3.12.18 Stupid Sneaky Sleazy Bimbo Crap

I was talking with some friends the other day, about the process we sometimes go through, right? Of being your own true honest self. 

Because somehow, in the quiet process of being myself, I had been inadvertently provoking the reveal of many on the sidelines, who had been watching and listening and feeding. I had no idea. 


One of my friends, upon learning this strange perverted news, laughed, said 
‘Oh glory, they’re just perched there, reading/feeding on your goodness, all these years?!’

And I laughed too, shoved them shoulder to shoulder, til I realized they were right.
‘Geeze’, I groaned , rubbing my eyes. ‘Yuck. Gross.’ How empty and despicable.

‘Ha!’ She said to me, watching me sigh.
‘So when there’s drooling watchers, making believe they could be you, you just living and writing your direct self is going to puff them all up, little defensive linebackers. They’re going to pop out, pissed off and guilty and justifying . Pretty funny, girl.’

‘Pfft.’ I muttered. Disgusted. ‘How this crap just goes on!’

She was sitting next to me, laughing.

‘Oh, those poor bags of sleeze. Yup.
And you, my dear, just being you.’

‘Oh goodness’, I thought to myself. ‘I’m not any kind of hunter. ‘
All this inadvertent flushing out of bimbocrap , from shadows I didn’t even know existed. 

‘Oh my.’ quoth the reluctant warrior.
This flushing of germs, weasels.
Stirring the pot of wannabes. 
What wretched company to find oneself next to.

But then she just took my arm, and squeezed her friendship into me, 
and everything once again was good.

3.12.18 The Small Winter Song

Down by the farmers fields, as we slowly round the turn toward middle March, 

at least for the moment, the snow is slowly slipping away.

 Down, down into the earth, where it turns into the water table, 

that protects and enables all living things. 

So we think about this, as we walk along. 

Quiet, in a peaceful honest song.

3.12.18 Chump Nation

In the midst of other’s old and new wrong doing, 
of perverse encounters with them justifying their guilt, 
still, we each shall know our own true blue selves. 

I say to you, check your integrity. 
Be brazenly honest with yourself. 
With your intent and your honesty and your goodness. 
And then simply carry on. 

And out there, those that fabricate justifications and 
try to assuage festering guilt and shame and hopes that
you will not continue these patently deceptive ways?
Yeah, I mean you.

On , past those who dream they are not as good,
 as their own conscience aches and twists.
On, past those who prefabricate 
and assert guilt-swollen defensiveness, to no avail. 

Past those aching from past ways they harmed you,
 in their hearts, in their quiet stilled bitter actions. 

Beyond those who suddenly find themselves 
lying in the stink bed of their own making. 

For, they are angry to discover that there you are, 
saying your peace. 
Being your kind true self. 
Walking your road in your own integrity of word and deed. 

Oh, they might angrily reach out, 
under one pretense or another, to share their soiled secrets. 
Trying to burn you with their perverse stories, of what they did.

But today, they are somehow surprised. 
To find themselves twisting in the wind of their own embittered making. 

They show up like their own bad dream, 
to see if they can cut you a bit or tear you some. 
Never having imagined they’d been set up
 to have nothing and no one,
 in the mean cluttered game they played. 

You, fine Aikido Mama, you just carry on. 

Step aside when they hurl themselves your way.

Do not falter or question or look at them.

For they chose the not-true path, their twisted ways.
They are nothing, and this they know. 

Be soothed, as you wake honest and loving and true. 

Know you reside in your own fine life of your own making. 

As you breach the edge of the winter field, 
the cusp of the spring season, 
the true song of your summer soul.

Chump Nation lives on.

3.12.18 Learn Baby Learn

There are so many times in our lives 
when what is going down is tough 
and so much like a lesson 
that we might as well face it as one, 
and learn, baby, learn.

3.12.18 A Favorite

A nothing day full of
wild beauty
The timer pings. Roll up
the silver off the bay
take down the clouds
sort the spruce and
send to laundry Goodbye
golden- and silver-
rod, asters, bayberry
crisp in elegance.
Little fish stream
by, a river in water.

JAMES Schuyler

3.10.18 As Dogs Scramble

Early on, as dogs scramble 
and roll and dig 
and wander across the fields 
and into the sleeping winter woods, 
the dawn arrives, 
and shines down upon 
it all.

3.9.18 The Wayfaring Moon

In the name of daybreak
The eyelids of morning
And the wayfaring moon
And the night when it departs

I swear I will not dishonor my soul with hatred
But offer myself humbly
As a guardian of nature
As a healer of misery
As a messenger of wonder 
As an architect of peace

In the name of the sun and its mirrors
In the uttermost night
And the crowning seasons of the firefly and the apple

I will honor all life
Wherever and in whatever form it may dwell
On earth my home
And In the mansions of the stars

Tara Brach