A Song of Being Empty

by Jelalludin Rumi; translation - Coleman Barks

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A certain sufi tore his robe in grief, and the tearing
brought such a relief he gave

the robe the name faraji, which means "ripped open," or
"happiness," or "one who brings

the joy of being opened." It comes from the stem faraj,
which also refers to

the genitals, male and female. His teacher understood
the purity of the action,

while others just saw the ragged appearance. If you want
peace and purity, tear

away your coverings. This is the purpose of emotion, to
let a streaming beauty

flow through you. Call it spirit, elixir, or the original
agreement between yourself

and God. Opening into that gives peace, a song of being
empty, pure silence.

Ripples - clarity and disclaimer

Clarity is something el poquito lacks at times - a constant piece of work for me; more on that when I get to the 'mental quadrant'. Meanwhile, I wanted to clarify something about working with the wheel. Of all the suggestions, or ideas you come up with on your own, pick one thing - just one, to maybe nudge that barometer a tiny bit. We're not going for overhaul here. We're going for loving kindness toward self. What's just one thing in the physical area and one in the emotional that you could easily implement [if you want]?

Which leads me to the disclaimer. Get your salt shakers out. Take it all in, add a few grains of salt, consider, use as your own IF that is what resonates in you. Something that may be useful for me might be totally useless for you. Put bluntly: this is not Jonestown; there is no kool-aid - oh, and uh, there are no 'answers' - sorry - other than your own.

Why do I write all this then?

I dunno.

I write because I have to write. I'm writing THIS because it wants to be written. It's really nothing more than a travelogue of sorts of one man and then his allies who comment, offering their points of view. Turns out there seems to be a few more folks following this travelogue than I realized. They're coming through, quietly sitting at el poquito's table. That's fine and I welcome that. Truthfully, it kind of surprises me, but then, I have wanted to write more than just to myself - although I do recognize writing to myself as a big piece of this 'Restoration Project'. I also recognize the responsibility in having readers - which leads me to again say, "take it all with a major grain of salt." Use what works, toss the rest. It's only ripples on the water - my thought ripples crossing with yours.

I appreciate any and all feedback. You help me hone in. You help me find the ever elusive clarity. <--- guess that could be the Loch Ness monster hiding out with Bigfoot. Thanks for helping me find better clarity and thanks for coming by.

Good day to you all,
el

Restoration: Emotional Flexibility

The next quadrant of our Restoration Project is the Emotional. How’s your nervous system? How’s your wiring? Frayed? Solid? Feeling at peace or ready to behead the next idiot who wrongfully crosses your path?! Or does it depend on the day and where the mood swings are at?

Our emotions aren’t as simple as good or bad feelings, but rather a complex series of interrelated events and the co-ordination of hormones, brain chemicals, nervous system and mental/cognitive functioning, or lack of – taken all together, leaving us with the experience of our perceived feelings of good or bad; happy, sad, angry or whatever.

Our emotional well-being is complex. It works intimately with what we think of as our physical and cognitive selves. It’s difficult to separate it out from the others as they work synergistically as a whole. But through the workings and expression of our emotions in our day to day activities we can see a barometer, a window into our whole being.

So what does that mean? And what the heck IS emotional well-being and while you’re at it could you please describe your experiences with Bigfoot? In this day, emotional well-being looks just about as elusive and your guess is as good as mine, but here’s some thoughts to get you started.

What I imagine emotional wellness might look like would be a free and full expression of ALL feelings and emotions, appropriately expressed in the moment; engagement in daily activities and relations; a sense of being ‘present’ or ‘awake’ in the moment; and a resiliency and flexibility. But that’s just my take on it.

I do know that there’s an intimate link with our frontal brain cognitive abilities and our emotions, including the ability to apply the brakes to strong emotions. Otherwise, we are all too easily swept downstream by a runaway torrent of feelings. Our emotions don’t stand alone. Our frontal lobes apply the brakes to our mouths and actions when we are under the influence [of our emotions], operating a complex network of chemical actions and activity that have a lot to do with how well or poorly we feel. The level of endorphins and neuro-receptors in this brain-soup of ours makes a difference in whether the glass is perceived as half empty or half full.

One way that you might evaluate your emotional well-being is by answering this one question: How flexible are you?

Flexibility and resiliency in attitude, in our response to challenges and the veers on the road of daily living, are a very good barometer of our emotional quadrant of our being. Think about it: when you’re feeling rigid, threatened, like everything is out of your control and you’re freaking out, is your emotional range full and flush, or are you ready to snap, have a breakdown or climb a tower with a gun? How flexible is your emotional body?

One to ten; pick a number for your self-perceived level of emotional well-being. If choosing a number to assess yourself is difficult, picture holding a branch in your hands. This branch is you. Bend it. How much bend does it have? How brittle and dried is it? At what point does it/you snap? This is only an honest self-assessment to place you within context of yourself and your history of ‘feeling good or bad’. Write it down in the ‘emotion’ corner of the wheel. Try to be honest with yourself; nobody else will see. If you find yourself on the lower end of the scale – don’t despair – any tiny, small bit of improvement will soon feel like huge gain. And it is.

I could go on and on about brain chemistry and emotional well-being; or how isolation aggravates our deficits in the emotional quadrant; or how a sense of hopelessness over our lack of control in situations damages our health, emotional and otherwise; or how fear and worry slowly erode our emotional foundation, but I think I’d rather end this thinking about the remedies.

Simply put, what are some of the things that bring you a feeling of being relaxed – not under threat? What helps you lower your hackles? What puts a smile on your face? [primate code for pleasure] That one bears repeating: What puts a smile on your face – what can help you budge that number up a half a degree? or eight? Here’s a partial list to get you started:

Music
Laughter
Exercise/Sports/Movement
Sex
Connectedness
Good food
Sleep/Rest
Massage/Touch
Pleasurable Sensory Experiences: smells of cooking; art; song; poetry; dance; creative activity. Think pleasure in sight, sound, smell, taste and touch.
[add your own]

We are living as human mammals in a sensory, animalistic, earthly experience. If we feed and nourish the biological animal of ourselves, we in turn feed and nourish ALL parts of ourselves, including our emotional bodies. One of the gifts of being human is knowing and experiencing that full range from biological animal to Creative Intelligence. We humans ARE the whole range – and perhaps moving just a tiny step closer toward recognizing and becoming that, we can discover, explore and enjoy our HEALTHY emotional selves – so far as ever elusive as Bigfoot.

Haiku For the Gym-Rat and more....

'Rat with Torch' by graffiti street artist Banksy


Haiku For the Gym-Rat

we plug along babe,
march or die! are the orders;
living strong, we rise.

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Yeah, it's that clear-cut for me. "Use it or lose it," has become more than 'in theory' and over the past year I've officially become a gym-rat. Weird. I never expected to ever be one of those folks with cartoon legs spinning fast, going nowhere. But here I am, sweatin' for my life. It's worth it.

It's time to wrap up this quadrant of the 'Physical' so we can move ahead to the next corner of the Restoration Circle - the Emotional. In remembering and cultivating the Physical Quadrant, the simplest way to remember is to attend to the four basic elements that make this place and body: earth, water, fire and air.

Earth - nutrition; building; grounding; gardening and being IN nature,

Water - drink plenty; sweat; keep the lymphatic waters moving [which they only do through either exercise or massage, having no pump on their circulation, but rather, dependent upon muscular contraction or manual manipulation to move the lymph along]

Fire - exercise [burns energy, creates heat]; sun; digestion [inner fire transforming fuel to energy]

Air - Breathe! Fully inhale and exhale - oxygenate. All the body's systems are dependent on this. Air feeds fire.

It's all right there in the four basic elements, so basic, so simple, we can easily overlook these that are free in our search for physical cures to purchase. The lack of expense doesn't reflect their value - these are the same building blocks that have grown our species for thousands of generations. The basic plan remains unchanged. We still need decent nutrition, water and air; our bodies still need to move and be used. Despite our evolution into the modern homo-sapien, our bodies still run on the original, basic plan.

Speaking of nutrition, on one last note here, I'd like to direct your attention to the blogroll at the bottom of this page where you'll find Diana Dyer's blog. She describes herself as: "an organic gardener, Registered Dietitian, author of the book 'A Dietitian's Cancer Story' and the website CancerRD.com. "In between all that and more, I am a multiple-time cancer survivor. My website focuses on nutrition information for cancer survivors, thoughts about life as a cancer survivor, food and nutrition, gardening, recipes, our environment, and the urgent need for developing food systems that promote health not disease, ecological sustainability, and social justice."

Her info isn't just for cancer survivors, it's for everyone, and seeing as approximately 1 in 3 women and 1 in 2 men will develop cancer in their lifetimes the preventative information she provides is pertinent to us all. She's easy to read and learn from; not a 'food fascist' by a long shot. Check her out. http://www.dianadyer.com/

Ah, the physical realm! What a challenging, lovely, frightening, exciting, worrisome, pleasurable and painful place to be. No place quite like it and this physical body with its five  lovely senses [or six if you include the mind] - our sensual, temporary residence. What a wonderland! Enjoy it! There's no place else like it with its sunrises and sunsets....

Restoration

I mentioned to y'all in the last post, creative pursuits as a tool for 'Restoration' - how the theme or idea was born out of poetry shared between two 'strangers' on an on-line forum for folks trying to find their way through. The word 'Restoration' struck a nerve over there, some good, some not so good. Art should strike a nerve and stir the soul - and sometimes it brings surprises such as forging bonds between like-minded souls trying to move a mountain. These are the two original poems of forging 'The Restoration Project' between myself and the 'unknown stranger' who is now my close compadre and ally, shoveling side by side on the mountain of Restoration. This is where it all began.

><><><><><><><>< ~ RESTORATION ~
by el poquito

Do you know which way I went?
I remember seeing me the other day
talking with the homeless woman
about her missing child -
the auto accident -
and the curse...
and noticing how she
folded and unfolded
the origami change purse
she held nervously in her hands...
telling me her story,
that was my story too,
about the tragedies that had
broken her,
and broken her again
into a pile of human shards
scattered across the land...
unrecognizable from the fine
strong vessels
we once were
before.

Yesterday I was high in the mountains
crossing a dangerous pass -
Dead Man's Pass...
It was too long a journey.
I was so tired...
Last I recall I was looking out the window of the train,
looking out upon the savanna --
The light and heat were beating down upon us
and the gazelles were running swiftly away
fleeing from the hard-breathing animal
that snaked it's way through the plains.
Did you see me come by here yesterday?
Do you know which way I went?

Later I remember seeing me
methodically shoveling the dirt.
How do you move a mountain?
One shovelful at a time...
Restoring hope can take time that way -
like moving a mountain
with a shovel.
It can be done.
I've seen it happen
many times.
But renewal does not birth easily.
Did you catch a glimpse of me?
Do you know which way I went?















~>>>> <> <> <> <> <> >><><><><><< <> <> <> <> <> <<<<~ Variation on a Theme

~ RESTORATION ~
by mark-shark

It's not brand new,
but not that old
either:
I moved here as a baby.
I crawled on this floor.
I stared at the ceiling on my way to dream.
I barely remember now.

I try to forget the earthquake
that rattled the pictures in the hall,
broke glass,
shook the foundation,
cracked the walls.

I survived.
I picked up, swept, cleaned,
defended.

I try to forget the flood
that washed away my flowers,
left snakes under beds,
carved the carpets in mud.

I survived.
I picked up, swept, cleaned,
defended.

That time
I thought I wouldn't make it.
But I did.

I try to forget the storm
that swirled a black cloud overhead,
ripped the roof,
shocked the shingles,
roared with rain,
and carried away
my precious hair.

I survived.
I picked up, swept, cleaned,
defended.

The neighbors heard my tools
and looked the other way.


No matter.


And Now, I plan a new addition,
And Now, I make drawings,
call for quotes,
touch samples,
consider colors,
wood, marble, granite, oak.

And Now, I stretch string
to define a magic garden,
think about Art
for that old cracked wall.

I plan for the future...

despite the rough location,
despite the unusual weather,
despite the fragile shell
and the history of damage
and things unplanned...

Because Someone Lives Here.

And plans to continue.

Everyday Restoration

One year ago was a big turning point for me in my healing awareness and education. It began with a poem titled "Restoration" that I posted on an on-line forum for lymphoma patients. Someone I'd never met before responded with his take on the same word. It was a good word/theme/idea to bat around in such a place with others who were also trying to rebuild the fractured pieces of their lives - folks who'd found themselves in very serious circumstances and were trying to find their way through also. This 'stranger' and I became fast friends. When one finds a like-minded soul, especially under such conditions, all cards are quickly laid on the table. We had work to do and quickly became the best of compadres, shoveling partners, side by side on the mountain. There are others here who come to visit who know very well the constancy it takes. We're not shoveling just for today. We get up every day and do our best to reaffirm Restoration; to reaffirm our healing, which in my mind isn't an event that takes place as in "now I am healed', but an affirmative action that needs daily renewal. In other words it changes daily. Our attempts need to keep up.

My attempts here in this patch of the blog is to share with others some of the things that have helped myself and others through. I hope it never sounds 'preachy' or pedantic - just sharing some thoughts. And as I've always told folks who would come to see me for consultation, "Take anything I say with a big ol' grain of salt." You know best. Claim it. It's yours: Restoration

When the idea of sharing some of my thoughts on Restoration arose, it began with some notes to myself. Every day, some more so than others, I need to remind myself and reaffirm my intention. My personal situation has the challenge of 'outsider voices' who predict my outcome - they even have scores, charts and projections to map out my unknown future. Heh! That's what I say to that! And in order to have a somewhat defiant attitude with 'them' I have to remind myself repeatedly. Sometimes I'm worn though. Sometimes I struggle to keep myself aimed in the right direction. Writing helps. Sharing ideas with others helps. Remembering where to aim my arrow of intention helps. But some days are harder than others with the challenges that I walk with.

I believe that what you teach you learn; what you give away you receive. For me to share some of all this with all of you makes me have to go deeper - and I thank you for that.

The sharing of all this began with a note on a day that I needed to remind myself of all the various things I could do to find "Restoration". I felt fried - and this is what came to me to help myself with falling down again.

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EVERYDAY RESTORATION [the bullet points reminder of that particular day]

- Dial it down: the volume; the frantic, hyper, scattered pace; the chaos.

- Defray the nerves; unruffle the feathers.

- Respect my limits - and the world's.

- When facing limitation don't attempt to beat it up, but rather, spar with it playfully.

- Nourish myself with food, water, exercise, sun, air.

- Remember: I am NOT the body or its limitations, but I AM the tenant/resident. All upkeep is mine.

- Create. If I make it with my hands and mind, it counts, whether that creation is a poem or dinner. All creation is the language and expression of the self [soul], of life, of Restoration.

- Affirm my place on earth daily; take responsibility for the space I occupy.

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That was "Everyday Restoration" on that day. Today's might be slightly different. Yours will be different. Yours will be an expression of you and your needs. We each shovel our patch in our own way, with our own style.

As I've said, writing is part of my Restoration path. Here's one of my spots where Restoration tries to prevail over Chaos. Good luck with yours.

Planting My Feet - part ll

The young man sent to me sat seated on the opposite end of the couch. The meeting had been arranged in response to a request I’d put out that I was looking for a chi kung teacher who understood using the ancient Chinese martial art with cancer patients as a tool for healing. Chi kung [or chi gong] is the mother of all the other Chinese healing disciplines such as tai chi, acupuncture and all the many martial arts. In my stereotypical expectation I thought I’d be meeting an elderly Chinese master [my stereotype based on the reality of having studied previously with an elderly Chinese master, but he was now deceased and could no longer directly help me]. Instead, there sitting across from me, was a young, blonde guy who looked as though he could be ‘another college student’ in this sea of college students of the university town I live in. My ‘expectations’ were thrown.

My expectations were further thrown when after only about two minutes of light introductory conversation he looked me deeply in the eye and said, “Okay, so you could live or die,” [this wasn’t in the abstract philosophical sense as I looked the part of someone attempting to keep their feet from being dragged down into the grave] “… you could live or die. You say you want to live. Why?”

“Ballsy,” I thought as I sat there shocked by this young man. I liked that. He knew we were on serious ground and at the start he was letting me know he took the situation seriously and we weren’t fooling around. My life was at stake – and he got it. Still, he stopped me in my tracks with that question – particularly since it was being asked with all seriousness. So far since my diagnosis, NO ONE had asked this most pertinent of all questions. We easily take our everyday life for granted, until one day it’s no longer just a given. Tomorrow is looking questionable and there sits someone wanting to know why I want to live; wants me to justify my allotment of air I breathe and how I use that life. I respected him immediately just for the courage it took to say to a stranger whose mortality was center stage, “Tell me why you want to live.”

At this point in my story I dare you to do the same - answering to yourself “why do I want to live another day?” This may seem like a silly philosophical exercise, until it’s not one day. My day had arrived.

I don’t recall what my answer to him was. I would hope it was something halfway intelligent that would make him interested in working with me, but considering the high amounts of morphine and other mind numbing drugs I was on, not to mention the chemo-therapeutic battle zone taking place inside my body – I’d be pleased if I simply didn’t drool.

What I do recall is my ‘homework’ for the following week [there was always homework].

As he prepared to leave he said to me, “I want you to list twelve things you love. – And then another list of twelve things you want to learn.” I thought this was odd; no martial arts exercises to practice, no special, secret, therapeutic movements to discover, no special meditation practice or breathing techniques to raise my ‘chi’ – simply list twelve things I love and twelve things I want to learn.

Okay. I was used to teachers throughout my life who taught in unconventional ways, in fact I often preferred them – and already I respected this man, despite his unconventional, conventional appearance; I couldn’t let my rigid stereotypes stand in the way. I was willing to play.

Twelve things I love; that was easy. And over the course of the following week I came up with many, many things I loved; so many I had to keep refining the list to limit it to the everchanging top twelve. As I worked with this list, over time I realized that these people and things that I loved were my links to my life here on this Earth: my wife, my sons, dog, home, nature, the beach, my work… All the things that if I were to die I would leave behind here on earth. It began to become clear to me that the twelve things I loved were twelve anchors – tethers connecting me to this place called earth that I had such a tenuous grip on.

“Brilliant!” I thought, “These twelve things that I love are the things that I need to keep foremost in my mind and in my gratitude if I hope to remain here.”

But twelve things I want to learn? That question just annoyed me. I didn’t feel as though I was exactly in a good spot to take any classes or take up any new hobbies. I wasn’t really looking to learn anything new in the midst of my crisis – and what the hell kind of question was that? What did learning something new have to do with my healing?! But still, I pondered that second question over the week also. Was there anything I wanted to learn?

Well, yes, I needed to learn about lymphoma for one thing, pronto! I wasn’t wanting to learn about that, but I certainly needed to familiarize myself with my opponent. I also had a lot I needed to learn about chemotherapy and how to survive it. And nutrition – I wanted to know more about nutrition and especially was there anything I could do to help in the cause: cancer eradication. Oh, and chi kung, I definitely wanted to be a student of the martial art applied internally for healing. There were four things right there that seemed imperative that I learn. By the end of the week I easily had twelve things to report to my chi kung teacher that I wanted to learn, many of which had to do with surviving cancer and cancer treatment, but also included gardening, writing and painting.

While reflecting and revising my lists one more time before I sat with my teacher again, I suddenly saw it! Again, he was brilliant! The twelve things I loved easily were seen as the anchors that tied me to this earthly home. The twelve things I wanted to learn connected me to a Future – something that had been looking kind of questionable. To attempt to learn new things gives yourself the message that you’ll be sticking around a minute to apply that new knowledge, to develop that new skill. To want to learn new things connects us to an unknown future in a very real and grounded way – connecting us to ‘here’ and to what we love.

This was the beginning of my training in chi kung practice as a healing practice for myself - and an auspicious start it was; a simple exercise really, but one with profound and deep effects.

So I offer it to you as the next piece of the physical quadrant on the Restoration Wheel:

What are twelve things that you love that connect you to ‘here’?

and

What are twelve things that you’d like to learn?

Enjoy the buffet.

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A special thanks to Ryan Wilson of Black Dragon Gyms

Haiku of Old Earth

Planting My Feet - part l

photo: collaberation of mark-shark & el poquito

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Earth, it ain’t for sissies. Showing up takes strength, stamina and courage. The road traveled can be riddled with fear, worry and doubt, in fact guaranteed – you will walk the earth with those three companions at one time or another.

Everyone wants a long and happy life. Lacking that, most will be satisfied with simply a long life. Longevity appears as a gift on the horizon; something to achieve, thankfully. What remains hidden is the price of longevity: the longer you live, the more experiences you gather; more milestones and equally, more losses.

This is a world filled with loss. We keep our focus on the gains, the achievements of a lifetime, but along with gains come the losses; there’s no escaping it. Occasionally life throws us a big one: the loss of a loved ones life; the loss of health; loss of work, home or marriage. The big losses sweep through our lives like a storm knocking us down.

I was swept away in such a storm. The details of the storm I’ll spare the repeating. The back-story is in the archives of the blog; see the three-parter from September ’08 called “Autumn Equinox Triptych”. It’s all there.

In a nutshell – when the rug is pulled out from underfoot quicker than a heartbeat, first we spin out. Shock can shoot us out of our bodies, leaving us feeling ‘not quite here’; and when ‘here’ is excruciatingly painful then shock mercifully escorts us off the premises. But ‘here’ is where the problem is. ‘Here’ is where the problem-solving must take place. ‘Here’ is where the work is to be done. Abandoning the premises of the suddenly crappy building that is burning down looks mighty tempting - understandable too, until you realize there are no do-overs; this is NOT a dress rehearsal. This is the real thing and it’s going up in flames!

Do you stand by passively immobilized and watch? Or do you call the Fire Department and get out the hose?

When I was swept off the planet and out of my comfortable life a few years ago, I was incredibly fortunate to know people who attempted to tether my feet as I floated away from the trauma, shock, cancer and morphine. We all knew I was sick enough to easily die – to simply float off. It really would not have been difficult to die; remaining here was the challenging part. Equally important as the cancer-fighting medications were the loving individuals who tethered me to this earth as my body attempted to slip out from under me.

Grounding was necessary.

Whenever shock is involved, grounding is the remedy. I’ve been taught that when I'm in need of grounding to do exactly that – walk barefoot on the earth; sit down on the ground, or best of all, lay the whole body out, prostrated to the earth, letting her carry me, hold me, ground me. We do call her Mother after all. Commit to the relationship with her! She has supported us all these years.

Within the first few days of flying off the planet, I was surrounded in an intentional healing circle of my wife, children and four elders, led by my spiritual elder and advisor, a humble man of power who knows a thing or two about healing, living and dying. I lay in the center of the circle as they ‘planted my feet’. I felt myself called back into my hurting, crappy body that I wished only to escape.

The first step: stop escaping. Plant my feet on the ground I truly stand on now – the frightening ground it would take courage for me to continue to stand upon.

I will be forever grateful for their loving call to return into my body. I lay there, my body drenched in sweat as I tried to slide back into it, while my elder-teacher taught my youngest son where to place his hands on me – how to continue ‘planting my feet’ after my elder had returned to Mexico. I am incredibly fortunate and grateful to this kind circle of folks who helped me remain here on earth a little longer. They called me. They planted my feet.

When life becomes circumstances of spinning chaos and we are smacked in the face with our own powerlessness, often, all we can do is try to be as grounded as we possibly can. If we become the eye of the storm we are more effective in the storm for ourselves and for others.

Sometimes this is about all we can actually do for another in the storm - we can call out, motivated by our love not fear, and help to plant another’s feet. We don’t need a special someone – an elder, a healer, a medicine man, a doctor; we all have this power to call out to one another, especially when it’s fueled by love and care.

We have been conditioned to look for an answer outside of ourselves, while all along, WE ARE the medicine.

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We are the medicine
We become the chorus
On earth
Calling the lost one to return
Planting their feet
On the earth
Once again

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The first step to 'Planting the Feet': Stop attempting to escape!

Muchas gracias Tlakaelel, Celia, Bert, Dora, and my wife and sons for calling me back.

Restoration: the four directions

I sat down to begin outlining some of my thoughts that have been floating around regarding healing. Once I began, the floodgates opened and much more than I expected began pouring out. Because there’s a lot that I’ll be touching upon and I can feel a fire burning in me, these will be coming out at a faster pace than usual. If I could, I’d have y’all over for some morning coffee or such to bat around some of these ideas. I just want to reiterate: I have no corner on any special knowledge – I just happen to have gone around the block a few times. I still have plenty to learn and that’s also why I’m here writing – to learn more. [By the way, life-long learning is one of those building blocks of wellness.] These are my own personal observations and knowledge passed on to me from others. If something rings true for you – great! Explore it more, or ask me about it [I probably have 5 or 10 other leads along that line] If something doesn’t ring true [ever! anywhere!] Don’t drink the kool-aid! Honor your intuition. I try to remember that myself as it has saved my ass innumerable times - and my not listening to it has burned me innumerable times also!

Often when clients in the past came to me asking for help or insight into their health problems I would take a prescriptive course with them. Now, when we are in trouble we have a kind of knee-jerk reaction to look for an answer or a prescription to make us well from some outside authority. Truth is, if we’re honest with ourselves we can usually self-prescribe with a high success rate and improve our own well-being. It’s simple and it really only takes a little effort.

First, draw a circle. This represents the wholeness of yourself. Divide the circle into four quadrants or pieces of the pie. Each quadrant represents an area of our being. Together, they interact, interrelate, make up our well-being or lack of. Over the weeks here we’ll touch on all the four aspects: Physical, Emotional, Mental and Spiritual. (oh-oh, did he say spiritual? Don’t worry, no dogmas here – at least none that can’t be kicked to the curb, if you so please)

Each of the quadrants is an important piece of our wellness, health and well-being – not just the physical. I’m not dismissing the physical, after all it’s the realm we’re all hoping to stick around in as happily as possible for a while, so yeah, the physical is basic nuts and bolts to the whole picture.

In looking at the physical quadrant it’s real simple to grasp: the four elements. That’s what this place [earth] is made of; it’s what our bodies are made of: earth, water, fire and air. It’s that simple. It’s what your Mom told you – or somebody’s Mom told someone: “Eat your fruits and vegetables, get plenty of exercise, fresh air, sunlight and plenty of water.” Mom’s were right all along, dammit! The only other thing I’d add to Mom is to get on the earth. Nothing more earthy and physical than the Ol’ Mother herself; garden, dig, plant, lie down on, sit upon, walk barefoot on – all these activities are grounding.

If you were a client of mine seeking help, I’d ask you to give yourself a number between 1 and 10 rating your physical well-being. Be honest with yourself and write it down in that corner of the wheel – The number one being: I can barely lift my head; with10 being: tip-top physical health. Now here’s the crux of self-prescribing. Instead of thinking of how horribly decrepit your physical condition is and how could you ever have allowed yourself to become this blob disguised as flesh and you decide you need a major overhaul the likes of which belongs on television’s Extreme Makeover; before you totally depress yourself and go looking for chocolate to assuage your feelings of shame and horridness – find one thing – just one, tiny, little thing you could do to budge that number 4 to a 5, not all the way to a 10 by Wednesday. Set your sights within reach. One thing. Anything. Drink water. Can you do that? One small thing that if you succeed with, might nudge your well-being one degree in the right direction. The only way we get to where we might want to go is one degree or step at a time. We all like to succeed and if you set yourself up for; “I MUST exercise for one hour every day for the rest of my life,” although a noble idea, most likely it won’t last long and will quickly fall by the wayside as if it had never been mentioned, thus avoiding feelings of failure. None of us likes to fail; we’d rather quit. So, for today, make it easy. What’s your number and what’s one thing you could ADD to your day [not take away, as in: “I will NOT eat chocolate anymore.” Add to, don’t take away. What’s ONE thing that will nudge your wellness physically that you could successfully incorporate into your life today? Write it down in the 'physical' corner of the circle.

And there you go. There’s step one of your self-prescription. Who’s going to be more honest with you than yourself? Who’s going to be more invested in your well-being than yourself? I recommend placing this circle somewhere where you’ll see it and read your own reminder to yourself daily of the one thing you’re adding to your life. We’ll add to this circle as the weeks go on and we take a look at our other aspects of ourselves that can help create a holistic web of wellness.

Next – “Planting My Feet” on the earth.

One Year Later....

Still Here.

Still painting graffiti on the wall - poems of survival, prose of finding my way, and making a few friends along the way. el poquito came to me one year ago, arriving with 60 kokopelli dancing up my driveway. He arrived with fire and being the pyromaniac I am, we became close friends. Very close.

When I began tossing my words out to the world all I knew was I needed an outlet - a place to express myself when my world was becoming more and more limited. And as the physical limitations mounted my mind and spirit raced. Or as Rumi said to me yesterday:

"Like the moon without legs, I race through nothingness.
See how fast I can run without legs?"

Please don't feel sorry or think me inspirational or brave. We do what we have to - and anyways, those last lines of Rumi's poem made me laugh hard with recognition: See how fast I can run without legs?

And in case you're confused and wondering, I do have legs. They're just kinda crappy sometimes. But I love 'em, crappy or not. They're still here too - well, at least one and a half of them.

Yep, still here; still ornery; still laughing; still working the Restoration Project, now along with the Delusional Optimism Project. [Guess I like projects.] More on the D.O.P. at a later time.

So at the close of the first year's cycle and in beginning the next one I want to bring the focus back to my original intent here. Tizitl means healer. To me, 'healer' isn't someone out there who will fix us and make us better, but rather the healing energy that runs through and around all of us at all times. No one has a corner on it. Lots of people, practitioners, professionals, religious and health dogmas would have us believe otherwise, but in all my explorations into healing over a lifetime, with these past several years being in intensive study, I see no definitive answers - only more questions.

The Great Mystery still rocks. And as far as I know is still going under the name of 'Mystery' - a name and concept that covers 95% of the universe according to quantum physics.

So in exploring healing we are stepping directly into the world of mystery. It's a fun playground - mystery, if you can be satisfied with humbly not knowing. But when we face the fact that 95% of the universe is of unknown 'dark matter', then it's perhaps a bit easier to say, "I dunno," since either do the very smart scientists, the doctors included. Yes, we've made great advances, but still, mostly it's a mystery how healing takes place and how one procures it, or if one can. A mystery that is worthy of investigation; just expect no definitive answers.

These next few weeks I hope to lead us on a little exploration. I'll try not to be inspirational or brave - in fact I'll most likely go out of my way to undermine those positions. I don't need admiration. You don't need a cult. But I do enjoy fellow travelers and explorers. So please feel free to jump in here with your thoughts, opinions, dreams, aspirations, hopes, fears, worries, or just to say 'hey'. This is your table too. It's really quite easy to leave a comment: you can either register a google account or simply post your comment under the 'anonymous' tag. I'd love to hear from your point of view.

By the way, because this will NOT be inspirational and will raise more questions than answers, I imagine I'll make some folks uncomfortable at one time or another. Sorry. I don't intend for that. Seems raw honesty has that ability to make others uncomfortable sometimes - but then I did say this was going to be an exploration into healing, not comfortable ways to be a lazy-ass slacker in life.

Get your shovels out folks. Here we go.

xo
el poquito


"Longevity"

Also In the News

Beyond mainstream media are some wonderful, insightful writers and thinkers. Roberto Rodriguez is among my favorites. This article of his from this week's news is an example of the ethnic viewpoint that doesn't get much air. Roberto's commentaries appear twice a month in the New American Media: Expanding the News Lens Through Ethnic Media.
http://news.newamericamedia.org/news/
Also under "Links of Interest" to the right of this page, his articles along with his wife's, Patrisia Gonzales are archived under "The Column of the Americas." Very good writers with vision. I respect them both highly.

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Wake Up GOP: Sotomayor is This Generation's Jackie Robinson

Roberto Dr. Cintli Rodriguez
Jul 15, 2009

Nine years into the new millennium and conservatives and Republicans -- with straight faces – insist that it is they who should define the nation’s racial debate and that it is their views that are fair and objective and part of the U.S. mainstream. Nowhere is this fallacy more evident than in their incomprehensible opposition to Judge Sonia Sotomayor’s nomination to the U.S. Supreme Court.

In their upside-down world, extreme conservatives, including the entire right-wing talk show universe, have gone from defending racial supremacy (by opposing integration and the precepts of “equality and justice for all”) to appropriating the right to define the very words and terms of this debate. Interestingly, Senate Republicans, who espouse virtually the same views as those of their influential talk show brethren, minus the most incendiary language, have failed to denounce their hate and ultra-nationalist demagoguery.

For instance, Sen. Jeff Sessions’ questioning of Sotomayor regarding her supposed biases, and the Republican demand that she be neutral, is mind-boggling. Lest we forget (aside from his own documented extreme racial views), it is “objectivity” that permitted the U.S. Supreme Court for nearly 200 years to uphold legal segregation and discrimination. Implicit in their arguments is that the decisions by white male Supreme Court justices have always been fair and infallible, while the continued attempts to right the nation’s wrongs – by activists or judges – constitute bias and even racism.

In addition to a history refresher course, many of these Republicans and conservatives are in need of an English dictionary. They also need to pay a visit to the Southern Poverty Law Center’s website to learn who the racists are and what kinds of supremacist ideologies they espouse and carry out.

None of those that have denounced Sotomayor as a “racist,” such as Newt Gingrich, are in line to win a Nobel Peace Prize for their work on race relations any time soon. And yet, more incredible is that the mainstream media continually turn to extremist talking heads for their opinions on the topic, virtually granting them an imprimatur of impartiality and fairness.

The Republican conservative effort to keep Sotomayor off the bench seems like a bizarre murder-suicide plot. Regardless of the obstacles put in her way, she will be the next Supreme Court justice. If there is to be any casualty, it will be the GOP, not she. She is a twice-Senate-confirmed moderate judge with 17 years of judicial experience, not the flaming radical they project her to be. She is boricua or Puerto Rican, part of a demographic (Latino/Latina) that is growing and has the potential to lean either Democratic or Republican.

What GOP leaders haven’t figured out is that, symbolically, Sotomayor represents this generation’s Jackie Robinson. If they had wanted to broaden their political tent, they could have celebrated her nomination, thereby projecting a welcoming party. Instead, they have questioned her impartiality and more important, her integrity. By opposing her these past two months with inflammatory rhetoric, they have poisoned relations with this expanding demographic group, ironically ensuring that the GOP will be remanded to the status of minority party for at least the next generation.

GOP leaders have the right to oppose her; the problem is that they have failed to do so respectfully. Many Republicans/conservatives have not simply defamed her, they have also unjustifiably denigrated both the Puerto Rican Legal Defense and Education Fund and the National Council of La Raza (NCLR) – respected civil rights organizations she has been associated with as a professional. In the case of the NCLR, the anti-immigrant ex-Colorado Rep. Tom Tancredo has likened it to the KKK. This is beyond intellectually dishonest.

This attempt by extreme conservatives to redefine the meaning of terms such as “racists” either reveals an Orwellian strategy to upend the meaning of words, or it reveals complete political illiteracy and/or lunacy. The consequence is that the GOP continues to send off the message that it is the party of the past, the party of greed, permanent war, hate, intolerance and racial supremacy. Also, because many conservatives equate 'illegal alien' with Mexican (or Latino) and view both as vermin and subhuman, the GOP already has a huge [recruitment] problem among these groups.

The failure of its leaders to disassociate from those extreme views means that this is the way the GOP will be perceived, long after Sotomayor dons her new Supreme Court robes.

Roberto Dr. Cintli Rodriguez, an assistant professor at the University of Arizona, writes for New America Media, including Arizona Watch. He can be reached at: XColumn@gmail.com

Haibun on Visiting an Uneasy Place

I don't know how to explain it, how to capture something so large and reduce it to a gesture. You remind me of the places I never want to see again, of frightening roads and being alone lost in the dark. Traveling through to the other side of destruction, I see light in what once was your mind - spreading like a glistening pool, serenity in the eye of the storm. I see homelands and prairies; the cottonwood's shade; the river, and resting on its shore. Some things there are no words for.

Kali with her sword
lopping off another head
while she smiles at me

Birthday Haibun

Suction! Push! Now! -- PUSH! He's stuck! Turn him! Heartbeat's dropping! We've gotta get him out NOW! PUSH!

And with the strength of the hundreds of women of generations before, in one magnificent effort, she pushes him out, birthing our son. Out flops a dark purple, limp infant boy - tiny, without breath or movement - only a faint, slow heartbeat.

You're not dead.

As you're whisked away to neo-natal intensive care, "Go with him," she insists, and I leave her bleeding to follow you in search for air while over and over again I call you to earth by name:

"Elijah.... Elijah.... Elijah...."

after many days
and promises to help you
fear gives way to Life

Shadow Secrets

If I have no shadow
what does it mean?

I claim my shadow
just as I claim this life itself.
If I have no shadow falling
behind me, falling
before me, falling
next to me, attached
to my feet - never separated
from this bucket of bolts,
this hooptie I call home -
If I lose my shadow,
if it loosens and flies away
free, unfettered by mortal chain,
then, also,
this bucket of bolts with its
rusted wiring, worn parts and clanking machinery
sputters and chokes
steam rising from every orifice
yawning wide in desperate gasps
for air and freedom.

Sometimes, reaching for freedom
instead, it finds release,
becomes obsolete, no longer
needed
to walk the dog
to tend the garden
to hold a loved one....
shocked, I recoil
watching the shadow
as it makes a break for it
escaping the fleshly prison
decorated so nicely.
[a pleasant place to be really, until it's not]

Until that final moment
of ultimate release
I claim my shadow
as mine - all mine -
as few things truly are.
I wrap it like a warm blanket
over my body, wrapping
around me its
delicious secrets
about my living or
lack of.

It whispers in my ear
secrets,
knowledge for no one else -
the secrets of this life
this mortal frame
this bucket of bolts
and fancy wiring
and pregnant dreams.

Poetry of Daily Life

When I was a kid, my Mom would buy used furniture from the Goodwill, bring it home, strip it, then repaint the piece of furniture. As a kid, I really thought it was kind of weird. Nobody else's parent painted most of the furniture of the house with folk designs depicting roses and grapes and bringing in of the harvest; cowboys with lassos and all the family cattle brands that had at one time been part of los ranchos of some far, distant place called New Mexico. It was very strange this brightly colored furniture with designs of daily life - somewhere - where there were gardens, fields, harvests and cowboys.

Tonight I'm writing you from my front porch in the North Country. My new writing table was purchased on sale from K-Mart, manufactured in a factory in Viet Nam, put together on my deck this morning with carefully chosen design painted on the table, underneath. It was a tradition of Mom's. On her pieces of furniture she would paint a poem, or a saying, on the back or underneath, somewhere where it would only be seen very occasionally, like when cleaning or moving. Following In her tradition, one day when someone is moving this table, or cleaning underneath, or on their hands and knees looking for a lost something, for a moment they will see this and remember one of the odd things 'he used to do' - paint words on his furniture and on the walls of his house.

The other day I spoke to my youngest son, Popeye, living on the North Sea, building a tall ship in the north Netherlands. He's being put up in abandoned nurse's quarters of a former hospital [fancy squatters]. He says to me, "Dad! You'd love my room! I've painted poetry all over the walls!"

He's come by it honestly. We come from a lineage of graffiti artists - a family tradition.

Leave your mark. Leave it Beautiful. Leave it Strong.

Dangerous Truth -"How Does Tomorrow Dream?" by John Trudell

"He is extremely eloquent, therefore, extremely dangerous."
FBI dossier on John Trudell

John Trudell has fathered more children since 1979 when three of them, his wife and his mother-in-law died in a fire. But he
doesn't like to talk about them. "All I will say is that I have many children and they're not in the same place. Nobody's going to come in and kill all my kids at one time ever again. It's just not going to happen, it's not going to happen."

Prior to this tragedy, John Trudell had been the spokeperson for the Indians of All Tribes occupation of Alcatraz Island for 19 months, 1969-71; he was the national chairman of AIM (the American Indian Movement) 1972 -79 including being an AIM leader during the occupation of Wounded Knee in 1973.

His activism drew the attention of the FBI, which compiled a 17,000-page file on him.

Then, in February 1979 -- a few days before his 33rd birthday, he led a march to the FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C. He had received a warning against speaking, but instead, he delivered an address from the steps of the FBI building on the subject of the agency's harassment of Indians. Less than 12 hours later, Trudell's pregnant wife, Tina, his three children, and his wife's mother were burned alive in a fire that destroyed their home on the Shoshone Paiute reservation in Nevada.- the apparent work of an arsonist.

"Murdered," Trudell said. "It's very simple. They were murdered."

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I've had the pleasure of hearing John Trudell a few times. He's an extremely intelligent man, a bit of a loose cannon, someone with little to lose. After the murder of his wife and children to 'influence' his leadership within the Native community, he came forward as a man with nothing much more to lose - stripped bare. To me, he's always appeared as a very free man, making him quite dangerous.

Out of this experience he found his words in poetry and songwriting. He hooks up lines of truth. Dangerous truth. This one is a recent one of his and it comes with the usual warning to the sensitive: This is a hard one. Truth often is.

"I'm just a human being trying to make it in a world that is very rapidly losing its understanding of being human."
- John Trudell

We Can Do Better

I 'stumbled upon' these photos back in the survival days of March, when the Michigan winter had already been cruelly endless. I decided I would hold off and post what I considered to be important, historical photos on April 26th, the 23rd anniversary of the worst and most expensive toxic disaster in our short history as humans creating toxic disasters - the nuclear accident at Chernobyl. Well, come April and spring flowers, and finally relief, these photos and the subject seemed too 'dark side of humanity' at a time when I and many others in Michigan, were simply trying to not be washed down the drain before the days lengthened with sunlight. So I waited. First the mass depression needed to lift.

Then, North Korea began making some noise testing newly-found toys of war and destruction - of the nuclear type. It seemed timely to raise these photos as reminders, but I still couldn't bring myself to it. It made me recall Sunday mornings back in 1982, our baby boy strapped to my back, riding high in the baby backpack. We would go to Williams International, a company not far from here that made engine parts for nuclear cruise missiles. The cruise missiles were relatively new back then; refined nuclear warmaking destruction that some of us weren't keen about being manufactured in our own backyards. People cared about such things back then. It wasn't unusual to be worried about nuclear destruction. It was a time before the term itself became an artful joke with that wild and crazy, tongue-twisting caricature we called a president.

"Hmmm... How are we ever going to get the people to lighten up around the idea of nuclear proliferation?"

"I know! Let's have him say it in some whacky way - over and over again - like nook-yu-loor! And let's make it so he never can say it right! It'll be a riot!"

And so we stopped thinking about it much, the cruise missiles, the earthquake fault lines, the old equipment, the highly disturbed world leaders with their finger on the button, the toxic waste piling up with no proper storage. It was a bit overwhelming to consider I suppose, and anyway, the way he said "nook-yu-loor"! That shit was too funny!

I'm not sure what was so different in 1982 that people would gather on their Sunday mornings in sun, rain or snow to protest at the front gate of a tools of war facility. It was better than any Sunday morning church I'd ever attended in my life. We felt like we were putting 'faith in action' or some such ideology filtered down from the likes of the outlaw priests - the Berrigan Brothers. I remember a bright, crisp, Sunday in January, my baby bundled in his snowsuit, just a bit of pudgy face peeking out from under his hood, hat and scarf. He was having fun, smiling and laughing, looking down at the people. (He always loved to ride high above the crowd, peering over his Papa's head and shoulders.) We were out there for him; we were out there because of our complicit guilt: we had so recklessly and selfishly brought him into this world of ours - maybe, just maybe, somehow, we could make a difference for his life, for his future.

Who knows? All we can do is to try our best; do what we can do for the next generations coming up. Hopefully they'll get a chance to have a crack at it, and maybe do it a tiny bit better. I place a lot of hope in evolution.

But not if we forget. Or never even look in the first place.

Here's a look. Time froze in Chernobyl on April 26, 1986. Twenty-three years later, it still stands there, exactly the same as the day they left the schools, hospitals and homes abandoned. These pictures are very eerie. They need to be seen. They need to not be forgotten. Just as Williams International was in my backyard in 1982, so is Chernobyl in 2009. In the end, there is no good time to share pictures such as these. They've haunted me long enough, nagging at me to put them out there. Flor y canto is about inheritance. Unfortunately, this too is a part of the inheritance we leave behind.

I have to believe, we can do better.


Deserted secondary school near Chernobyl, Illinsty, Ukraine
(Image credits:misterbisson via:villageofjoy.com)

Chernobyl Today: A Creepy Story told in Pictures
By Village Mayor

In the 'Zone of Alienation' in northern Ukraine, Kiev Oblast, near the border with Belarus. Its population had been around 50,000 prior to the accident. Today, the only residents are deer and wolves along with a solitary guard.

Prypiat used to be proud for being home to the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant workers. But something happened on 26 April 1986…

It took three days before all permanent residents of Chernobyl and the 'Zone of Alienation' were evacuated due to unsafe levels of radioactivity. People from around the Soviet Union were forced to come and work here in order to liquidate the danger and evacuate the residents. Many of the workers died or had serious illness from radiation. My father was also recruited for this operation, but he bribed corrupt local officers with some good sausages which were rare and a valuable item at those times, so he’s fine and alive today.

Let the story be told by these magical pictures taken ~20 years later after the accident.


“The sign on the road to Pripyat, the town where the workers of the nuclear plant lived.”
(Image credits:Pedro Moura Pinheiro via:villageofjoy.com)

The bridge of death (Image credits:Vivo (Ben) via:villageofjoy.com)

“After the explosion at Reactor 4 the people of Pripyat flocked on the railway bridge just outside the city to get a good view of the reactor and see what had happened. Initially, everyone was told that radiation level was minimal and that they were safe. Little did they know that much of the radiation had been blown onto this bridge in a huge spike.” They saw beautiful rainbow coloured flames of the burning graphite nuclear core, whose flames were higher than the smoke stack itself. All of them are dead now - they were exposed to levels of over 500 roentgens, which is a fatal dose.


“Pripyat Funfair was due to be opened on May 1st. The Chernobyl disaster happened April 26th. No one ever managed to ride the ferris wheel. It remains one of the most irradiated parts of Pripyat since the disaster, making it still dangerous today, 23 years on.” (Image credits:Vivo (Ben) via:villageofjoy.com)


“Nursery in the creche/kindergarten”. (Image credits:hanszinsli via:villageofjoy.com)

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I took these photos from a link I couldn't link directly to here, but if you'd like to see the complete portfolio of photos go to this webpage (which includes many other fine artists): http://www.stumbleupon.com/s/#6sJQYe/villageofjoy.com/amazing-graffiti-art-by-bansky//
and scroll down a very short way - under '10 Most Commented' on the right hand side you will find the link to more of the Chernobyl photos.

Renewal

again, the blossoms
open, fade, die, no hurry.
come, sit next to me.

Revolutionary

i stagger
falling forward over
arid
brittle desperate ground
wondering how far
to the next oasis
to the next watering hole
wondering
can i last
that long
when I do not know
how long ‘long’ is
can i last
can i go that far
can i go the distance
what is the distance

when suddenly
it begins

clouds gather in the distance
the bank of low gray
comes closer
lower
darker
heavier and
overwhelming
(in the best sense of the word)
it rolls in
cloud on top of cloud
sky breaking open
hitting my skin
sweet cold drops
moisten me
taking me away
far away from arid deserts
and all that is painful
brittle and unholy

it lifts me
body and soul
soul and body
lifted
spirit lifted
all wounds closing
wet silky mystery
life’s nectar
pouring
primal honey
all upon me

I am
lifted up
drawn in
surrounded by
there is nothing more
than this
this wonderful

from here sprang
rumi’s rapture

from the darkness
that shadowed over him
before the light found
his feet spinning
on the earth
and the earth met
his feet
kissed them
felt his weight
and accepted him
as he pressed his
flesh in

yes

when I open
my breath sings
across the fields
through the trees
with the birds
all praise
all praise
I find myself
in a reverie
while those
who speak my tongue
sleep
not knowing
a few perhaps
but most
they sleep

I receive
this mercy
this rain
gratefully crying
you can’t bless me enough
I can’t take you into me
enough
I can’t be taken into you
enough
all other taking
pales to this
my love

would it frighten you
if I were found
spinning in the park
singing with the birds
in the rain
would it frighten you
if I were found in a
rapture
of spinning
of spinning myself
a place on the earth
would it frighten you
if I were overcome with joy
if I were fraught
with happiness
would it frighten you

this world of misery
it is not mine
it is not of my making
it is not of my doing

would it frighten you
if I relinquished misery
if I took a vow of poverty
to live without its abundance
would it frighten you

would I trouble you
would I be too free
would you want to lock me up
because I’d lost touch
with reality
or
chose joy
rather than misery
would you lock me up
if I were found this way
spinning in the park in
the rain

life is winding
life is unwinding

round and round and round
and round
spinning faster
the world spilling
all that is
becoming what was
now
for a moment
and
gone
now for a moment and gone
now for a moment and gone

and i spin
finding myself
alone
in a world
of
non-spinners

the children know
the children know

to touch this world
is not to touch poison
it will not harm you
it will not cause you
to be a sinner
damned to hell

to touch this world
is to feel
like a newborn
warm love
giving us our very breath
living us
in magic
while we touch it

the poet Giovanni says:
I know that touching
is
was
and always will be
the true revolution

in this frightened world
I know she saw
something bigger
all poets always
see things much bigger:

touching
is
was
and always
will be
the true revolution
a revolution
takes place
a revolution takes place
with every moment
passing by
a revolution takes place
with every song of the bird
a revolution takes place
with every step that I walk
a revolution takes place
with every breath that I take
a revolution takes place
a revolution takes place
a revolution takes place
a revolution takes place

I am a revolutionary
I spin
in the rain
in revolutions of mercy
in revolutions of water
fire
and spirit
in revolutions of earth
the earth is a revolutionary
the sun is a revolutionary
the planets the stars
all revolutionaries
a galaxy of revolutionaries
spinning
I find my place
in this revolutionary universe
I am one
with its magic
this revolution
rising up inside of me
it seeps into every corner
finding no place it cannot fill
and I become the container
until it overflows me
and the container dissolves
and
I and I are one
the ground watered
the drought passed
the revolution
of
living
begun