The Visitor

I pushed through the frozen grass
Of Mongolia's ancient steppe.
I'd had to leave my horse behind,
But couldn't pause in my trek.
The wall of wind pushed me back
For every step ahead.
I imagined it was guarding the land
From my foreign tread.
Darkness gathered like a warrior,
Threatening my intrusion.
"Excuse me," I said, and went ahead,
Despite my growing confusion.
The wind resisted and darkness grew,
I heard hooves and saw black eyes.
Before his arrow could find me, I cried
"I worship Eternal Blue Sky!"
His arrow lowered and his eyebrow raised,
And he gave me a yellow grin.
Yet once I blinked, he was gone,
Stars shining where he'd been.
I trudged forward once again,
And almost at once saw a light
Shining from a Mongol tent
In the black November night.
The family, though they knew me not,
Welcomed me inside,
Gave me food and a place by the fire.
No comfort was denied.
The hour grew late, and little ones dozed,
While the rest of us drank mare's milk.
And sweetly, one girl began to sing
In a voice dark and soft as silk.
Though I didn't know her native tongue,
I could hardly tell.
The strength of passion in her voice
Was one that I knew well.
Once her song was finished,
And trying not to weep,
I shared a poem, one of my favorites,
About woods dark and deep.
In this way we passed the night
With songs and spoken word.
We didn't share a language,
But nothing was unheard.

The Dispersal of Sara

She fell. Or had she jumped? She couldn't say anymore. But here was the still air, a hurricane against her body. And there was the ground-- oh! Here was the ground.

Her soul jumped from her body, a surprised scattering of particles that flew in all directions like a puff of flour when a bag has been dropped on the floor. Minuscule bits of consciousness, of memories, of knowing, of being-- everything that was her erupted in an invisible powdery haze around her. Fragments of herness drifted in all directions, or settled around her body like falling ash.

"I have brown eyes" bumped into "I love Gone With the Wind" and together collected the memory of her mother's hands pushing the hotly ticking iron around the flowered buttons on her favorite green dress. The summery whisper of aspen leaves fluttering in the wind flew into the heart of a seagull, who suddenly turned inland where unknown trees were calling him. The taste of melted gouda on grilled sourdough sunk into the earth and disappeared, along with her powerful yearning to be loved by Mike Dutton in return.

Molecules of soul-- epiphanies ("God loves me") and dislikes (mushrooms, dirty fingernails, anything starring Mel Gibson) were buffeted about in unseen randomness. Some found a new home, such as the daisy which discovered it had no desire to keep living, and slowly turned away from the sun. Polarized spirit bits were repelled by or attracted to others. There were surprises-- for some reason, "I love apples and peanut butter" immediately glommed onto the memory of her art teacher slicing off the tip of his finger with the paper cutter. Others were more obvious. Lying on a blanket, watching the meteor showers with her first boyfriend, attracted the taste of cabernet sauvignon. "I love the Eagles" and "I love Ozzy Osbourne" were, naturally, repulsed by each other.

In this way, some of her lived, some of her died. Some was reborn, and some is still out there. She herself was Ghengis Khan and Eleanor Roosevelt, Leonardo da Vinci and Nikolai Tesla. She was seagulls and daisies and aspen trees and wind. She was Matthew and Sin Yoo and Mildred and Charlotte. She was Sara. And so are you.

Children on the Playground

Shooting stars
zipping around a plastic and metal
solar system
blue and green and yellow
flushed with fiery exuberance.
Satellites roam sedately
silent observers
blinking shy lonely lights.
A meteorite slams to earth
in a shower of rock and tears
and the shooting stars disperse
zooming to new destinations.

Savoring the Sweet

I have not been paying enough attention to my children lately. Even when I think I'm trying, I step back and realize I'm still doing what I think they want and not just asking them what they want. So Nai has been acting out more and more lately, and I've been getting more and more upset with her-- because don't I take her to all these fun places and let her do fun things all day and eat lots of sugary treats? I end up feeling like I'm bending over backwards trying to please her, and she's just ungrateful. But meanwhile she just wants to be heard, to be the center of my attention for awhile, for her opinions to not be secondary to mine all the time.

I have an incredibly difficult time being in the moment. My mind is always pulling me away to an inner world. So even when I'm trying to interact with my kids, I end up with my eyes glazed over, in some distant land, until I notice that Giorgi is screaming "Mom! Mom! MOM!" trying to get my attention.

I exist in some weird combination of dreamy half-life and then snapping to it and trying to catch up-- running all over the place, trying to get stuff done, trying to be supermom and in the meantime being a not very good mom at all.

Anyway, so small steps. Yesterday I made it my goal to be present, in the moment, with my girls all day. Doing whatever they wanted to do. So my morning started when Nai woke up and wanted to cuddle on the couch. So I held her for half an hour, just the two of us talking a little, and looking out the window at people starting their day, but most of all just enjoying a quiet moment together.

After that I asked Nai what she wanted to do, which was go to the beach. So I skipped the gym and loaded up the girls and a picnic and we went to the beach. And while we were there, instead of pulling out my notebook while the girls were playing, I played with them. Occasionally I'd feel the pull of that inner somewhere-else, but a smile from Nai or the feel of the hot sand under my feet or the salty ocean scent was enough to keep me anchored in this world, enjoying my family.

Nai then saw the blackberry bushes lining the beach and wanted to pick some. We ate a lot, and brought a lot home.

When we got home, the girls took a much-needed bath, and naps, and then Nai wanted to help me make a pie with the blackberries we brought home.

What a way to savor being in the moment with my girls.

Grandad's Poem

I haven't been getting much of my own writing done, (although I am working on a short story, at least), but I've been typing up my Grandad's letters to Grammy during WWII. Among his letters to her was a little notebook with this poem he wrote to her, which is so sweet and pretty. If I have nothing new of mine to share right now, I might as well share something of his!

I think of you day after day
As time goes marching on its way
To join the ranks of yesteryears
Away from our blood, sweat and tears;
And as the moments swiftly pass
Like ripples on a sea of grass
They seem to whisper "Hurry, lest
Time pass you by, and in your quest
For happiness you'll wander far
And see it not, right where you are."
Do you recall a setting sun,
And stars appearing one by one,
A crimson sky, a crimson sea
Fading into eternity?
And when the moon rose into place
He hid his funny, whining face
Behind a cloud, and peeking through,
Caught me as I was kissing you.
And as we watched the stars grew bright
Lending themselves to the summer night.
Do you recall a Winter's day
Up in the mountains, far away
From daily cares and work and strife--
We laughed and sang and found that life
Was not in vain? And as the snow
Fell gently on the trees below,
We travelled fast, and faster still
The ski tracks pointing down the hill.
And then at night, a cozy chair,
A fireplace, and you were there
To help me search with eager gaze
For fancied pictures in the blaze.
And as the dying embers glowed
Upon the hearth, their passing showed
A way to happiness in view.
I was content alone with you!

--Harvey Gooding

Green Little Tree

She climbs you like a frail tree
Your branches snap under her weight
Her pink claws tear your bark like paper
She sways at the top
Breathless with victory
You bow and bend and break
Your height never meant to be summited

Web

I don't know why
the spider has caught no flies--
How her web sparkles in the morning light!
She glows like an angel
in the center of her sticky halo.
If I were a fly
I'd be honored to die.