Jordan

    

     braving the river

     you show me where it’s coldest

     Lord, I can’t stand still

     here it is coldest

     hold your breath as you hold mine

     yes, our hearts might break

     please teach me this too

     lost, found, loved, ill-fated you

     Lord, I can’t stand still

Baby

I am on my knees, bearing down.  I know it’s time to deliver this baby.  I look around: lots of folks in the delivery room, some of them nurses and doctors and such, some family, none of them particularly interested in what I’m doing, talking among themselves.   I survey the room to determine where else I might deliver within this space.  A low bed, a high bed, or where I am---a blanket on the floor.  

As I see the baby’s head crowning, I realize that the circumstances of this birth are not important.  Bed or floor is not important.  Whether I am alone or have help is not important.  What matters is me, the baby and the birth.  It is happening exactly as it should happen, whether I go through controlling mechanisms or just do nothing.  This is a reassuring realization.

As the baby’s full head comes out and I see his face, I clear his mouth with a finger sweep, making sure there is no obstruction to his breath.  “I’m okay” he says.

When he’s fully delivered, he stretches and feels his new-found freedom, his eyes still closed like most infant Buddhas.  He’s beautiful, robust, brown-skinned, intelligent.  Again, when my sister appears at my side to offer help, he says “I’m okay.”  He seems so wonderful, like a miracle, something special.  Is his father African or Indian? I wonder dreamily.  I have no idea who the father is as an individual, just that he must exist; there’s evidence he exists.

Holding this baby close to me, I feel his warmth.  He is still moist from birth.  I swaddle him and let him sleep.  Moments later I’m talking to medical staff on the other side of the room.  Just small talk.  There’s a feeling that something perfect and wonderful has happened, but it’s also perfectly natural and unremarkable too.  I know that my baby will be okay.  He told me so.   Still I want to get back to him and hold him close again.

True

       
     Your voice leaves a lot to be desired.

     You’re immature.

     Stop trying to be glamorous.  You’re not the type.

     You’re not really singing.

     Open your mind.

     It’s time to start learning and absorbing these things.

     It's true, what you say.

Creature

        Rip out the lungs 

        Pry the flesh from its bones

        This creature who trusts in your goodness

        And sings of a sweetness inside you

        You who so loved the world

        Kill this gentlest creature

        Now as it breathes in your hands

        As it sings to you alone, softly revealed

        And delicately yielded

        Take your time

        Creature

        Sing now of those darkest places

        Those places farthest in

        Where this sacrifice is felt

        Where cruelty and love

        Begin and end

Let Go

     Driving toward home.

     I can steer this thing, yes.

     These pedals might be useless. 

     I'm not sure. Wait.

     I know where I am now, I think.

     No. The right turn is wrong.

     So says the wall where the road home used to be.

     So says a sinister gravity that summons me.

     Turn left, turn left, turn left.

     I will do the turning.

     No.  Just hold on.

     Don't let go.

     I see where this is going.

     Steeply down.

     More walls erupting.
     Towering, blocking, pushing. 

     Endless, consuming darkness.

     And no more turning.
     No turns left.

     Those loved friends up there.
     Those who still have light.

     They will never see me again.

     Unless the one way out is up.

     Unless the one way up is letting go.

     Descend, or let go.
     Do not hold on.
   
     What have I got to lose?

Pain-body

I just learned about the pain-body.  Convenient!  I can blame my strong attraction to moody, volatile, self-destructive people on my pain-body.  It's not that I love you desperately.  It's that my pain-body is energized by yours, you sexy mother fucker. 

I rarely use profanity.  

The pain-body made me do it.

Clever

It's not lack of self-discipline with me.  It might be a self-indulgent state of mind that narrows my vision.

"The ego may be clever, but it is not intelligent.  Cleverness pursues its own little aims.  Intelligence sees the larger whole in which all things are connected.  Cleverness is motivated by self-interest, and it is extremely short-sighted.  Most politicians and businesspeople are clever.  Very few are intelligent.  Whatever is attained through cleverness is short-lived and always turns out to be eventually self-defeating.  Cleverness divides; intelligence includes."  

-- Eckhart Tolle