In 2009 I Will...

...spit it out,

all of it,

and know that
the world will not end.




What about you?

Cannon Beach

The gallery show in Oregon was a tremendous success. After a dramatic unveiling (apparently that's how they do it in Oregon) Cass sold nearly all of her paintings. The gallery owner was so pleased with the results of our collaboration that he has invited me back for next year's show, where he wants to have a full-scale poetry reading and offer hand-bound books of my poetry and Cass' drawings for sale.

I am adrift in a sea of thankfulness.

For several years I studied Japanese tea ceremony, an intricate process that facilitates the most wonderful stillness I've ever experienced. Many of the steps of the ceremony involve bowing: to the host of the ceremony to thank her for having you, to the guest who drank before you to thank her for showing you the way, and to the guest who will drink after you to thank her for allowing you to drink first.

"And now," said my ancient sensei every time, "is making the one more bow: thank you to whole universe."

Thank you, to whole universe.


Now that the show has been Officially Unveiled I'll be posting the backlog of poetry...once I finish all this work that piled up while I was skipping down the Oregon coastline. You can check out Cass and I waxing ridiculous on collaboration on Youtube.

a different light a new direction

No resolution.

This world will be as water, and you will be either a stone, a dam, a broken branch, or a naiad, the stream itself.

Take it in but do not stop, and remember that the magic word is release.

Enjoy the people and visions and textures you love.

Do not eat when you are not hungry, but drink even when you are not thirsty. Your body needs water in a way you will never fully understand.

Know that if you let go the current will carry you. It may not be where you believe you need to go. Trust in the cradle of the infinite.

Accept patterns and rhythms but do not fear new diversions. Someday all the world will be at sea level.

Metaphors melted. She wanted to use real words, to grab whatever this was by the hair and slam it against the wall until it stopped twitching. Instead she remembered how, as a child, she had been convinced her mother was an angel, a shining immortal. It was a mistake she'd make again and again as she got older. There were always angels, and not a single one was immortal.