always knock on the door to his place — he says — don’t knock just come in! But I need that moment — when I see him coming to the door to let me in and I can settle it.

It is his soul that I recognize — that I loved before I even met him.

I love his face but I never recognize it.

He is an amazing lover. Attentive and creative and invested. I couldn’t ask for more in a lover. I miss him terribly. I want to fuck. I want him to lick my nipples and between my legs. I am so ready for the next level in this — to the leaning in and having him lean back. I hope my sadness doesn’t scare him away. I hope he knows that we have to embrace our sadness — he knows. He is also a Magician.

We are a perfectly matched pair of seductresses.

March 25, 2017

WONDERWOMEN Long Beach Airport (Again)

I woke this morning way too early and just tossed and turned in my parent’s house. Both by the way doing so much better, good days bad days. Uber driver also came about 90 minutes early so I just got up in the dark and left. Getting ready in the dark quiet house I took a few pictures of frames and photos my mother had set. These women— One of my Nonnie, One of Phoebe’s mom Drew, two of my mom, two of Phoebe. Hash Tag Wonderwomen.

I’m dating a Wonderwoman. And as I look at those photos and think about the women that have come through my life… my god they are all such power houses. Often tragic, but more often magic.

They are all witches and even my mom might have been burned at the stake at Salem. I am realizing that the women I love all have this in common. This power, this magic, this witchieness, this intuitive I always knew it and will always know it before you Dave Washer.

Along the way, there are so many tragedies, so many disappointments, so many physical and psychic abuses, so many wounds, so many antonyms of validation, support, love, appreciation, tenderness, honesty. There is a trail in every woman I have loved that has them arriving in my life with so much attached and detached.

I made this storyline that I only attracted wounded women and what was wrong with me? All the women I have loved have lost their fathers so early, or if not lost they just disappeared and left shards of disappointment on a trail for their sweet daughters to walk on without any shoes. Bleeding and crying a young sweet lonely forgotten child. Still they find strength and anger and vengeance and I will not be stopped by you mother fucker. I have loved them and I have wounded them. I must be honest I have been the antonyms as often as the synonyms.

I woke up this morning looking at these photos. Loving Angel has re-

leased me to see myself in the company of witches, powerful magic women who cast spells and can bend spoons and dream big, bright and beautiful as well as dark and shadowy. Loving Anne entrapped me. She won’t let me mention Anne’s name, but she must also be included. Loving Anne has been the greatest lesson in my life. She is the poster child of something special that has been diminished by men, father, brothers, lovers, me. I wanted release and the spell she cast sucked me Into a labyrinth of demented love, dysfunctional hearts. Love that wraps wounds around a hearts and turns us into our latent pathologies.

I cried the other day not since I was on my knees eating hand full of grass screaming I have felt my gut turned so inside out. My loss of so many things. My loss of my self and my sense of worthlessness posturing as poet, athlete, lover with magic cock, wise grieving father, builder of shelves. I cried for the forgotten soul. I cried for all the love that wounded me rather than cherished me. I cried and choked as my daughter wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me so tight I couldn’t breath. If I had dirt and grass I would have buried my face into the earth and burrowed a hole into its center and jumped into the fire.

I told Angel after her dismissive kiss that we should take a break, poetically shrouding my disillusionment with terms about her uncertainty and fear. Truth can used as a lever of omission and dismissiveness.

Her anger was unbridled. Through the cause and effect she traveled on her horses galloping through the fields of her life. I found her burrowing into the earth sobbing and choking for all the loves she had wounded all the hearts that broke hers and then she broke back, for the grief of her childhood, her children, her heart, her magical essence.

We awoke again as A & B

March 27, 2017

UNDERWATER BASKET WEAVING

I am under the water — the sun shining down through the top layer so I can tell which way is up. Holding my breath and waving my arms and legs to stay down the little air bubbles clinging to my face and floating towards the light. I can’t hear anything down there other then the sound my body makes moving through the water — dapple dapple. The rippling and the dark tones of underwater movement and the filtered sound of the world on the other side.

He said it was the best 18 hours of his life. I would like to believe that but then I would just be sad for him. It was really a lovely 18 hours. I had gone to dinner and a jazz concert with my mother — raced home to freshen up and light all the candles and hide the dirty clothes in the closet. I opened the circle and called in the magicians and the Goddess. I asked that they support me in creating the sexiest most passionate night for us. Sex magic I whispered — he needs to know about the sex magic.

He came in and he said he loved my space — he looked around relieved and happy at all my altars and crystals and things. He looked so relieved that it was just a house that was filled with all the things I love. He came in and he changed the music, I really like his taste in music and it helped to add him to the ritual. He was in there too. It is not all about me… There is an us now. We are blending our energies — it is really impressive to experience this blending and be aware of it. We had a lovely lovely time together. It was so romantic, just two people who wanted to connect and sink into each other.

THE SEX WAS MAGIC. The next morning he bolted. Ha ha (hey! That is my signature move!). I made plans with someone else— I just wanted to keep a connection with others going but it fell flat. I wanted to be with Dave. Simple as that. I got a text that said — hey why don’t you grab a book and come out. I was so happy at the idea of just laying around on Sunday in his comfy space — with him. So I did.

We had such a nice time — laughing and talking and exchanging ideas. We had another great round of sex — the magic still there.

He got my last name wrong while talking to his brother and he called me chunky. Normally I would have written off anyone for these infractions. But I didn’t. This is huge. This tells me that this one is worth forgiving and letting down walls. This one is worth so much to me.

I have great hopes for this love. Not to put any pressure on anything — just let it flow. We had some major bumps in the road but the path seems pretty clear now. I hope we make it. I hope we can make it to the rocking chairs. I would love to hold this mans hand for the rest of our lives and laugh at his jokes and correct him when he gets my name wrong…

March 27, 2017

THE NEW MOON

Tonight is the new moon. I’ve been feeling light all day. I don’t need my horoscope to tell me that this is the beginning of a new cycle, that I am walking into a new path, that my life has just woken up. I don’t need a wise crone to tell me that the last new moon was one to be wary of and that it would try to trick me, throw curves, tests, sparing partners, lessons, chaos but in the end if I were able and stalwart show me a truer self. No one needs to tell me this. It just what is.

The last new moon I had just met sweet angel. Read her piece and had fallen head over heals. I walked into my house and the orange sliver hung over the horizon directly in front of me.

Aligned with my vision and the door to my house I felt like the center of a time piece. I felt like the center of the world. I called Angel and told her just that and she warned me that this new moon had something about Venus in retrograde. I don’t understand such things the way she does. I walk through it a different way. The next morning a fox appeared through my window and we met eye to eye. I took a picture of it perched on a the 1/2” wide edge of a wine barrel. Balanced, poised, direct. I wondered how would it leave the fenced in yard. It looked at me as if maybe I knew the answer as well. I held up my camera and took it’s picture and the flipped onto slow motion and watched it jump to the top of the 8’ fence ponder it’s choices and then leap to a tree and run down the vertical bark. In slow motion it shows that gravity does not exist. It shows that the animals poise is remarkable. It’s balance perfect. It’s timing sublime. Oh yes the fox is clever and covert. But in this instance it was just pure and open and saying watch me Dave Washer. Pay attention.

hill in her sweet home is Angel and she too is feeling the same way. This moon is our gift. We have arrived in her welcoming in tuned and in touch. Our first cycle complete.

The warning’s Angel counseled were indeed fraught with powerful portents and deep considerations. There were some many wars waged and some harsh words and hard lessons in the middle. Wisdom somehow always rose to the top like the cream on my luscious organic glass bottle of Strauss 1/2 and 1/2 that I whip each morning for my morning coffee ritual. That elegant and real.

Here is the nugget of truth coalesced from this cycle: powerful love will find conflict, it will fight for it’s truth, wrestle with convictions, test fortitudes, even the bickering about stupid little insignificant things but after the cycle is completed and you look back and say somehow that has made me wiser, somehow that has brought us closer together then I say yes yes yes. Bring it on. So often I have gone into that cauldron of facing issues with a stance and an attitude surrounded by drama and unheralded inflections only to return with something unsettled and the feeling of a small paper cut left upon my body has left me feeling uncentered in the love that I am loving. A slice out of wisdom replaced by a paper cut of resentment. Ouch. Death by a 1000 paper cuts.

Not this time. I see us surrounded by a light of wisdom and clarity. This new moon is the manifestation of that. I don’t need an astrologers guide to tell me this. The fox visited last new moon.

This visit is by the heart of love also standing on the thin edge and is leaping to the top of the fence and we are running down Tonight I look out and see Orion’s belt hanging over the ridge. the trees without gravity and we are smiling and laughing and the All the stars are out as the new moon is hidden somewhere below fucking sex is out of this world hot and fucking awesome. Bring the horizon now. I am alive and well. On the other side of the it on Baby.

FOR THE LOVE OF LOUKAS

By Christie Angelo

There is a piece missing in our family, a hole so gaping and hollow it has it’s own smell — the scent of tears, and sweat and a youth cut short. The hole has a sound too — it echoes — someone is missing, someone is missing and bounces endlessly off the walls of our souls.

The day it happened, the day that everything changed and it will never go back, our innocence was ripped from each one of us like a balloon plucked from a child’s fingers — we reached out, we cried, we shook our heads in disbelief and horror. We walked around in shock and pain and wondered — how? Why? How could this child be dead?

His name is Loukas and he was 14 years old and he was struck by a car in front of his high school during basketball practice because he had to pee and he made an error in judgment and a car was coming towards him but away from him was a big black SUV and he didn’t see the little Ford that was driven by a teacher from another school who was going 25 miles and hour — she was not talking on her phone, she was not under the influence she was not out of control or speeding as far as we know from the reports — we’ve never spoken to her, we can’t. I want to — ask questions, give her a hug too.

As far as we know she didn’t see him and it happened and now it is too late and we couldn’t save him and he is gone.

Forever. Not gone to his forever home by his adoptive parents but gone gone — over to the other side, behind the veil.

walls of the church depicting a beautiful woman holding a child or holding her dead child. I went to a thrift store I never go to — I looked and looked and finally I saw a face — behind a blanket on a shelf behind some glass cases where customers can’t go. I asked for help. Found the Mary — paid the 8 bucks and left — happy. I posted a picture of her sitting on my carseat and marveled at the glow around her head? It was cast by the sun and the reflection off my car seat — It felt like magic. It turns out it wasn’t Mary — It was Theresa — the patron saint of — not the thing someone had told me of the sick and dying but of prayer. An actual woman who was canonized after her death, she carries a bouquet of flowers.

Prayer.

Ok. So I went back out to an antique store I do know well and I found a Mary — a beautiful chalk antique French Mary — in the blue robes. The Mother of all. The one who knows the loss of a child. I asked the guy at the shop — this is Mary, right? Yes he said, $22.95.

I went home and I reposted and I said — I found her. This is her. I am sure of it. I also posted — be careful out there people are driving crazy!!!! My nephew had already been hit by the car. Around 3:30. He had left his body and was crossing over and I didn’t know. I had left my phone in the car after the trip to the store — not much for texting and the kids were home.

The next morning my 15 year old son came into my room The day it happened. The day before the day I began to ques- early saying — dad’s on the phone for you he needs to talk tion everything I had ever believed was true I was called to to you. “Dad” and I have been separated for 4 years and he go find a Mary icon. I am a collector of odd things and that is literally never needs to talk to me so I woke up and took odd since I am not Catholic — I am Greek Orthodox by birth the phone. He told me something — I don’t quite rememand baptism but I like to play in the pagan realms of Gods ber — something about call your Mom something has hapand Goddesses and in the Greek tradition we are run by a pened to Loukas — he was crying. I called my Mom and she patriarchy and Mary is just the vessel to the birth. We don’t said Loukas is in the hospital and he isn’t going to make it. talk about her much, Mary. There is iconography on the I didn’t know then but of course he died on impact but I

wasn’t sure what was going on. I called my brother and he confusion and shock and pain. It was horrific. I just tried sobbed into the phone — “I am going to lose my little boy. to hold space and nod and anticipate his needs but there wasn’t anything I could really do. All I could say was — it’s I am going to lose him”. bad. I am so sorry…it’s really bad.

I said the stupidest thing anyone could ever say — I said ‘Be strong. It’s ok, we’ll figure this out”. I was confused and If I were a pagan goddess I would have risen up and parted the heavens and pulled that child back to us. I would I was wrong — it wasn’t going to be ok and we will never figure it out. Never ever ever tell anyone how to be. Never. have presented him to my brother, put a lightening bolt of protection in his hand and said — Go and live and conquer this fucked up Earth. But I am just a woman with I walked outside to get my phone in a daze — said something to the kids, not sure what they heard or knew or felt goddess like aspirations. One of the greatest regrets of and sent them to school. I threw some clothes into a bag my life is that I didn’t pray. I didn’t ask for a miracle or and headed to Los Gatos with a friend who happened to anything because by the time I had arrived Loukas was be driving down the road and saw me getting my phone already gone. Yes he was there on the table breathing in and knew something was happening. and out through a machine looking like an Abercrombie model but his soul was aloft. His hands were so big, fingers long and beautiful. His face looked so peaceful On the way up I knew that saying “Stay strong” was really horrible. No I wanted to tell my brother — don’t be and younger then his 14 years 2 weeks shy of his 15th strong — throw shit and yell at people and fall to the floor birthday. His long basketball players body laying on the if you must…whatever you want. I was able to apologize bed — in and out, up and down false breath. Machines. I later but I don’t know what he heard in the next 5 days. never prayed. I never asked for a miracle? Was this what I don’t know what he was feeling or comprehending. I Theresa was trying to tell me — pray you idiot human. Call know that it was torture for him and that he was also dy- us in! ing inside and that a piece of his soul, of his very existence as a Father and a human had sailed off into the ethers or My brother Steve wanted my kids to come and say goodbye so my ex drove them up. He was there when Loukas perhaps the nethers and like that same balloon ripped from the sticky hand of a child — he will never see it again was born and baptized and learned to walk and all the milestones up to about 10. That first night back at the hoin this lifetime. tel room I lay in bed in complete shock. I begged Loukas My brother never yelled at anyone. He sobbed. He looked to come to me in a dream — tell me what I believe is true is — that you are an ascended soul and not in any pain at me with such torture and pain. He was gracious. He and watching this whole nightmare play out and that you played host to hundreds of well wishers and friends and are eternal. Our Angel — now we have an Angel (anothfamily members for 4 days in the hospital as we waited er thing you are NEVER to say to someone who has lost for Loukas to be officially pronounced dead and for his organs to find matches to save other lives. He saved lives someone — seriously — they don’t want a fucking angel, they want their loved one…) with those vital bits.

I never that night and he didn’t come to me — he has never come to me in a dream but he has come to me. First Steve, my beloved brother walked through the halls, thing in the morning Giovanni my 10 year old son shot shoulders hunched over — he smiled through tears of

up out of bed and said “I had a dream! It was Loukas and we were standing in the hospital looking at the body and he whacked me on the arm and he said I don’t know who that guy is because I am right here, with you”. It was my answer. His soul was with us watching too and confused and in shock. Giovanni is the most magical creature so it fit that he would get the visit, that he would understand enough to remember and tell me about such a teaching dream.

of the service, the lowering of the casket and the prayers.

You could see Giovanni providing comfort and rubbing his Uncle’s neck. I knew it was Loukas moving through him. It was the intimacy only a father and son could share, a moment through time and space — a soul connection. When Steve is stressed he rubs his own neck with his right hand — a signature move.

When I finally came home about 8 days later I went to find the Mary — the mother who knew the pain of the loss At the funeral — I can’t remember much, I hid in the back of a child and had come to warn me and I noticed she was in the crying room of the Greek church usually reserved broken — just a small crack at the base. I asked my friend for nursing mothers and crying babies. I watched the back who was cat sitting what had happened. He said that of my brothers head and I was paralyzed with grief. It when he got home from driving me to the hospital and was raining. It is always raining when Loukas wants us to came to feed the cats my entire dresser had toppled over know he is around — this has been proven time and time spilling the contents all over the floor and the Mary had again — the funeral, the 40 day memorial, his little broth- broken. How does a dresser topple over? It’s a dresser — it’s on four fucking legs. He didn’t want to tell me so he glued ers baptism, his memorial basketball game — all rain — it her back up and put everything back together. was the end of a 4 year drought.

We all went out to the cemetery— there were hundreds and hundreds of people. I was crying louder then I probably should have but fuck off we each get to grieve him in the way we want to — there is no right or wrong to grief. Loud or soft it belongs to you.

Sometime during the ceremony out at the green green cemetery Giovanni left me, his hand slipped from mine and he went to the front row, to Steve and he placed his right arm around his neck and he leaned in and laid his head on his shoulder.

They stayed like that for the rest

Loukas has a little brother, Nico age 6. Nico is suffering and I can’t really talk about that part yet…maybe later.

I would like to write about Nico. He is gifted and whip smart and so important to us.

We are all broken. There is a piece missing of all of us.

There is no glue for this.

There is only deep loss and grief. Although I believe in the after life and many lives and Loukas’ soul as eternal it doesn’t help that we will never know if he had his first kiss.

A YEAR OF LOSS

By Christie Angelo

It has been a year since my nephew died. Floated away from his body never to return. Loukas has been floating around this complicated universe a while now. He visits from time to time but I can’t see him. Giovanni my half human half angel child can see him — in dreams and windows and mirrors and standing in the hall. Every time I get a reading or see a healer they say — Oh yes Giovanni and Loukas are very connected they are very close — Giovanni sees him all the time. Closer now then they were when he was alive because Gio has the gift and if you want to hang around humans you look for the in, for the one who can see you.

Although I can’t see Loukas he is with me too — because if you are going to hang around humans you choose the ones that want to see you — want to be connected and k now that you are still around. I consulted a medium or two and found out a thing or two about my nephew but that is private. He told me to write — that he would help me and that I am a writer.

He also told me that I was the closest thing to the divine as he had ever seen on Earth and that he was thankful to witness my magic and prayer and that the altar I built for him at Kesar Stadium last Samhain was closer to God then he had ever imagined. He hadn’t bothered with God on the Earthly plane. He also said — just the other day that he hasn’t seen the true face of God but that where he is feels like it. That it is beautiful.

I met a woman tonight whose son was in an accident with a traumatic brain injury at age 22 — fell in his dorm room and whacked his head good. I was waiting on her at the store I work in— the crystal brought her in of course because that is what they do and what I intend for this particular crystal to do at my work — bring them in I say at the beginning of each day and point it at the door.

Bring me the good ones the ones I need to meet. She came in and picked out a couple of things and then she looked at me and said that she had had the worst year of her life. Yeah, I said, me too.

Mine was worse she said — you can’t imagine. Mine was pretty bad too I said, I lost my nephew. Mine’s worse she said — my son had a traumatic brain injury and I was diagnosed with Cancer. Fair enough I said — we are both fucked and our year was fucked and no one wins.

Instead of getting all snippy with each other we settled into a shared well of grief. A grief so deep and wide we both got sucked

into a whirl pool and continued our conversation. That’s when I found out about the dorm room and the fall and the cancer and the husband that cheated on her and dragged out the divorce to spend her money while he stayed home and fucked some other chick. Oh yeah I said well my husband is having a baby with his cross fit bitch and they have no money and no right to do that to my kids, but they are doing it anyway because they are selfish and really really irresponsible and he didn’t turn in the divorce papers so now we have to start all over again and I just want it all to go away. Suffering. Round and round in the whirl pool we go — but we liked each other so it was ok. It felt good to tell a perfect stranger all the things you couldn’t even tell your best friend because they don’t want to hear it anymore — or maybe you don’t even have a best friend anymore because they were never really your friend in the first place — you know the drill — you find out who your friends really are when the shit hits and sticks.

Then we started to talk about dating and the internet and how really horrifying it is to go out with people and find out they are super douches and you would rather just eat a pizza and watch New Girl. She told me about this really great therapist right over the shop I am now working in — directly over the shop — and how she does these 9pm-midnight sessions with her and it is amazing and that she cracked open but the woman was there with a hug and the right words to put her back together again. So now she is dating this really cute guy named Shiva who is totally different and odd and that it is really exciting and fun. I like exciting and fun and odd and different. That’s my jam so we talked about him for awhile.

We exchanged phone numbers and I texted her the minute she left and we texted back and forth for a while and decided we are starting a new tribe. She is from my neighborhood 4 towns away from where we are in the shop and so things happen and a thread is thrown and it is up to you to follow it. So I followed it and she responded and we are going to meet for brunch on Sunday. That’s how it works when you call in your tribe — they show up but you have to be open enough to recognize them and be able to look into their eyes and shut up long enough about your own shit to realize that we all have shit. You could stand in line in the grocery store and never know the grief in everyones lives.

So it’s been a year of loss and heartache and self sabotage and guilt and prayer and a love so deep it transcends life and being in the gutter and finding the true face of God, in everything.

BUILDING SHELVES

By Dave Washer

Introduction Disappointment is a deep emotion, one that goes past the reactionary head, past the emotional heart, but lands in the walls of the gut. The silent thudding of a bass drum encoding it’s message into the shadowy corners of the exiled animal. It can’t be touched, easy to see trigger but not the source, the emotion is subterranean, ancestral.

If one is lucky enough, or resourced enough, to discover the source of disappointment and follow the thread back, further and further there are new truths perhaps healing truths. Rewinding from gut, to heart, to insight, exhale a new emotion. Be Thankful Be Thankful Be Thankful takes its place.

My son and I have a good relationship. We have had to navigate tricky waters together with the loss of sister/daughter. Deep disappointment for both of us and my son and I share the relationship to loss and grief differently, but we both have acknowledged that and share a common language. We took a trip together and something occurred which details are between us and not part of this story. After we returned my son was distant, aloof, wouldn’t return phone calls or texts, which is not unusual, but something was out of sync. I knew it. I used my broken clavicle as an excuse to get him to come over. We hang out, drank a beer, ate cottage cheese and a bag of Hava Chips. Old memories in those bites. We decide to go on a hike and as we leave to go I tell him I have a story I’d like him to hear. We drive to the trailhead, road closed due to rains, so we walk to a different place that I know.

This has been one of the wettest seasons in a hundred years. This has been the season of a broken bone that has set me on my ass to sit still and look at my life and this planet. This is a season where our country chose a narcissist and it’s like the trail I know

so well has just opened up and swallowed us whole with dismantling chaos. This is the season of a broken heart that is healing with my bones. This is the season where I have touched my old friend Dave who feels writing is the greatest calling. My son and I walk along a rough cut narrow trail along side a small creek now rushing with turbulence and force where usually there is only meandering trickle. I stop at a small confluence of the creek and a drainage that is usually dry, but now alive as a newly formed crashing waterfall. Wow! Check this out. This is quite the scene.

I have somethings I want to talk about.

My son looks at me puzzled, but gives a sly grin. Okay now what do I have to listen to… I can see him thinking. Something happened on our trip. Something is lying between us. I’m not sure what it is and I’m not really asking that we process it, Just identify it. I can see his eyes are glassy. I see emotion that is hidden below the surface. Only if you want to.

My son looks me square in the eyes, his tone is slightly frustrated, but honest.

Dad, how well do you think you know me?

I look at him. Pause, how to respond. I point at the creek cascading down the drainage. Maybe knowing you is like knowing that creek. I know that creek I see it’s structure. It’s always changing, always moving. Things happen, the random tree falls across it like some great scar we both know, maybe a boulder rolls into the flow in an upper pool that I can’t see, a different swirl starts a different path, eddies, algae— hard to say how well we can know someone.

Lots of flotsam and jetsam moving through us.

I know I love you. I know I have a profound pride in you. I have deep faith. I always want to validate the person you are and the person you are becoming. I’m not sure how well I know you. I’m not sure how well you know me. As a parent I want to support you and if you ask for guidance or support, I am always there. If you don’t ask then I respect your wisdom to sort it out your own way. I hope we can always trust each other to validate that part of knowing and not knowing. I just feel in this moment somehow I’ve disappointed you. Disappointment can sever trust. Sometimes you need a little nudge to open. Before we go there, I’d to share a story.

Can you agree to that?

Sure go for it.

Coming of Age The first time (basically the only time) I tried LSD I was 17 and in high school, is how I usually tell it, but this time I’m going to tell you another part to this story.

Since high school I’ve explored my consciousness and the integrity of my world in many different ways— Hiking on trails with my son, hiking to Phoebe’s alter in the Madrone tree on Mt. Tam, anything to do with remembrance of her, traveling to Tibet and other foreign countries, building temples global and on playa, creating art, writing and telling stories, talking to friends, Buddhist retreats, meditating, riding my mountain bike, climbing to high elevation mountain passes, even injuries and illness have been a part. Along this journey there have been psychotropic medicines that have crossed my path— Psilocybin, peyote, San Pedro, DMT, powerful nights on the Burning man playa with MDMA and people I love. In a different way, I have worked closely with a shaman and medicine for almost 18 years. Yet, to this day I have not had a more powerful experience than what happened with a dear friend a long time ago on top of a mountain overlooking the ocean when I was in 12th grade. I also want to tell about a confrontation with my parents and the disappointment I felt, and asked them the same question— How well do you know me? But even more important I want tell you about my friend Michael Lynn. And my disappointment of not telling him how I felt.

He looked at me like he already knew who I was (or wasn’t). First memory of being recognized or validated by someone who was an authority and held a station of respect.

Most kids don’t know what passion is, school makes you all a bit apathetic, so most opt for the chosen path, in this case Chemistry.

I can see you know passion Dave. Michael sitting in the back there is passionate about music and poetry.

I noticed this skinny tall kid in the back of the class. Yeah, I’m passionate about music and poetry, I blurt out. But truth, I was into Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath because my friends were and I’d never written poetry in my life nor cared enough to read it. So I sat next to Michael who was transcribing the lyrics of Aqualung onto a piece of notebook paper listening to the album on a turn table with headphones. My name is Dave. He didn’t answer. I just awkwardly sat there.

My dad was a Methodist Minister and for my early years lived sheltered in the church and in a weird town near Disneyland called Garden Grove. (Footnote See Sublime, Garden Grove— We took this trip to Garden Grove It smelled like Lou-dog inside the van, oh yeah.) In a move that utterly shocked me, my Dad opted out of the church (He left his post as a minister and never set foot in a church again until he turned 89) and bought a track house in Corona del Mar, King of the sea. Had a view of the ocean and everything. $175,000. $10,000 more cause of the swell view. I was scared shitless. I was in 6th grade, black horned rim glasses before In my world there is no person who has affected the trajectory of they were cool, bad haircut, uncool clothes cause I tried too hard my life more than this person. I met Michael Lynn in my chemisand nothing fit well on my self-conscious chubby body. It wasn’t try class. I got kicked out of a college required science class bemuch, but I loved the security of old friends in the neighborhood cause I hated the teacher and he hated me, so they stuck me in Mr and I wasn’t ready to leave that behind. We weren’t religious even Taylor’s class. My great fortune. Great man. Ended up being one though my dad was a minister, he preached to the congregation of my favorite teachers in all my days in school, including college. not to me. I liked being the PK. Preachers Kid. My first kiss Sheepish, class clown, awkward Dave. had just happened with the astounding Melissa. (Footnote see Almond Brothers Sweet Mellisa— Knowing many, loving none, Mr Taylor introduces himself. In my class you have two requireBearing sorrow, having fun, But, back home he’ll always run,To ments you can listen and learn all about chemistry, as I am going sweet Melissa, Mmm, hmm) 8th grade, twelve inches taller, two to teach that. However, if you are not interested in learning about years older, I stood on a pile of wood to be able to reach my first the mystery and beauty of chemistry, then all you have to do is moist feminine lips. A PK perk I had not dreamed of till then. I memorize the Periodic Table of Elements and Chemistry and then left with my new Saint Christopher she had given and that was the sit in the back of the class and study whatever you are passionate last girl I kissed for a long time. Now that was disappointment as about, something you love. we arrived into a town where all the kids were cool and blonde, born to be rich, sexy and surf all day. Or at least seemed that way to these disoriented eyes. All through these early high school daze

I was lost. Perfect tans and svelte athletic bodies from lazy days at the beach filtered around me. Girls riding horses and boys surfing. Frisbees and laughter. Sure none of them were virgins, except me. End of my sophomore year I finally made some cool friends who were into surfing and music and parties and smoking pot and drinking beer— a great relief. Kind of, I still felt like an outsider. It was a group with friendly girls. We drank beer and went to parties. I felt like I was out of my league and out of my skin. If I didn’t call someone where the cool party was, no one would call me. That gnawing in my stomach that never stopped. When Mr. Taylor asked me what I felt passionate about I was stopped short.

What did I love, what was my passion? I couldn’t think of anything. In that moment, I didn’t know what he was talking about.

In that moment, I just chucked every thing and said yeah poetry and music dude and went back and sat next to the skinny kid in the back with the white blonde hair (different from surfer blonde hair Michael hated surfers). End of class he looked from his notebook paper, staring vacantly. I’m Michael. Now this is true poetry.

Do you like Jethro Tull?

Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.

He had read Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings Trilogy and the Hobbit cover to cover twice, and gave me a set. He taught me how to meditate and gave me a mantra that if chanted while mediating one could achieve great mystical power and receive anything they needed. Nam Myoho Renge kyo. I chanted that incessantly for a week keeping the good vibe and at the end I got three things I wished for: First--prosperity in the form of a $50 bill on the ground. Second-- I finally lost my virginity to a sweet sultry red-head girl from costa mesa who I met at a fair. Third-- a cheap plastic piece of shit white soprano recorder that must have fallen out of a car and chewed by a dog in front of my house all gnarled up looked totally useless but still played okay music. I didn’t care.

Clear proof that mystical powers exist and I became so thrilled I intensified my efforts in chanting. I got my lesson that I was doing it all wrong. After kundalini Yoga class at UCI so high off breath I have to say this before I say anything about Michael Lynn. He of fire and chanting I ran out of yoga high as a kite and didn’t stop changed everything. Taught me passion. A world so seductive at the top of the stairs and just flew down twelve flights of concrete and foreign. Maybe I would have arrived here on my own, but steps and landed at the bottom. No broken bones, small concusthat’s not the way it happened. I had never written or crafted sion and couldn’t walk for a couple of weeks. Michael taught had poetry, but for that class, I kept a journal and played with phrases me how to love music and how to play chords on a guitar while he and transcribed lyrics. I followed Michael’s lead. I learned kunplayed the flute. Jethro Tull Locomotive Breath. He loved Jethro dalini yoga, learned to love plants (he collected Colleuses and Tull and especially that song and its foreshadowing lyrics that Begonias). He taught me how to make the perfect omelette, (great lulled him into death. Yes, Steely Dan, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin cooking starts with the knowledge of how to cook the perfect were inspirations. (He discovered Jimmy page was a big fan of egg). He taught me how to read poetry, the sound of lyrical words, Middle Earth— The ring wraiths ride in black/Ride on!). We saw shared his favorite poets and authors, Auden, ts elliot, Keroak, Yes, Jethro Tull and Steely Dan in concert. With the $50 I bought a Theroux, Ginsberg, Hesse, Gary Snider. I still remember the first nice Yamaha Recorder. I still have it. He taught me to play the flute few lines of ts eliot’s Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock. and we would jam harmony duets on our alto recorders around his pool. Taught me to play Bach’s Bolero. My first back pack trip Let us go then, you and I, was with Michael to Mineral King for 5 days. I have never been When the evening is spread out against the sky back but still get nostalgic when I hear mule ears rustling when I Like a patient etherized upon a table; am in the Sierras.

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats He was handsome and seductive in that I don’t even know I’m Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels handsome and seductive Ryan Gosling style and only wore jeans And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: and a white or small plaid long sleeve button down shirt that he Streets that follow like a tedious argument would get a thrift stores. When girls found out he was my new Of insidious intent friend they begged me to tell them secrets about the mysterious To lead you to an overwhelming question. . .

Michael Lynn. He had an older brother that was kind of scary, an Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” older sister who seemed wicked smart and nice and a younger

sister who was so damn beautiful I couldn’t even look at her. Dad was a mad man style ad exec, total mysterious to me. He might as well been a secret agent. Mom was nice, but didn’t seem to be around much. They were the type that drank Manhattans or Martinis in the evening. They seemed distant in that house, I barely remember them. They never cared about what Michael did. I was so jealous to have that type of freedom. He let me know that they were not what I thought and he was jealous of mine.

and spacey and walk away. Kids today!

I had been pestering him for months about the acid trip. It seemed that he had done everything, seen everything, read everything. I was mesmerized. Michael was not into surfing but I had found a true passion for the ocean, my body and my self-esteem. I got up at 6:00 am before school, made a quick omelette, let mom clean up the mess, some pre surf yoga, surfed a secret spot I North of the Santa Ana River Jetties, lit a joint of cheap Michael was brilliant even though I didn’t know what this kind Mexican weed, drove my 69 VW bug with surf racks to my secof brilliance was. I was in a kind of awe of him. Brilliant light, ond period ceramics class (Senior didn’t have a 1st) and threw brilliant mind, brilliant creative idealism, I just took it in. He pots just stoned enough to talk to no one, nasal drip from having didn’t have any friends from school. I was like the only one that salt water slammed up my nose from long barrels and wipe outs had access. Some older kids he did stuff with, like go to Joshua dripping into my clay. Nam yo ho renge kyo baby. I was 17 and a tree and work with a couple who were certain that Middle Earth, senior now. Wasn’t a virgin any longer and didn’t have hang out really existed and centered in Joshua Tree and they were involved with friends to be happy. We were still buds. I didn’t call unless in some important archeological digs. Sounds weird, but I didn’t they called me. We still hung out a bit, went surfing, a few parties even doubt him. Gandalph, Aragorn, Legolas, Frodo, Gollum, I’m and a cool thing we did in Yosemite together. I liked having my down with it all. I read his poetry and it is the only thing I liked own personality that defined me differently than everyone else in to read. I was jealous that he could write like that. (I’m going to the quad. I had long blonde surfer hair and John Lennon glasses. have to find out where his old journals are now). I basically would There was a moment when a freshman, a younger brother of one read the lyrics of Ian Anderson, the greatest living poet according of my friends, came up to me in the quad. I was as usual writing to Michael, and move words around. Michael’s took you somepoetry in my journal. where original. His words, his passion, his seduction, his ideas, Dude what are you writing? I didn’t hear his faint patter in the his confusion, anger, disillusionment, disappointment— created background. a lyrical grace of ideas. My sophomoric poetry I stole from lyrics Hey Dave I hear there’s a south swell. and rearranged to sound cryptic, profound, mystical and passion- I look up slowly as if seeing him for the first time. Yeah I already ate. His arrived from a true existential raw real sad world. I saw it, got barrels at El Morro this morning. It was raging dude. You I revered it, I had no idea. should have been there!

Dude that’s so cool!

I never saw Michael happy. Not like giddy. He could get very excited about the things he was passionate about and his passions I had finally arrived on the planet. seemed endless. In my young world they seemed magnificent. Often I would see him just sitting and thinking, no books, no journal, no instrument, no yoga, no meditation, no Hava Chips and The Hand of God cottage cheese— just thinking. I’d say hey Michael, hey Michael a little louder, he never looked up. I thought he was ignoring me, It was February after a week of storms. Afternoon at El Morro, but after a few months and our friendship began to solidify I real- Michael and I drove separate cars. He had a lime green Dodge ized that his brain could override anything that was not important Gremlin that he hated and we met to go for a hike. There were as what he was doing or thinking in that moment. His thought no real trails just some old jeep roads and fire cuts on the private process was far too astute to be bothered by something as trivial as Irvine land. There were black jeeps that patrolled the area to keep the real world knocking on his door with lunch. In some ways he young punks like us out of their extensive private acreage and was like my first zen master. But in other ways I always took his would arrest you if you were caught. Michael called them Black distance a little personal. When I’m obsessed by something and Riders, Ring Wraiths out of the Lord of the Rings and whenever don’t look up when my kids call me they simply say call me weird we hiked here we always felt a little Hobbitish on the look out for

the dark omniscient shadow of Sauron. He held out his hand with two small pieces of paper with Mickey Mouse printed on them. Put this under your tongue and don’t swallow it.

Hiking we didn’t talk much. Just looked for things, eyes always out for Black Riders. I’m not feeling anything and feeling a little nervous. The hills are always different after a rain. The sun is warm and early spring is just starting to make an appearance.

Walking, still not feeling anything, but feeling good-looking at plants beginning to bloom, hummingbirds, bees. I notice that I’m no longer walking with Michael, but that’s normal he always goes wherever, whenever he wants and never worries if someone is behind him or in front of him. 30 minutes hiking I’ve lost Michael.

Still not feeling anything I stop in a flat open sunny area and sit in the grass and take off my shoes and close my eyes.

Nam myoho renge kyo.

I open and feeling a bit tingly. I pull out my alto recorder and start playing some notes. The notes seem to suddenly call something within me. Something ancient. I blow into the mouth piece a different way so that the air is also part of the tone. I begin to sense tribal elders and shamanic ceremonies. The music metamorphosizes as a call into the wild, a song of the sadness, music of the unknown, tones of the ancients.... My sense was shifting.

Expanding. I had just finished Aldus Huxley, Doors of Perception and had Ram Das, Be Here Now as my new bible next to my bed. There is a group of cattle in the distance and as I’m playing I notice their heads rise up as if they are being called. Curious.

Music the universal language. I keep playing and I watch them slowly move in my direction. It occurs to me that I have a herd of cattle’s attention now. Approximately twenty of the beasts.

I put my focus on them as if I really do have mystical musical powers and decide I will summon them and change the sound of the notes and begin to play in accordance to how the herd is moving. Which is slowly step by step towards me. At twenty feet away they pause looking at me eye to eye. Each animal glued to my presence. Nervous now, one will be brave and take a step and each will follow that lead. Fifteen feet away. Ten feet away. I can hear their breathing. I am still not feeling the LSD, but I can see glowing around the animals as if they are giving off heat. I still play the music even softer so they can barely hear it. Ten feet away. I can smell them. Strong order of mud, musk and straw.

Their eyes are dark and I can see planets, constellations in them.

Still not high, it is just the music, I’m sure of it. They are 3 feet

away, twenty large animals. I am playing and watching auras, looking into each one of their eyes. It is magnificent. A serenade to these large majestic animals, 10 tons of living and breathing organisms connected to the sound of this small hollow wooden stick, connected to my breath, connected to my consciousness.

We are One baby!

There is a moment when I realize— Shit I’m really high right now. Constellations of planets shine from these mythic beasts eyes, blue and green radiant colors radiating from their bodies changing hues with each breath, surrounded by a gentle respect between species. We are One. I become a vegetarian in this moment.

Then it dawns on me I can’t stop playing the notes. I don’t want to be One with mythic huge 800 pound panting beasts anymore.

Suddenly a switch turns on or maybe a switch turns off. I just stand up. Stop playing. Stand up not thinking about anything other than the random impulse to get the hell outa here. Okay not feeling at One with these guys anymore, time to find my friend Michael who I forgot I was even with. Time to return!

When I flipped that switch to stand up let’s go, the collective herd that was mesmerized into a passive trusting trance with an unidentified white mammal playing familiar ancient sounds all reacted with one simultaneous, powerful reflex and jumped straight up into the air. I can see this carved into the lines of my memory— startled animals jumping back, rearing, panicked and angry. Then they charge! I turn and run barefoot with a speed and agility of a superhero. Jumping over sage bush, through the poison oak, crossing barbed wire brambles. I’m at the edge of an arroyo and I leap off the edge (think Michael Jordan poster) and land and roll through the coyote scrub and sticky monkey flowers, pop up and keep running. Most of the herd stops at the edge, but three of the bulls keep on charging and I keep on rolling, moving, leaping, till I reach the other side of the arroyo and climb up another hillside leaving the panting animals and my shoes behind.

Suddenly I’m very high and I don’t know where I am. I have weeds stuck in my hair, my feet are barefoot and a little raw, my legs are bleeding, I’m breathing hard and I feel fucking great!

The Sun is beginning to set. My instincts say sunset get to vantage spot to watch. Michael is on his own, I’m on mine. Every-

thing is fine. Be Here Now. My feet are a little sore, but feel good walking on the sticky earth. Feeling my native instincts kick in, I pack mud onto the soles of my feet and the clay actually sticks and I feel One with my ancestors who walked here proud before me. I feel a connection to the planet as I’m walking towards a spot I’ve located at the highest point in the area. I pick up my pace as I don’t want to miss sunset. I’m running up hill taking large leaping strides. I have super strength.

mids with aqua blue wheels and Chartreuse gears turning around them. I trust this hand on my head, dare I say God. I feel like I’m a jar of energy and my head is the lid to it. The hand gently opens the top. Removes the scalp. Suddenly, I am a living volcano shooting fireworks of sparks and golden energy out the top of my head! This is a sensation that will never be repeated. Never forgotten. This is not a hallucination it is a full body sensation. A pure release of energy, a orgasm, not sexual or erotic, but a force, a release of sublime energy, a profound connection to all the life I see a lone silhouette sitting in lotus holding a nostril doing and elements and lines and lineages. I’m incredulous, but feel breath of fire on the knoll. I am panting and wait for my breath totally at peace in this moment. Dave, this is your gift, receive it to settle. I sit next to him and not say a word. We sit quietly as if I well, you will carry it with you wherever you go. Steady breathing we were never lost and meeting here was all part of the plan. through my nostrils. Eyes closed. Arms outstretched.

You know it is a Native American eye exercise that you can look directly into the sun when it is gets to the edge of the horizon.

Michael explains staring directly at the sun.

How’s that?

The curve of the earth is such that sun is actually below the horizon and the sun rays are bent by gravity. Never heard that before and I’ve never heard that since.

As the sun touches the horizon I stand up. The Sun is large like a basket ball so close and large I could reach out and palm the sucker. I look towards the East, towards the San Bernadino Mountains, and shockingly, an even larger white orb, the Moon is rising up behind them, luminescent, beckoning. I can count every crater in detail. So close and round I can touch it.

Oh shit Michael check this out!

I did not know it was a full moon. Never tracked cycles back then. Now I always know when moon is waning and waxing.

In this moment I am thinking that this is a once in a life time phenomena. What are the chances of this happening? None.

Beyond my ability to control my emotions. I instinctively hold out one palm as if I’m palming the Moon and the other hand as if I’m palming the Sun. The energy field is startling. I am staring straight into the sun. My hands are open receiving two elemental poles of the universe. Positive Negative, Yin Yang, Nadir Zenith, Sun Moon. I turn my head and stare straight into the moon.

Back and forth. Back and forth. A strange thing begins to a happen. I feel a hand palm the top of my head. I can feel the fingers delicately grasp around my temples. My eyes are closed. Inside my eye lids I see geometric shapes. Great fluorescent green pyra-

The sun sets and the temperature changes 10 degrees in 10 seconds and I open my eyes. I open my eyes and lower my arms.

Speechless. I am not sure what just happened. It is years later that I can actually understand that a moment like this can actually exist as a physical force and not some literary device, a cosmic fantasy, or hippy drug mythology.

I won’t ever understand the meaning, but I will forever value the significance.

I am feeling pulsing in my chest and out of breath. Slight head ache and a bit dizzy.

Lets head down the hill. Hey Michael, take your shoes off and put mud on the bottom of your feet… it feels amazing. It’s an ancient Native American exercise. I am repacking with more mud. And off we run all the way down the mountain.

Jumping leaping skipping laughing yelling, barefoot and ecstatic.

Side Bar

It was well after dark when I walk to the front door. I must have Years later when I’m in college and once again intimidated and in stopped somewhere, but I have no memory of it. It was late, I awe of the new intellects and articulate culture that I’m dropped was tired, my head ached, my muddy feet were raw and a freezing, I was imagining a scorching hot 30 minute shower and then into. My room-mates in Sebastopol, a couple, Mory and Dory, (real names, I also once knew a couple from Fort brag who were climb into bed and lay quiet in the dark imagining this profound Mo and Tell… anyway) and they were so sophisticated telling of day, let it land softly into my body. I quietly entered the house to not alarm my parents. But they were waiting for me. An ambush. their amazing synchronistic adventure stories. So I told them this one with cows and all. The first time on LSD and the miracle David we need to talk to you. of the Sun and Moon rising and setting at the same time. He’s Can it wait? I’m tired and I just want to take a shower and go to like, you idiot (called me that) that’s no fucking miracle. The Moon is always full and rises the same time as the Sun sets. They bed? oppose each other that’s why there is no shadow and the moon is No, this needs to happen now. We’ve been waiting for you for hours full. No miracle sorry dumb story.

I rolled my eyes, deep sigh.

Don’t give me none of your attitude son. You’re mom is very I’ll tell you though, the convergence of details needed to see upset. Look at her she has been crying for hours. these two orbs full and aligned is a lot harder than it looks. I’ve tired numerous times and never once duplicated it. Fog, clouds, mountains, haze, a day off or a day late… never done. Once on my daughter’s birthday having been sick for 3 days I got up at sunrise. On the Burning man playa building the temple three weeks before the throngs arrive. I saw the sun rise and the moon set at the same time. A little gift from Phoebe, another reminder. Not the same, but still: Auspicious. Phenomena, unexplained wonder or sometimes just a signal that I am not alone on this planet, a hint there are things, and forces that are outside our bounds of knowledge and exist much further than that. This belief was encoded into my system that day.

I look at my mom, she looks exhausted and worn out. Her eyes are red. She is speechless, which concerns me. I have no idea whatsoever what they are upset about. There is no way that they know I just took what every parent would consider a dangerous Class 1 drug. Dad doesn’t seem truly angry, but is posing angry like it’s his parental duty. He hasn’t done much parenting thus far, but he is defending mom and his anger is pointed at me.

What’s going on?

You tell me, what the hell, look at you! where have you been? You look like a real hippy! You have leafs and plants stuck in your hair. Your a muddy mess. Where the hell are your shoes? Are you on drugs?

No! I went hiking with Michael. We watched the sunset. I don’t Disappointment need shoes.

Look at you mother she’s so upset at you. You have hurt her. Do My Mom and Dad still live in the same house I went to High you understand that?

School in. Unless you are 19 and reading this, think about how I have no idea what you’re talking about. wonderful this is. I still love this house. I am glad I still have a Dad looks Mom. For a moment I don’t think he knows why she strong thread to where I grew up. It is all so different now. Those is upset. hills I walked up into have fortunately been saved as a state park Tell him Dawn, tell him why you’re so upset. My mom tries to and I ride my mountain bike there when I go down to visit my gather her strength. Instead she just starts sobbing and screams folks and brothers. The 200,000 acre original Irvine Spanish land at me. Are you a drug dealer? Are you a drug dealer? grant is now 1,000 acres and the rest subdivided into exorbitant mcmansion style homes. Our home remains virtually unchanged Mom is sobbing hard now, she can barely catch her breath. My and my shadows and joys of growing up still linger here. Walkdad is angrier, triggered more by mom’s hysteria than his own ing to the front door does not feel like 44 years ago. process. It may be the lingering effects of the day, but I feel my-

self leaving my body and hovering over the scene. Like a movie camera that pans upwards and looks down. My dad raises his hand in mock threat. It is a measure of his rage. He hasn’t done this since we were little kids and we were in the backseat of their car. QUIET! or I’ll give you a back hander. He’s pushed past his reserve, hand-held out in mock threat. Go any further and an unrecognizable fury shall be unleashed. He probably got a few of these from his dad and is dying to pass it on. I don’t hear the words anymore. I have left the scene. No comprendo, just an echo that doesn’t make sense. Are you a drug dealer? Your mom found proof. Who is this Michael you spend so much time with.

What do you do together? Are you a homosexual? Who are you? look at you. Where have you been? Hello, hello answer me answer me.

I feel a distance and a clarity which slowly retrieves me from the ceiling and back into my body. I am calm and I feel sorry for my parents. My words are clear. I feel different and my words diffuse the event.

Dave why are you just staring? Answer!

Honestly, I have no idea what you are talking about. How well do you think you know me?

I am not a drug dealer. Mom what make’s you think I’m dealing drugs? I smoke some pot you know that. But I’m no dealer. We buy some pot in a small quantity and split it among friends. Seriously, how well do you think you know me. You don’t!

Well I guess I’m not so sure anymore. I thought I did. I went into your room. You know I never go in there. But it was just so messy I thought I’d help you clean it up you have this ceramic pot and I I contrast I can still see that warm sunny field sitting cross-legged found all these marijuana stems you had stacked up several feet calling into the wild and then running for my life. I can see high and the bowl was full of seeds and green stuff. I know that Michael waiting for me doing breath of fire and the sunset and must be from a lot of marijuana. moonrise. I can still feel the force I felt in that moment when I felt a God like hand touch my head and offer me something. I In ceramics I make bowls and this one with a beautiful deep red also see this dark corner of the house, see two adults I do not oxide glaze set on a shelf I made for it as an art piece, a kind of recognize in panic, pain, anger, frustration, confusion. I know I altar. My friends and I rather than buying pot in small quantiam not a drug dealer so they have no idea what the fuck they are ties would get 4 or 6 of us to go in together on a brick ( aka kilo) talking about. I know that whatever is being shown to me is not and split it up between us. A lid (aka oz) would cost about $10 about me but about the terror and doubt that they themselves that way. These things came in compressed bricks and you had to hold. Part of me feels sorry for them in this moment, there is a pull it apart as it contained stems and seeds and there was tons of moment of compassion where I can see mom’s panic from a base waste. I liked the stems and so I kept adding them to this bowl of fear and my dad’s anger from a base of detachment from his and over the year or so I had made a four-foot sculpture of and emotions that creates anger without meaning. I am too young to interwoven marijuana stems that created a kind of DNA coil spihold compassion for too long so the insight turns into a barrier ral. It was my art piece. It had been on my dresser for more than that will now remain for a very long time. It turns into a kind of a year. I was quite proud of it. I explained this to them. They deep disrespect which triggers an emotion that goes deep into at first were incredulous and still wanted to keep their parental my gut and resides as disappointment. When I truly look back prerogative to be pissed off to make their lesson felt. on this moment, I can see this as the final test in a very powerful rites of passage. Where is our culture that takes our children Hey that was mine! I was proud of that! What did you do with it? aside and prepare’s them to leave their childhood behind and step I tossed the whole thing, your lucky I didn’t call the police. into a different world with a different awareness. Often having to That was mine! It was art! Not drug fucking dealing. Shit! see their parents in a different light. I can suddenly see myself in You don’t talk to your mom like that! this moment at the final test of this episode, culminating in the Can I leave now. I’m tired and I need to shower. sun and moon and the hand of God at the mountain top. I felt Were not done on this! different then and i think my body and spirit knew it. I just didn’t Okay, Thanks. I have to go. Sorry you got upset mom. Don’t go have the words to intellectually understand it. into my room and mess with my things without asking. That was a special bowl too!

What is Metaphor

A Final Goodbye

My son and I have climbed to the top of the hill onto the Oat Hill Fire Road. View West the sun is setting behind the ridge. View East is Mt Tam, SF bay, Berkeley and Mount Diablo. We both stand there quietly appreciating the view. Would I be standing on this hill-top at sunset with my son if I hadn’t been with Michael on that hill-top 41 years ago? Would I feel so tender about his feelings and feel his disappointment if I hadn’t felt the same thing? We begin to talk and it immediately goes about grief for Phoebe and how we both deal with it. We talk about what it is to really know someone. We use the waterfall as a metaphor taking turns to add to the image. The tree crashing into the creek as something large like Phoebe that causes the creek to redirect. A boulder up high that moves and changes the course just a little but creates an eddies that changes perception without even witnessing it. We take turns like that game we played when you drew something and then handed it back and forth. It feels good to not look for answers, but to both share the acknowledgement.

My son warms up enough to tell me some things that he has had felt unclear about with me. We trip around a variety of subjects that organically

Soon after the hill top epiphany I began to pester Michael about another thing that he had described in great detail. I wanted to go to San Francisco. It was spring break and we made a plan. We decided that it would be better to hitchhike as an adventure. I told my parents that we were going to take Michael’s car and he told his parents that he was going to hitchhike as they didn’t care what he did.

Would we be talking about life through a metaphor if I hadn’t fallen in love with writing and the english language and became an English major? We continue our walk now back towards the car. We continue talking the distance between us gone. Let’s go get some dinner.

We order Tacos. Sometimes as a parent it’s not what we say, it is how we embody how we say it. Otherwise its words in one ear and out the other. Our intimacy and openness feels restored.

We’re talking about his angst of being an artist. Apathy towards others if they don’t meet expectations. He reminds of Michael a bit. I just looked it up and they’re both Taurus.

Do you feel better, we have some closure?

Yeah. Great hike.

Love you hijo .

Love you too padre.

So how does this story end? I mean what happened to Michael Lynn? How come you two aren’t still friends?

So we headed out with our backpacks and thumbs. We took our recorders and a copy of the Two Towers. We got stuck on one on ramp outside of LA and spent four hours reading to each other and playing music. We landed in Santa Barbara just before dark and found a place to camp near the largest Fig tree I have ever seen. There was a hobo encampment there and we made our camp just outside of theirs and played music and the hobos liked it and invited us to sit by their fire. In the morning we got up. I had so much anticipation as this would be the fun part of the trip going up through Big Sur. Then landing in Haight Ashbury.

We grew up in that time in between. Richard Nixon, (who was also) a lier, a narcissist, certifiably insane and was our president.

Their was also an insane war and the draft had just ended. There were hippies in the Haight but the love generation had ended and it was mostly junkies hanging on the street. We didn’t care, we wanted to sit and pan handle and play music and soak it all in and stay as long as we could. We had no plan and that was our best plan.

We landed just outside of Goleta early in the morning and were standing with our thumbs out. A police car pulled up and an officer approached us.

You boys heading somewhere?

Yep just heading up the coast a bit.

How old are you son?

We’re both 17.

Do you have your parents permission to be taking this trip?

We sure do.

Do they know you’re hitchhiking?

Yes said Michael (honestly).

Yes said I (dishonestly).

I think I need to call your parents to verify this.

He walks back to his squad car and we sit on our backpacks.

When he comes back he is frowning and says my parents have not given me permission to hitchhike and they have asked that I take you immediately to the bus station and send you home. He escorts us to the Greyhound Station, watches us purchase our tickets and makes us promise to get on the bus and he leaves.

Michael is furious. I’ve never seen him like this before.

Let’s not get on the bus. Let’s just keep going.

I can’t.

C’mon, why not?

I don’t feel good about it now… sorry just can’t.

We’ve come this far we can’t bailout now. You don’t have to listen to your parents. That’s fucked up there sending me back too.

Where’s your courage.

It’s not that easy. You’re parents don’t care you can do whatever you want. Mine are different. I can’t really disappoint them. I’m pissed too.

But I wasn’t as pissed as Michael.

On the bus we don’t say a word on the ride home. Michael will not even look at me. His silence and staring scowl was his ultimate Fuck You Dave. He didn’t need to say it.

Those words would be the last time we ever spoke.

When we got home we went our separate ways. A few weeks later one of the smartest most athletic hip girls in the school, Lisa Clark, somehow got a crush on me and we fell in love. School was ending soon and we made plans to travel for the summer.

Everything changed in that moment. All that I had done with Michael was packed up into my memory and stored away. My Lisa and I decided to take a year off from college and we moved to Sun Valley Idaho, life as ski bums and traveling. Love awaited.

College awaited. Life awaited.… Michael became my past.

At a certain point in that thing we call growing up, life, getting older, moving on… however you want to name it… Michael and our time together would filter back. I’d look at my journals, make an omelet, begin to write something, hike a trail, hear a certain song, sit quietly, yoga, eat Hava Chips and cottage cheese.

I kept believing that I would run into him. Eventually, I became obsessed for looking for him. At a concert, on a street, a restaurant. I felt it was like our karma to run into each other. A syn-

chronistic bump that would bring us face to face. Oh my God is that you? I’ve been waiting so long to see you. You’re in a band oh that’s great! Oh your still writing? amazing, I’d love to read something! Are you married? cool your kids look like they’re so talented…. Hey man I really want to tell you from my heart how much I love you and miss you. How you fucking changed my life man! I played this scenario over and over. If I didn’t think about him every day it would be close to that.

Our Karma Finally Meets We finish dinner and drive back to my place. Hey do you remember when you were about 11 or 12 years old we were driving back from camping at the Pinnacles I told you this same story sans the trippin on LSD part.

Hmmm sorry Dad I don’t really remember that. Maybe kind of. I thought this story sounded familiar.

You said simply. Dad, why don’t you just call him?

I had forgotten Michael’s Dad’s name. Assumed I actually never knew it. I don’t think I ever spoke to the man. When you asked me why don’t you just call him. So simple. His Dad’s name after all those years just popped into my head. Richard Lynn. I called information and after a few tries I found a number, not at the old address in CDM, but one in Laguna Beach, worth a chance and I dialed. It rang and rang and rang. Driving talking to you boys phone in my hand, I forgot it was ringing until a sleepy voice finally answered and startled me.

Yes, hello hello?

Hi is this Richard Lynn?

It is. Uhhh uhh who is calling please?

The voice sounds disoriented as if he had been napping. I respond apologetically. Hi, my name is Dave Washer, you probably don’t remember me, but I was a friend of Michael’s.

How did you get my number?

I called information and made a lucky guess that this might be your new address.

I’ll never forget this next part of the conversation. I never met Michael eye to eye in the street but in this next moment if felt more powerful than that. Way beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Michael’s Dad begins to speak again. I realize his voice is not sleepy, it is very soft as if he hasn’t used it in a long

time, as if to say a word is painful and each syllable is a stab in his each other, working with his plants, cooking food, doing yoga on chest. the beach. Learning a sensitivity to things that you might pass by if you didn’t look closer. I see myself as the young boy who I was meditating, sitting in deep reflection. I’m here in the dark. was lost and confused standing on a mountain top with his arms I was not going to answer the phone today under any circumoutstretched touching life as magnificent and become something stances. I’m not sure why I took your call. bigger than he understood was possible and a friend who he loved and admired there to witness it. I tell Michael’s Dad that I He pauses for a long time. I don’t say a word. I pull the car over have not stopped thinking about him in all the days since and I and motion for the boys to be quiet in the back. Something is am so glad to tell him these things as they were the things that I coming. needed to tell Michael himself.

This is the year anniversary today of Michael’s death. I was just sitting here grieving over his loss. His death has affected me greatly.

Long pause again.

I’m sitting in my car with my boys quiet in the back. Richard Lynn and I held connected by an electronic device. I tell Michael’s Dad about how I knew His son. How he effected my life, changed the trajectory of it, who I am today would not be the same without him.

Richard my eldest son died 15 years ago from Aids. He shot heroin and he might have been gay and he had a lot of issues. Stephanie died 3 years ago of cancer. Stephanie loved Michael and she was the only one who he would talk to. When she died he kind of just gave up and began to binge. It was his goal to kill himself through alcohol poisoning. The heart attack was self-inflicted.

Well I wish I could tell you a happy story to go with that. Basically Michael died of a heart attack but in fact it was a suicide.

I know now what it is on the first year anniversary, as I have sadly I watched him kill himself. I watched him sit in his room and had to live through that day. It brings the whole year back to drink and smoke himself to death. He was never married. Had ground zero of the day of the death. The first year anniversary a girl friend for a bit but never too long. Worked odd jobs, conis only one thing— Feeling the gut wrenching physical agonizstruction and stuff. He drank a lot, smoked a lot, stopped eating. ing pain of loss. The part that kicks you in the stomach with He lost his health. He still played music, but never left his room the force of a donkey’s hind legs. That which drops you to your He just stopped doing anything. We couldn’t get him into reknees. I did not know that then. Hearing his voice I understood hab. He just chose this way and we couldn’t stop him. He would his deep emotional distress. It is a human reflex that the death of threaten to kill himself if my wife didn’t buy him a bottle of voda child instills our greatest sympathies. ka and cigarettes. You probably don’t know this but Michael.... another long pause.... a large inhale and exhale.... he is not the Oh my God Mr. Lynn I had no idea. I am so terribly sorry. first child that I have lost.

You mean you called and didn’t know Michael had died?

Silence. We both hold the phone stunned.

I pause. gulp. My God, I’m speechless. No I don’t know anything.

Mr Lynn may I tell you how Michael changed my life?

Do you want to tell me?

Sobbing into the phone. Please, please that would be wonderful.

I am recounting all the ways I remember Michael and all the ways he added to the fabric of my world. I am watching the movie rewind itself and I’m the narrator passing it on to the grieving father. I see myself again in that swirling world of uncertainty and doubt watching someone who was clear, direct and insanely creative and talented. See us playing guitar and flute by the pool, reading chapters waiting for lifts at frwy onramps, backpacking in wilderness, writing poetry and reading them to

I can only see this beautiful young man. This iconic artist who made his life around creativity and looking at things with his imagination, his unwavering eye of accountability to responsibility of being a poet and musician. How did this dark shadow just overwhelm him and this poor family. I am wondering how did this moment happen. Pulled over on the side of the road just outside of Gilroy talking about Michael to his grieving father.

It is like Michael Lynn is in the car with me rewriting his final poem of closure. I have no explanations. In a strange way I feel responsible for not making this call 35 years earlier. My turn to reciprocate. My turn to share my life and to engage my friend.

Was I lazy, self centered thinking some kind of idiotic karma, dwelling on cosmic synchronicity would throw us together? We must act out of our comfort zones to offer healing. No wonder I was thinking of him every day, the poor man was suffering, dying rather than living. In your twenties it seems so poetic, so profound, so edgy. But if your world does not care and it will slowly erode that spark and replace it with shadows and shadows need to be soothed with dark medicines like heroin, or alcohol and cigarettes until that bright brilliance is replaced by a self loathing that itself is the disease. Oh fucking hell, Michael I am so fucking Sorry. My disappointment is profound.

I have no tears, but my head is reeling.

Dave, I know you did not call to hear this kind of news. I am so sorry that I have had to burden you with this.

Be Thankful My eldest daughter, Phoebe, one of the most brilliant lights and creative people I have ever known, fell from a cliff in a hiking accident and my world has never been the same, but there are parts that are so hard to wrap my head around that I don’t try.

Sometimes I feel like we are here to do things that we have no idea what the purpose is, but someone else does. The concept of God with a name attached to it confuses me. And I don’t really think we need to try that hard to put a name on it. After Phoebe died my world detached from reality for a long time. I believe I have returned, but I am still looking at the pieces. Holding grief now in a different way. Even this story looks at the pieces of disappointment and thankfulness, grief and grateful, sorrow and unexplainable wonder are always filtered through my deep love for Phoebe and Michael.

The first lucid dream I had been 3 days after Phoebe’s death. In this dream we were in small house, a living room everything Mr Lynn, I’ve waited so long to talk to Michael and to thank him. made in white. We were all wearing white. Michael was in this I’m so sorry I didn’t do it sooner. It is one of those mysteries why dream also and wearing white. They were waiting for me. I asked it finally happened today. It is the kind of mystery he believed them if I could help them in what they were doing. They nodded in, maybe he’s with.... Pause not finishing that thought out loud. and I realized that I was already building shelves in the dream These things don’t just happen. I am so glad that I was able to tell and I was asking them for help. Building shelves is what I always you his story to let you know that his life made a difference. I did for my kids. Building shelves define me as a father. I built wish with all my heart I could have told him. My children would a lot of shelves in Phoebe’s real dream house in the Mission she not be who they are without Michael’s hand in my life. My chil- had just moved into and was living before she left us. It makes a dren are thriving and healthy. wall useful. It adds something that you can put jars of collected things, favorite books, red oxide ceramic bowls. In the dream the Dave thank you. This has been an incredible gift. Bless you. shelves were empty and I was so so happy to beside these two people. So full of love. They didn’t say a word, we just were happy, content to be working together building shelves that someday someone could use. Literally a dream come true kind of feeling.

Facts And then there is this moment when dream state shifts and I realize it is not a dream come true it is a dream and it is not true.

Richard Lynn died a year later after this phone call. His daughter My mind slowly becoming cognizant. Like getting sucked down said the cause was grief. a drain panicking no don’t go! Don’t go! Please don’t leave. Panic Mrs Lynn died 8 years later. and sorrow. And then something happened again, I’ve had more Mary Lynn, the youngest daughter who was too pretty to even lucid dreams, maybe ten, but not this. look at. married and lives in Nevada and teaches school. She has been clean and sober for 38 years. We are now dear friend and stay in touch.

Phoebe and Michael put both their arms around my shoulders and began to rock me, rock me rock me back and forth. Chanting something over and over. It woke my wife and she was staring at me as if it were a scene in a B movie. I was sitting upright in bed chanting over and over the words they were telling me, gently rocking me as a small child.

BE THANKFUL, BE THANKFUL, BE THANKFUL. I have those words tattooed on my right shoulder.

I think about Michael and Phoebe every day.

Epilogue Writing this piece I decide that I should put the words to my friends favorite song, the song that we played together around that turquoise pool in that dream land world in 1972. I have not cried for Michael but writing this and reading these portentous lyrics I am tears and open heart for my lost friend. For all the lost artists. Our shining beacons of brilliance and light. My Daughter was a profound artist and My son is becoming one. I know so many young artists who walked through my house and I cooked many a dinner for. Such an honor I look back on. We live in a work where we must all be accountable to who we are and what we can bring to ourselves, our friends, our community our planet. It does not have to be a big thing. It is not about galleries, curators and collectors. It is creating and recreating the myths and the realities. This is a time where we all must listen and care for our young poets, writers, artists and visionaries. I have for one have set aside some money from my meager income to purchase art from these young intrepid believers of change and activism with art and words. Inspired to inspire.

Locomotive Breath

Ian Anderson, Jethro Tull, Aqualung In the shuffling madness Of the locomotive breath, Runs the all-time loser, Headlong to his death.

He feels the piston scraping -Steam breaking on his brow -Thank God, he stole the handle and The train won’t stop going -No way to slow down.

He sees his children jumping off At the stations -- one by one.

His woman and his best friend -In bed and having fun.

He’s crawling down the corridor On his hands and knees -Old Charlie stole the handle and The train won’t stop going -No way to slow down.

He hears the silence howling -Catches angels as they fall.

And the all-time winner Has got him by the balls.

He picks up Gideon’s Bible -Open at page one -God stole the handle and The train won’t stop going -No way to slow down.