thoughts from the road

"cities are the people,
monuments their conversation
and art another form of lovemaking."

"my worries have shifted
the world exploded into new depth this fall
my eyes see
with more knowledge these days"

"there is truth in different shades of discernment."

"this fall I discovered the mystery of Hindu temples and the importance of leaving home."

ode to antony hegarty

peacefulness in ambiguity is a silly notion
thrown about carelessly like plastic teacups at a children's party
i can see their unkempt curls and dirty napkins now
before the festivities have even begun
i was naive to assume my heart could find solace here
in a world of so many colors
one must be chosen
as a favorite

taking a strong decision; or otherwise

i rocked into you
and you shrank away
the color draining
and energy fading
from your distinguished countenance
your voice tapered off
as the scent of heartbreak seeped nearby
how could you quietly accept the painfulness
of my indecision?

from the great railway bazaar by Paul Theroux

"train travel animated my imagination and usually gave me the solitude to order and write my thoughts: I traveled easily in two direction, along the level rails while Asia flashed changes at the window, and at the interior rim of a private world of memory and language. I cannot imagine a luckier combination."

"All travel is circular. I had been jerked through Asia, making a parabola on one of the planet's hemispheres. After all, the grand tour is just the inspired man's way of heading home. And I had learned what I had always secretly believed, that the difference between recording what the eye sees and discovering what the imagination knows. Fiction is pure joy-how sad that I could not reinvent the trip as fiction."

untitled

taking photos of empty faces makes me feel hollow and brings back high school memories
back then, i was unaware of the importance of being vulnerable
my authentic self just a tiny seed inside the earth
waiting for the moment of arrival
we all hang onto comforting stories
even if they're not worth telling
the years have taught me that experience is confidence
and happiness is not what i want
same goes for you if you repeat it as many times in your head
as it takes a stone to soften into dust
worn away with words and meaning
a friend told me once we tell ourselves stories so we can sleep at night
and then rise again in the morning
he's right, i think
through story, we create reality
and through these tales
learn how to navigate our lives

walking with the minority

missing instant hot water and earl gray in the mornings
but not the nasty commute and forced plans
here on this tropical island, machine guns rage against the minority
bugged apartments lift paranoid aid workers to a new sort of desperation
poverty lurks around dark corners of polluted streets and dusty hotels
empty now that the tourists have gone
tuk tuk drivers ponder their return
and so do electronics shopkeeps
down in bambalapitya
as they break fast and welcome me in their store
so surprised to hear i'm a tourist
it's strange to be a white face that stands out
after spending my youth in homogeneous portland
yet so familiar
to be walking with the minority

negotiating these lines

there are whispers of genocide beneath the recent jubilation
propoganda emerges from that quiet machine gun on the street corner
obedient 20-something soldiers stand staunchly behind green sandbags
wasting their youth on the orders
no one was ever meant to follow
we've become so good at differentiating ourselves
this hatred comes naturally
i left one country
crossed 12 time zones
and met another population maligned and marginalized by the majority
forgiving human nature will never come easily

the start of something

this weekend i walked amongst barfooted buddhists
left my imprint on stones more than a thousand years old
breathed in thick clouds of incense
wandered under the long shadow of white stupas and prayer flags at dusk
passed hundreds of glowing intentions
their owners still an ephemeral presence in the night
the sleeping dogs--with their ears resting upon the pavements dozed easily as tuk tuk drivers honked past
in a frenzied search for 200 rupees
and the next unsuspecting tourist
so many people, all in white
carried lotus flowers and joyful children
the chanting, speaking, laughing echoes in my ears
in a country ripped apart by conflict and the ever-present fear of retaliation
i feel so much peace

colombo dogs

fatigue and hunger color their eyes
a mother with a shredded ear flap
lost long ago in a bloody battle
now healed over with tan hairs and time
a pack of 4 sitting by the roadside
coats thick with grease and dirt
distended sacs of their sexes
clearly mark the reason for this overpopulation
they only glance as i jog past
too tired to chase or play
as i would expect

catching my breath

it's an odd thing
to feel so full of words that 1000 pages couldn't hold them all
yet this electronic page stares blankly back
hungry for a word or two
and me so desperate to share something, anything
but today
there is nothing to say
only the quiet realization
that my life is different now

notes from sri lanka

I'm staying with my friend in Colombo. The scene here would have been difficult for me to imagine 7 days ago. Gates, cylinders of barbed wire, uniformed guards and security cameras. Outside this area is a neighborhood constructed from brick and aluminum. It's quite obvious that Colombo is not Portland. But, in addition to all this, there are other differences. And these reminders cut my friend in a place that barbed wire never could:

"When I sneeze here, no one says anything."
"The doors into buildings open the wrong way."
"When you are going up staircases (or down) every step is a different size!"

saying goodbye in Taipei

I'm in Taipei. Asia. But, I'm still saying goodbye to the life I walked away from.
The words are reverberating inside my organs, bones and tissues.
I know the next iteration of my portland life will be different. I want to capture these emotions as they play in my mind right now. At 27, standing in front of an Internet kiosk at gate A8, 2 hours into my 10-hour-layover, waiting for the Colombo skyline to appear in the distance:

Tabor wraps me in the folds of her womb
I slide through her
Recalling the misty morning top
and the dim dusk light

drifting

10 ft above my portland room
i sit
weather-worn boards lie parallel with my calves
and the tissue paper lamplight from my friend's room shines out
into this peaceful portland night
"i'm going to fight for the right to release myself"
sing tegan and sara
"here i am"
yes
here
i
am
so many tones have drifted from my soul during these final hours
saying goodbye to portland's familiar faces
or that 50m stretch on tabor that changes each moment i visit
nodding farewell to the blue house on madison street
to tissue paper light
and weather-worn boards
cascara berries bleed onto the white terry cloth softness where my lips once caressed another's
sunday night will find me walking away
books in hand
and heart ready
for what the world has to show
but tonight
i'm drifting
lost in the memories of so many years

quote from a friend

"Before college, I also had a basketful of expectations. They were upturned, found, lost, and recreated."
Lia O'Slemons

to co-exist

"viewing many fish, birds and flora -- everyone is co-existing."

my dad sent this line to me in a postcard. in just a few words, he summed up my wish for our species.

dreams but reality

i dreampt of club soda last night
and cameras
flashing images that were true
but awoke to a pink bridesmaid dress
and scribbled notes of a toast
i feel so much sadness saying

notes from a conference

i found these notes from a writer's conference i attended 2 years ago. they almost sound like a poem:

local is a state of mind
stories endure
"the things they carry," by Tim O'Brien
stories are for joining the past to the future
collecting memories-stories
and they become memory themselves
storytellers, scribes, memory keepers
Trail of Tears
really writing a letter to readers
keep writing direct/personal
stories are oral
"read well out loud"
be present, felt they were there with us
show up for stories that you don't like
AIDS in the heartland
population 485 Michael Perry (testament to how to be in the world)
paying attention, are we willing to show up?
find the thing that is about all of us
make the main point right away
methods meets craft
creative proecess
manage time/energy
the most important work is done before sitting down to write
don't tell, show
what is your reaction to the experience
Sam Lightner
theme statement is a guideline that draws a boundary
draft: stay relaxed, allow storytellers' voice to come through
-get the whole thing out at once
-charge through
-draft
-associations
vomit draft: so that a theme can emerge
collaborative editing
piece-by-piece, don't sit in awe of the finished house
never do the same thing twice
untried involved risk
in writing the greatest fear is failure
timid and predictable writing is not true
follow your ghosts
what is the story that haunts you?
what makes you turn your head?
intrigued by alternately, repelled
snowball with your curiosity
"what does it taste like in your mouth when you tell them that?"
trust your instincts
best, most powerful stories are past experiences
they make you who you are
there is no oasis (the clock is ticking)
-start doing good stories now
expecting resistance is key
no one is your cheerleader
you can get any story you want if you don't have a deadline
tap into your core, don't give up too soon
go the distance on your stories
if i have 1 story i could do before i die, what would it be?
get uncomfortable witht he truth
stories are rare
you wrote about longing without ever mentioning the word
don't focus on the immediate, look at the continuum
go to interesting places
they took him, they broke him and they threw him away
really what it means to be in iraq, lose someone that was like your son and then lose your mind
writing invades another's space
but people want their stories told
search for an intimate and anguished moment
no surprises
what you learn from doing stories is empathy
stories that are emblems of their time
nick kristof
different ways to tell stories
storytelling
prosumer multimedia
blogs
mentor/mentee relationship
take storytelling in different directions
op-ed
narrative thread
there is no perfect way
notes about description
audacity - audio editor
Mindy McAdams
Canon HD20 - $1,200
repurpose
Video NY Times
talk about my journey
idealistic intuition in a corporate world
intimate questions
hit the streets as often as possible
informed my career
idea of objectivity is a myth
the death of rural mexico
writing those stories that keep us awake at night
your work has to speak for itself
Jason Blair
diversity

a trail

there's a place i want to tell you about
where my sweat has covered the ground
on many monday afternoons
calf muscle lactic acid has shown me pain is only temporary
here
heart-shaped chlorophyll vessels shush as i pass a switchback
branches sway
far off industrial portland echoes with the sound of commerce
this place is named for a norwegian explorer no one now has ever met

gravel shifting
like the sparrows and crows
who lurk in shadows
and seek refuge from that concrete ecosystem below
gnats land and drown in the sweat rivulets near my clavicle
breathing
always breathing
i say a small intention for them
and perhaps for the rest of us
who seek refuge in this place

from RENT

"the opposite of war is not peace, it's creation."

The UNKNOWN

I wrote this poem about 5 years ago after graduating from college and starting my first job. Last week, I resigned from an iteration of that job. There are fragments of truth in what I wrote that ring so true. Again, I find myself on the precipice of the unknown, a familiar, yet daunting place to be. It is comforting to find wisdom in my 5-year-old words. All these years later, they are still so relevant to my life.

I have emerged from this long tunnel of crazy-muddy-flailing-foggy-hazed night
only to kiss the stars wide and bright
my excitement beats hot and fresh
into sweat beads on my brow
here i am at the beginning of another long voyage
the movement of these vibrations
cut me
in places where memories are not meant to be ripped
but apart they come
like microwaved celophane
melting off a pan
clinging, like my soul, for some scent of familiarity
i push myself, always, into the raging ocean of the unknown
simply for the challenge

I did it

I bought my ticket
I quit my job
This familiar pattern is shifting
into a new design
these curves don't have carpools or Outlook or conference calls
or paychecks or health insurance
my pattern is filled with "what-ifs" and "hows" and so many questions
all without answers
the journey i'm on now doesn't have an end
but i know
that this beginning sure feels good

seeking the difference

your love could never nourish me
we're made of different mountains
and formed of different land
perhaps the unique curl of your smile
the smell of your difference
is what drew me to you

untitled

i can feel the pain that comes from knowing i am broken
i am human
and my life is whole
at last i can see
these experiences are inseparable

this rejection

i can smell the smoldering edges of your heart
casting heated lines across your bodyscape
you carry this rejection like a hot coal
it lies there - golden and toxic
my sweaty palms anxious to sift through the wreckage
is there a way to ease this agony and sop up your pain?

honey...tongue

i can't forget your honey tongue
it pours into me like a childhood memory
the edges are rounded off as in a fog
i pound out the miles and breathe deeply into myself
and into you
wondering what it meant
or could have meant
had we given it space to grow
i'm watching this connection slip away like a snake into the night
the forest is filled with your scent
and yesterday's emotions
but my sweat is already dripping into tomorrow
i'm stepping forward
toward a new breath
and perhaps a new honey tongue

quote from a friend

"I am begining to think that many of our thoughts are not actually true-they are just the beginning of stories. We see the world as we are. Reality is what we experience."

-Hannah Brandt

...the expectation

glittering ocean crying for miles
to the shoreline
hesitant toes navigating new waters
flipping salty rays of sunlight skyward
nervous energy sends my heartrate the same direction
a kiss
an embrace
a look
this magical day
something imagined...then realized
is it you rolling in my bed tonight?
teasing my dreams with a smile
i catch glimpses of a connection that could be
if we cultivate it
a mystery set beneath those other storylines
my vibration against yours
what story might we tell together?

this story

miles of forestline welcomed us
and we welcomed her
i wouldn't want to tell a different story
i'll spend a lifetime telling this one.

want

i want to press you close to me
and close my eyes into you
then disappear into your scent and
your heartbeat

Birthday horoscope

My birthday was yesterday & I loved my horoscope

"For those of us born on: May 21 Happy birthday! In the months ahead you are going to need all your reserves of energy, at least certainly in the first few months of the coming year. There are strong possibilities of a move of some kind: changing school, career or maybe even a complete relocation. Thanks to the pesky influence of Mercury a number of things will prove to be much more complicated than initially thought. Romantic relationships may need careful handling. However, once everything settles down the rest of year looks like a process of collecting the rewards for so much hard work earlier. Especially well aspected are relationships with your immediate family and it may well be that you are the centre of a major family celebration towards the end of the year!"

Today's Meditation:
What do we live for if not to make life less difficult for each other?
-- George Eliot

Today's Wisdom from around the World:
If you do not have patience you cannot make beer.
--African(Ovambo) Proverb

Your Compatible Sign today for Love: Sagittarius Friendship: Aquarius

good song

Brett Dennen - Ain't No Reason

Good quotes from 'Writing Down the Bones' by Natalie Goldberg

"Actually, when I look at my old notebooks, I think I have been a bit self-indulgent and have given myself too much time to meander in my discursive thoughts. I could have cut through sooner. Yet it is good to know about our terrible selves, not laud or criticize them, just acknowledge them. Then, out of this knowledge, we are better equipped to make a choice for beauty, kind consideration and clear truth. We make this choice with our feet firmly on the ground. We are not running wildly after beauty with fear at our backs."

"It's much better to be a tribal writer, writing for all people and reflecting many voices through us, than to be a cloistered being trying to find one peanut of truth in our own individual mind. Become big and write with the whole world in your arms.

Even if we go off alone to write in the wilderness, we have to commune with ourselves and everything around us: the desk, the trees, the birds, the water, the typewriter. We are not separate from everything else. It's only our egos that make us think we are. We build on what came before us, even if our writing is a reaction to it or we try to negate the past. We still write with the knowledge of what's at our backs."

"It is very important to go home if you want your work to be whole. You don't have to move in with your parents again and collect a weekly allowance, but you must claim where you come from and look deep into it. Come to honor and embrace it, or at the least, accept it."

"William Carlos Williams said to Allen Ginsberg: 'If only one line in the poem has energy, then cut the rest out and leave only that one line.' That one line is the poem. Poetry is the carrier of life, the vessel of vitality. Each line should be alive. Keep those parts of a piece; get rid of the rest."

Rainbow cake!

Patrick is 27. What a night...

living

it's so real right now
this pain and this beauty
i can hardly stand the juxtaposition
except to say that i stepped into this path many months ago
the life i live these days is real
it's authentic
i breathe life into my fears and my agony
my love and my peace
i'm digging deeper everyday into the soul of myself
searching for a calm i know exists
but sidesteps my emotions every chance she gets
i'll reach her
one day, as the sun is setting, and life is not looking
i'll catch that slippery emotion
love
or peace
peace
or love
whatever you fancy
i'll scrape together whatever words are left
and corner her
i'll let go of every other emotion in my soul
and bare my bones
to the cold and windy world
in that moment
i least expect
she'll arrive
wet and dripping on my doorstep
complaining about this cold Oregon rain
but tomorrow when we awaken in each other's arms
the tulips will be blooming
the sky cracking open with sunlight
a hammock waiting
for our embrace

goodnight

i'm turning in for the night
melding into the darkness and lightness at once
shifting my body toward a world beyond this one
my fingers type and feel the silence
it reverberates within my soul
i'm here
it's real
and life is beautiful
goodnight

Good songs

From the fella who brought us Dragostea din tei, comes Crazy Loop.

watching

the moon rounds out lost memories
in her i see yesterday and tomorrow
today she whispers into these winds that chase my toes and fingers into the earth
sometimes i bury errant thoughts with compost
but building new channels, forming new figures with this shattering glass
forms another reality

appreciation

not a day passes that i don't appreciate the jaw surgery i had so many years ago
i can chew, turn my head and talk with friends without pain
having access to that care gave me this life

being a self-sufficient adult feels so sweet

swinging my arms and legs after work toward tabor or through laurelhurst fills my body with an adrenaline rush i crave constantly
some days the hail bounces from my bright, white jacket
other days, the wind presses against my forehead and rain falls from my brow
this summer, i'll crest firelane 7 in shorts and a sports bra
my body is a miraculous capsule

the emotions flowing through me bring highs, lows and mediums that still awe me, even after all these years
i chase these words, hoping that this time i'll capture "it," the perfect essence of this moment or that memory
but every new experience moulds herself differently and i find the words escape me
just to stand at the entrance of reality and let the chills flow
is enough

just breathing

i'm filling the space inside myself
instead of emptying it out
it seemed over these many months
that a clearing away approximated the action at hand
but it hasn't been
instead i'm breathing life into those granules of myself
buried deep below
letting the small specks fill with possibility and openness
i'm amazed at their growth
and how calm the days can be when specks and granules are given the attention they deserve
those storm clouds are dissipating
as a calm confidence grows within

homage

i'd like to pay homage for a moment to sigur ros for all of the happy moments they've invoked in my reality:

• Saeglopur
• Glosoli
• Staralfur

for consideration

"if fear is the motivating factor can peace ever be attained?"

"much of our current reality seems based in fear"

"what if we lost everything we ever owned tomorrow?"

i've been contemplating a powerful emotion lately---loneliness
this is what my grandmother felt
sometimes i know she's with me and i'm happy she's not alone anymore

a woman at fred meyer kicked me in the philosophical gut on saturday. i spent nearly a dozen minutes using the u-scan and emerged without a receipt. thinking the paper ran out, i walked by the attendant without a thought. she stopped me for a signature and asked if i wanted my receipt. i must have looked confused and she asked me if i was always this much of a pushover. the comment didn't really pertain to the situation at hand, except i could hear the universe behind her and knew this message was for me. no, i wanted to shout. but instead i gave her a weak smile. what a moment. this is it. if i want happiness--self-actualization--all of these states of reality i yearn for every night, i have to start demanding it of myself. i have to ask the universe to give it to me. i have to stand up for myself. and this starts with being honest, giving myself voice and letting my desires breathe.

what are these labels we walk with?

i've been considering gender lately
and labels
coming and going along these streets we walk
everyone paints themselves heavy with labels
i can hear their breaths thick with words
it's a tempting reality--grayness bleeding into black and white through simple one-liners
a seemingly uncomplicated reality emerges
but the security is fleeting
the minute a label lands on earth, its meaning is whipped up and jumbled into something else entirely
we walk these careful lines, trimming hedges and pulling up weeds, tending our words like gardens
believing the efforts will result in nourishment come fall
perhaps they will
but i'm betting that more than anything else, the experience teaches us that words can never suffice, lines drawn here or there will fly like dust the moment the sun falls behind those far off mountains
shifting the earth below us into a new, unknown position

giving voice

i don't think we truly have a voice until we can fully listen
during these quiet moments
when the wind shutters against tree limbs or oregon rain falls peacefully upon the moss
these are the times reality whispers her soft secrets into our yearning ears
or even amid chaos--inside strobe-lit dance halls and reverberating music studios--listening becomes real
these moments sculpt emotion and memory
giving us our unique
voice

hearing ani

in college my friends loved ani difranco. i could never get into her. i knew i would, one day, when i was ready to hear her message. in those days, i could sense the importance of her words and the significance of their meaning, but was not in a place to internalize her message.
last week i loaded 10 days of music from the past 8 years of my life onto my new ipod. i've been running with it--and getting a real kick out of being one of "those runners." i get why they carry that little electronic device now. it's neat. having someone belting out, "how can we be lovers if we can't be friends," while trekking up yamhill or lincoln. that's when i noticed ani was on--as i passed the new seasons on division and started heading toward home. i crested the hill and i started hearing her. i felt the same chills i saw on the arms of friends so many years ago. it's not just a story she's telling about that one time in her life, appropriately matching or using a word simply for it's rhyme factor. she's using the language of her soul. and she's illuminating her pain, painting her love and breathing life into her story. by 39th i couldn't get her voice out of my head. what a beautiful experience it is when artists delve into the deepest pockets of their souls--seemingly the most lonely place to visit--yet they return with the stories that viscerally remind us we're never alone in this walk. or in my case, run.

"i don't like my edges rounded off" - ani difranco
"love is loose, shifts each time you move" - ani difranco

Awesome quotes from MLK

• Occasionally in life there are those moments of unutterable fulfillment which cannot be completely explained by those symbols called words. Their meanings can only be articulated by the inaudible language of the heart.

• A riot is the language of the unheard.

• It may be true that the law cannot make a man love me, but it can keep him from lynching me, and I think that's pretty important.

• Our scientific power has outrun our spiritual power. We have guided missiles and misguided men.

• History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people.

• I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.

• Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.

• Human salvation lies in the hands of the creatively maladjusted.

• Their questions hit home, and I knew that I could never again raise my voice against the violence of the oppressed in the ghettos without having first spoken clearly to the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today — my own government.

• Philanthropy is commendable, but it must not cause the philanthropist to overlook the circumstances of economic injustice which make philanthropy necessary.

• Let us be dissatisfied until from every city hall, justice will roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

• The moral arc of the universe is long but it bends towards justice.

• Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

• Peace is not merely a distant goal that we seek, but a means by which we arrive at that goal.

ha!

I can't believe how much I love this. And, I love that my brother gets it, too. Click here

untitled

my body aches for what used to be
as she acclimates to what is,
i wait in a limbo i've never met before
there's a sombre silence where tears used to fall
my youthful fingers would catch them
before they reached the earth
but these new emotions feel deeply rooted inside that dark place i sometimes go
the salinity inside me travels as it should now
toward the earth who bore and nourished me

leaving some things behind

i used to run to escape
to burn those calories away
into a body i could control, manipulate
i ended that long and bloody battle years ago
but it still haunts me sometimes
i hear a voice echo in the distance
it's so far off now, yet strikingly familiar to the most integral parts of my being
time and experience has muddled it's intonation and meaning
i've forgotten how to escape
but these days i no longer want to

this winter

there's ice-encrusted earth underfoot
and fragile leaves weighed down by loss and memory
darkness rounds the edges of these stars
it looms large against their spray of lightness
so many dark nights follow us
into warm homes, soft sheets, comfortable thoughts
dying fires are just one log or two away
this winter arrived
for the first time the reality we constructed has washed away with the rains
and we've awoken,
finally
together we'll make this trek
toward a tomorrow
filled with less

From Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali

"People are always asking me what it's like to live with death threats. It's like being diagnosed with a chronic disease. It may flare up and kill you, but it may not. It could happen in a week, or not for decades. The people who ask me this usually have grown up in rich countries, Western Europe and America, after the Second World War. They take life for granted. Where I grew up, death is a constant visitor. A virus, bacteria, a parasite; drought and famine; soldiers, and torturers; could bring it to anyone; any time. Death comes riding on raindrops that turned to floods. It catches the imagination of men in positions of authority who order their subordinates to hunt, torture, and kill people they imagine to be enemies. Death lures many others to take their own lives in order to escape a dismal reality. For many women, because of the perception of lost honor, death comes at the hands of a father, brother, or husband. Death comes to young women giving birth to new life, leaving the newborn orphaned in the hands of strangers. For those who live in anarchy and civil war, as in the country of my birth, Somalia, death is everywhere."

making it happen

today i took a small step
toward a dream born many years ago
i gathered with friends
and felt their love
as cyberspace accepted my submission

it's real

i'm becoming the shadows and the flesh
not hiding anymore
she's revealing herself to me
this voice deep inside
last year i didn't know her
but she's emerging, ever so slowly
and i'm amazed to find
she's me
and i'm her

the loss

so much chaos this week
the wreckage has blasted through my heart
a hole still smoldering when friendship once grew
i'm lost in this moment
not sure where the joy went or how to get it back
life's realities are throwing shadows on my footsteps
never saw them before
it feels so real
this experience of loss