mistake-in identity

you want to cry aloud for your
mistakes. but to tell the truth the world
doesn't need any more of that sound.

so if you're going to do it and can't
stop yourself, if your pretty mouth can't
hold it in, at least go by yourself across

the forty fields and the forty dark inclines
of rocks and water to the place where
the falls are flinging out their white sheets

like crazy, and there is a cave behind all that
jubulation and water-fun and you can
stand there, under it, and roar all you

want and nothing will be disturbed; you can
drip with despair all afternoon and still,
on a green branch, its wings just lightly touched

by the passing foil of the water, the thrush,
puffing out its spotted breast, will sing
of the perfect, stone-hard beauty of everything.

the poet with his face in his hands
~ mary oliver

bedside manners

i spent most of my time in india in bed..
there was the first bed in delhi..
cold and cuddled under wool blankets..
between indian bedspread designs..

the bed at the guesthouse with the smiling lama
who made my every wish come true..
i should have known something was up..
~ fever ~
when i kept adding blanket upon blanket,
when all i could imagine was the bed
whenever i was out and about..
in the crowd, in the midst of study, at dinner..
that bed was like some mirage afloat before me..
shimmering and warm and solitary..

the bed at chitti's home..
the best bed, the best room in the house..
the hospitality of this culture is never outdone..
peach sheets ..
the bed so much larger
than
my
last
two
narrow
singles
..where the morning tea aroma arrived
just as the sun came calling..

the hotel bed in the 5 star palace
the hotel offered a great rate because it was NEW..
while my friends went to their government meeting,
i stayed put..with sweat and wet and cashews from the mini bar..

the bed in the mountains..
the first night..
moisture in the room from leaky toiletries..
the sheets were as soaked as the floor when i awoke..
heavy, heavy blankets to keep me from ascending to heaven's gate..
the second night sharing a room w/ chitti..
dryer and warmer when a friend is near to comfort..
the fever came a' calling and we finally named it..

the hospital bed..
in a room with four other beds..
and three other patients and their companions..
and their family members to share the disease -
the bed was in a corner with a window for look-out..
they moved someone to put me there..
though they did not change the sheets that night,
the sisters..the nurses.. did the next day..
the hospital bed with IV tubes
of saline and elephant antibiotics..
every hour, sisters coming to call..
pills, temperature takings..
a loud apparatus to suck out my lungs..
a hospital bed of no rest..
yet no fever when it was time to get up
thank you very, very much ~

the airplane bed..the seat bed..on the aisle ..
with the two middle seats open
the other aisle seat occupied with a high turbaned sikh..
we took turns lying inward..
sharing blankets and pillows and coats..
while the other watched movies or slept sitting upright..

the bed at the royal seoul hotel..
an interlude between flights...
crispy white sheets..
plump perfect pillows..
a korean toilet that offered
the great mysteries of the universe..

the bed at my auntie's house
where i nest when i am home..
it is a high lair where i burrow in..
to rest the best..
the bed at home..

international woman’s day (2012)

this day has been observed and celebrated
since the early 1900's..though it barely
gets a bat of an eyelash..

there is much work to do
for women to rest in the equality
that our counterpart gender gents receive..

there's wages..as usual..
women in leadership roles are low..
wonder why?
most of all..
violence against the feminine
has reached epic proportions..

shall we invoke shekinah this day..?
i sing in hymns
to enter the gates
of the field
of holy apples...
a new table
we prepare for her,
a lovely candelabrum
sheds its light upon us...
between right and left
the bride approaches,
in holy jewels
and festive garments...
~ rabbi isaac luria

shall we call in the holy mother?
our dear and fragrant mystical rose..
we touch your gown of grace with our presence..
we kiss the edge of your holy robe..
our lips turn to light..
our hearts are unbounded ..
we are infused with your precious gift ~
the love for all.. the all and every..
ah!

today in the tibetan tradition..
is the first day (of fifteen days)
of the display of miracles offered by the buddha..
he really wanted to keep a low profile..
however...
he was challenged to a contest of miraculous powers
and got swept up in the provocation..
thus inspiring many beings to follow the path of dharma..
it is said..
on this day the effects of positive (or negative)
actions are multiplied ten million times..

holy moly! let's get cuttin'..
into the realm of the light and bright...
do what you can.....

there is no where an angel is not

all was taken away from you: white dresses,
wings, even existence.
yet i believe you,
messengers.

there, where the world is turned inside out,
a heavy fabric embroidered with stars and beasts,
you stroll, inspecting the trustworthy seams.

short is your stay here:
now and then at a matinal hour, if the sky is clear,
in a melody repeated by a bird,
or in the smell of apples at the close of day
when the light makes orchards magic.

they say somebody has invented you
but to me this does not sound convincing
for humans invented themselves as well.

the voice - no doubt it is a valid proof,
as it can belong only to radiant creatures,
weightless and winged (after all, why not?),
girdled with the lightning.

i have heard that voice many a time when asleep
and, what is strange, i understood more or less
an order or an appeal in an unearthly tongue:

day draws near
another one
do what you can.
on angels
~ czeslaw milosz

a friend of mine has a plumber..
no.. an electrician..whose name..
who is an angel..

i met a woman whose youngest child is angel..

there's angel food cake ~
my mama had a recipe for angel biscuits..
there are angel cards and the LA angels ..

i found a card recently
it was a christmas card - card
with an inscription from my mama..
happy birthday, to my little angel..
i was 55 that year..

day draws near
another one
do what you can

moon shine

at least once a year..
when the moon is fulling..
i pull out ryokan..and read..
the rabbit and the moon ~

it took place in a world
long long ago
they say :
a monkey, a rabbit
and a fox
struck up a friendship.
mornings
they frolicked field and hill -
evenings
they came home to the forest -
living thus.....
the years went by
when indra,
sovereign of the skies,
heard of this,
and curious to know
if it was true,
turned himself
into an old man,
tottering along,
making his way
to where they lived.
"you three,"
he said
"are so different,
yet i'm told,
you live & play together
with a single heart.
if what i have heard
is true,
pray save an old man
who's hungry..
bring me a meal!"
he set his staff aside
and sat down to rest.
simple enough, they said,
and presently
the monkey appeared
from the grove
bearing nuts
he'd gathered there;
the fox returned
from the rivulet
with a fish he'd caught
clamped in his jaws;
the rabbit,
though he hopped
and hopped
everywhere
couldn't find anything at all.
the others cursed him because
his heart was not like theirs.
miserable me !
he thought
"ah!" he said,
"monkey, go
cut some firewood!
fox, build a fire!"
when they had done
what he asked
he flung his body
into the flames,
making of himself
an offering
to the unknown old man.
when indra saw this
his heart withered.
he looked up to the sky,
cried aloud,
then sank to the ground.
in a while,
he said to the others,
"each of you three friends
have done your best..
yet what the rabbit
has done
touches me the most!"
he made the rabbit whole again
and gathering the dead body
up in his arms,
took the rabbit
and laid it to rest
in the palace of the moon.

the story comes from the jataka tales..
tales of the buddha in his earlier incarnations..
the japanese see a rabbit in the moon..
just as we see a man in the moon..

full moon..march 8th..1:41 AM
full worm moon
named by the algonquin tribes
from new england to lake superior...
at the time of the march spring moon,
the ground begins to soften,
earthworm casts reappear,
inviting the return of robins.
also known as the sap moon,
it marks the time when maple sap
begins to flow and the annual tapping
of maple trees begins.....
pancake mooooooons..here we come!

rustlers

asteya..
the third yama..
of the first limb
of the eight limbs
offered by the sage patanjali..
in the yoga sutras ~
ethical discipline..
asteya = non - stealing..
refraining from taking what is not freely given..

it happened on saturday in the hallway..
during a yoga class..
a pair of jeans, a pocket and a wallet..
not mindful of the dangers..
(could there possibly be..at a yoga class?)
in any case, the jeans and the pocket remained together..
the wallet went a' missing..
later found w/ all the cards intact..
all the money taken..not freely given..

lesson learned..
mindfulness for next time..

i am a rustler myself..
you may remember
- the post -
1/7/ 2012
where i openly confess to my rustling ways..
cutting in line..
not once but twice..

let me tell you how this came to be...
arriving in bodhgaya with fever..
(no excuse for bad behavior)
shivering and shaking all night long,
i rise late to collect my pass
for the ten-day teachings..
i arrive at the grounds where hundreds of people
are waiting..have been waiting... in line..
to sign up, give over their paperwork and receive their ten-day pass..
where was my metal continuum ?
nowhere near my samaya..
my pure vows..the ten virtuous actions..

i walked into the grounds,
past all the sentient beings
waiting in cold and dust and wind..
up the stairs, around a table,
through the yellow tape..
to stand at the front of the line..

i was not unkind,
i was not unruly,
i was not mean-spirited..
i was brusque and stalwart..
i was rustling for a pass..
i was intruding on someone's place in line..
i had stolen someone's spot..
i had taken what was not freely given...
this was not usual behavior for me..i might add..
~ all new territory ~
or was it?

i stood at the front of the line..steadfast..
and was told that was going to have to go get in line..
i am in line..i am here..at the front of the line
you must go stand in line, i was told again..
i am in line, i am here, standing before you
please, go get in line..
i am in line ..at the front of the line, here i am..
one of the monks..a monk, mind you..
(shameless, was i)
spoke to me kindly..
seeing something..
some rustler quality that required tenderness..
i'll take care of this..
and he did..
in less than ten minutes..
i had my pass..
was it freely given?
not quite..
when i held it in my hand and looked out
over the sea of faces.. the sentient beings..
my brothers and sisters in dharma..waiting..
my stomach ached ..my heart hurt...
i went back to my room and went to bed....

....and the second time, you ask?
it was early morning..
we were asked to come early, very early for security checks..
waiting in line to get in and take our seat..
i rustled myself out of bed..
and found myself at the tail of a long snake of humanoids..
patiently waiting to get in for the teachings..
the holy teachings of the 32nd kalachakra..
in bodhgaya..the holiest of holy cities..
in the great mother india..
at the beginning of the new year..
the year of the water dragon ~

again..
i cannot begin to tell you why -
i started walking..
walking along side
all these beings who had risen early
to take their place in line and wait
to be moved
s l o w l y
up to the gate....
i stopped about one-third of the way back
from the front lines..
stood still, so still.. beside a young woman..
she said..
you must go back to the end of the line..
i am invisible, i said quietly..
i see you, she said..you must go to the end of the line..
i am invisible
i see you, she said..
i am invisible..
and i was..
i took a place invisibly..
i took what was not freely given..
i had rustled up a place in the queue..

just then another women rustled in behind me..
more admonishments from those in line..
until she too was accepted in..
as time passed and the snake inched forward,
three women abducted three spots just ahead of me..
the woman behind me spoke loudly..
those mongolians..they are always cutting in line..
i turned to her full on and said..
i am mongolian


from that day forward i did not rustle a spot again..
many "mongolians" found their places ahead of me..daily..
i went with friends who keep me in tow..
who kept me in vow...

many ask if i think that my illness
in india is from this..
this rustling, this stealing ..
hard to say..
tho' i imagine it is the eons of lifetimes of rustling;
of taking what was not freely given..
eons of lifetimes of wanting what was not mine..
perhaps coming to fruition..
coming back to harmony..to balance..

to those who don't believe in karma..
and i may be one of them..
i will say this...
what goes up, must come down...

resilience

mondays are meshed with tuesdays
and the week with the whole year.
time cannot be cut
with your exhausted scissors,
and all the names of the day
are washed out in the waters of night.
~ pablo neruda - too many names

it has been 5 weeks since i returned from mother india..
it has been 6 weeks since i was discharged
from the hospital in bangalore..
after a 103 fever, a collapsed lung and pneumonia..
it has been 1 year since i was on the island of patmos, greece
and 2 years since the death of my mama..
it has been 7 days since i carried a totem pole through the seattle streets
and 2 days since i received my job as the mariners seating host
for the 2012 baseball season...

who's counting?