This weekend was one for a lot of reflecting. I thought a lot about deserts. And philosophers. And the combination. Why is it common for wise men to take time to pray and fast and just be by themselves in the desert?

The discipline-control-freak in me wanted to take off for the nearest desert and figure it out. But that led to another question. Why are there so few mothers who are recognized philosophers? Have you ever heard of a mother wandering off in the desert to find herself and being in any way lauded? They are usually considered nuts who abandoned their children for selfish reasons. Maybe that is true.

As a mother I can't run away and figure out the important questions in my brain. I have to figure it out as I'm running. Sometimes, however, motherhood reminds me of a desert. There's the scorching of my selfish desires as I work towards a purer, more altruistic vision; there's the searing heat of soul-searching in order to make sure that what I am doing out of freedom won't result in bondage for my child down the road; the thirst is palpable... thirst for knowledge, thirst for guidance, thirst for the best way to do everything because each small detail can make a big impact. Sometimes desert snakes startle me. Sometimes dust storms blind me. Sometimes I feel like it will be a 40 year journey and I will murmur and complain and never figure out how to mature, like many of the children of Israel. But, every once in a while, I find an oasis and see a leaner, more self-disciplined, reflection of a person with Living-Water-tuned-senses that is slowly shaping.

If motherhood can be like a desert, surely righteous children are as worth it as a Promised Land.

Luciérnagas son
brillantes en la noche.
Esperanza dan.

When depression,
black ghoul,
rears its head
at my soul

On the wings of
The Word
would I fly.

When the dank
tendrils creep
'round the soles
of faith's feet

'Neath the shadow've
His wings
rejoice I.

When my will
is so weak
that I fall
at His feet

In the cleft of
The Rock
let me hide.

When out breaks,
the sun
forcing the dark
to run

It is well,
I will say,
at thy side.

The mountain trembles
from its basin-planted feet
up to its peaks.

The sky sporadically
explodes
in multi-colored glee.

I am grateful
for the chill
and the excitement...

Glad to be experiencing
the bombs of festivity,
not war.

If you and I disagree enough
we might come full circle
and misunderstand
our mis-
under-
standing

this unreliable constant.

A centrifugal emotional whirl
of mental surety
and emotional instability

and other languages.

We communicate around
and at
each other
but rarely with.

Maybe next time
I'll just hold your hand.

Textiles in every
visible color
and patterns
-structured chaos
into useful beauty;
These things are inspiring.

Continued steps
with long-expired desire
and soles
and still finding room
in your tired self to smile;
This is strength.

Human relationships
treasured, grasped
though unaffordable
with trust's
bounced check;
Relational endurance.

Heritage-focused
unfashionable pride
finding beauty
in ancient and
unique;
Self-security.

Third world:
in money
First class:
in riches
mixed with good and ugly;
Guatemala, abiding.

How glorious was the morning
in your eyes
unburdened by the weight of reality.

The adventure was brimming,
overflowing your cup
of Satisfaction.

How noble the noontime
acceptance of responsibility.

Your shoulders broader
and yet the still managed
to be full of new things.

I don't understand you,
in this tandem swirl-
always at the other end of extreme.

How is the evening?

My country 'tis of thee
a land in
death convulsing
of thee I weep.

Land of great moral strife
debt-choked
lie-hypnotized
for thee I weep.

To relinquish heart's hold
on thee,
Prepare for my new Country
I am so weak.

Thy transformation
I prefer-
hope has yet
to cease.

weather lies

When the lies of men
gather in
like hurricanes in September...
and truth goes marching on
by

When probabilities
are said as certainties,
storm-sheltered
you remember "blue
skies"

When life and chance
and circumstance
mix rain with
no umbrella
-sigh-

Will you waterproof your heart,
put up your guard
or
live with heart still open,
alight?

Que no me traicione la luna
tan fuerte, brillante y tramposa.
Se esconde las veces que más la necesito.

El camino de la vida
lleva mucho polvo de los sueños rotos.
Polvo que sube al aire después de que camino
en las piedrecitas que perduran
de las esperanzas.

En aquellos momentos,
dentro de una nube de ese polvo,
y con pies en el lodo de lagrimas
necesito más la luna
-aquello celestial-
para recordarme
que existe algo más que yo
y cosas rotas...

existe luz, sencillez y
mundos fuera de mi alcance.

Entonces, paro por un momento.
Dejo que la nube, otra vez
descanse...

y veo, con paciencia, al cielo
con ojos fieles y fijos

Poco a poco,
la calma, la luz
me asegura otra vez que

con algo celestial, fijo,
que queda sin cambiar
por el humor de los hombres
que el polvo no importa

porque veo como brilla

la luna

la cual es hecha
de polvo también.

Your expectations are weighing me
down.
You don´t know that mine are just as heavy
of myself.

Two burdens, I can´t carry.

You, with your complaints and demands,
will have to go to my Boss.
I carry His first...
and if He places yours on my heart-
with pleasure,
I will carry yours too.

In a contest between
peace
and
quiet

My mind would always choose peace.

But that
external
and
internal conflict

Make my actions say otherwise.

Could you
make my actions say otherwise?

When does an external force
bring about internal change
that in return
is demonstrated?

Where is the line between
purification
and
extermination?

And, who can win?

free falling
freedom to fail-
Baby, I can't have illusions
of keeping you safe.

I only have as much power
as I choose to release
and there's so much more
that I can't control.

safety isn't within my reach...
but training to cope
and thrive
amidst disaster or success equally

that is my desire.

children

The first time
I thought I held it
but it was only a shadow-
It had lines and definition
perfectly human
rational emotion
detailed generalization
and blatant implications.
Her name was Goodbye.

The second, I held.
Our spittin' image,
since we were made from spit
way back when soft sunlight
drove away the cold night,
crumpled it with laughter-
conquered it with peace.

The first days were
overwhelming
but every spell of cold
would force my head up
and I would say
"I can do this" and
It was never as hard
as I'd imagined.

Redefinition comes with
accomplishment;
I am a dreamer
a future liver
but it's not without fear
and it's not without want.

Everyone has a piece in them
that wants to be a king:
Command the cold away.
A piece that's into
poetic license and control...
or poetry's into them.

So we hold the fire,
without it we'll be cold
but holding it burns
and we must decide:
That hurting is worth
the warmth.

motor-squito

Buzzing around me
in a courageous curve,
a motorcyclist
braves
the hungry asphalt
in an attempt
to forget his humanity.

In an almost-flight,
his desire drives him
towards the glowing
ball of sunset.

Like a moth.

properties of water

If I had a way to tell you where the
living water flows
with fool-proof sincerity
truth; disclosed; unarmed.
though you thirst
would you drink?

Or are you more interested in
the properties of H2O.
When your soul is thirsty
where do you go?
How do you analyze the properties of
theoretical water...
when dehydration makes you weaker.

Your iron-clad grip
on the stem of reality
in a pewter cup
when inverted makes a sand hour glass
the desert
in which you thirst.

If, in my own weak will
I could pour a little
on your tongue,
would you swallow,
taste, and see?
realize?

That once ingested,
it's hard to contain
a belly full of living,
life
when all around is desert!

And you, too, would flow
to water this parched
arid world
with something that has to be
lived. ingested. experienced.
and shared.

galactic tactics
stargazers dream.
surveyors of Orion
(who has tightened his belt
to bring the states closer)

a phone call

a satellite connection...
As a signal bounces
from star
to star
to home.

Equation for Adventure

There's no time
to dabble in materialism,
(and significantly
disproportionate
desire)
when juxtaposed by
an adventure
with common interests.
It's the few
who belong to you
and the necessary.
It's the
carpe diem
of ventures;
the winding dreamroad
that's not crafted by man.
It's getting over
my manic hold on "safe"
and fears' manic hold on me.

It's:

follow
+
accompany
+
forge.

This is an old column I wrote in Junior College that I didn't want to lose, so I'm posting it here. It was a good reminder.

____________________________________________________________________________________


“You can take your time if you want,” he said. I didn’t think I heard him right. “Do what, sir?” I replied, looking at the lines of impatient people behind him and the frantic bustle of fellow employees around me. “I just said you can take your time if you want.”
Shock, no it was a little more than that. It was something that went down deeper.
Dealing with the public is different from other types of work. It’s mentally, emotionally, and relationally draining. Constant interaction with people that need something from you leaves you empty and unable to communicate sometimes, if only as a result of too much communication.
Working in the fast food business also offers prime opportunities to see how busy people are. Few of them have time to wait, and if they do, they are usually hurried even in their waiting; fidgeting and speaking rapidly out of habit. But here he was, calmly watching me do my best to be as efficient as possible to get to the next person in line, and giving me permission to take my time.
So I did. I didn’t drag it out interminably slow, just took care in the little details of his order that can be overlooked all too easily when a rush hits.
I never told him how much that statement meant. I don’t know if he’d even remember it, but I do. I think about it every time I get stressed out- running from one assignment to another trying to get done on my set time. By then I’m tired and have the strain of the day filling my mind to where it’s hard to enjoy what I have actually accomplished. It’s all too easy to continue on the mental running mill I’ve been on the whole day, worrying about the next problem I need to tackle.
It’s hard to make myself slow down and appreciate what I’m actually doing. When my mom asks if I can ‘please do the dishes,’ it’s hard to concentrate on how blessed I am to have them to clean. To have food to clean off of them. To have the ability to wash them. To quit thinking of the million other things I still have to do.
Everyone today seems to be ironically busy and bored at the same time. So many people are running through life doing things they don’t really enjoy, getting stuck in obligations that are a drag to complete. I haven’t met very many who have the gift to enjoy the moment. And I’ve come to the conclusion that it is a gift, but obtainable through choice.
When I take the time to stop and look around at what I’m passing, I find some of the stress of getting to the destination taken away from being able to enjoy getting there. When I think of all of the little things I appreciate about other people, it makes them easier to deal with when the not-so-good things stick out. When I can take the time to tell the people who put up with me day after day how much I appreciate it, it makes everyone easier to get along with. And when I remember to say I love you to the people that need to hear it, it reminds me of reality. Because in reality, we don’t have much time. We get a few years to enjoy our lives and then they’re over. I don’t want to spend all of mine worrying over things that aren’t relevant. And, I find that I can take the time to enjoy what I’m doing and see the bigger picture in it all when I remind myself that “you can take the time if you want.”

pure

a cardboard box contains my crayons
unflattering. rectangled. abrupt.
unworthy to hold such
-potential
would they not be better free?
displayed in brilliance,
under physically enhancing conditions?

ah. but then they scatter
and the sun melts them
and the elements violate them of their individuality
smudging their labels
and they chip.
little tiny pieces
degenerate. broken. rainbow.
oh, LET US keep it as intended:
a cardboard box contains my crayons!

1/16/03