what is the sound of silence? (rough draft)

what is the sound of silence?

the gentle thumping of one's heart?

the call of the hawk
traveling through clouds and
miles of blue
to nest
in your ear?

the water dripping
off rosebushes
on to the moss
of my heart?

what is the sound of silence
other than
the slipping of your hand
into mine.

the salt
my tears left
on your skin
slowly drying.

what is the sound of silence?

the peace of no more
the promise of possibility
the trailing whisper
of you.

A little of both in a found poem. For my mom. (A rough draft.)

My mom is on the front steps.

She's been there for two hours my dad says.
She won't move and I don't care anymore.

I say Hello Mom and walk by,
not sure if she knows who I am
though she seems to recognize me
from a deeper place.

Dad's exhausted, I can tell
and angry.
I understand.
I am exhausted and angry too.

She won't get up in the morning he says
and once I get her in the shower she won't come out. 
Or get dressed. 

So goes my dad's day.
Battle after battle after battle
with a woman he still loves
but doesn't know anymore.

I listen to the laundry list of complaints
injustices
hardships.
Offer no suggestions.

I walk to my mom and try to get her up off the steps.
Come on Mom, I whisper,
One, two, three, upsie daisy. 
She rises on legs wobbling like a newborn foal's.

Holding tightly to each other
we shuffle together to her chair.
This is the new mother daughter dance
shuffle, shuffle, pull, pull.
Until we are there
Five feet in five minutes.
Zoom, zoom.


OK Mom, sitting down now, One, two...
She's down on two,
the sneaky devil!

Do you know who I am Mom?
Your daughter, Jessica. 

I imagine she smiles a little
nodding her head.
As she sits there so still
I hold her hand
she doesn't let go.

A Letter to the 2001 Me

An unedited gem from my 2011 journal - a letter to the me of May 2001:
----------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Jessica circa 2001,

Start meditating now. Go see Amma, get a hug. Begin to cultivate a spiritual practice, right away.

You're a new mom with a gorgeous, bald, four month old baby girl. Try to understand that getting laid off last month was one of the best things that could have happened to you. Don't rush to find a new job - use your unemployment insurance until it runs out.

Write. Write. Write.

You have so many undiscovered talents - if you dig for them, search for them, uncover them, you will not have to wait so long to own them. Better to own what is yours at 33 rather than struggle for the next decade.

Trust me.

Slow down. Sleep when your baby sleeps. Laugh with her. Take your time. Nurture yourself and her. She is going to be a handful, that one, and it is only going to get more and more challenging. Love her. Love yourself.

Stand up for yourself.
Slow down.
Breathe.
Write.
Stretch.
Laugh.
Enjoy what you have been given.
Simplify.
Want less.
Take care of your friends.

Jessica, you must spend time with your mother. Take the time afforded to you now that you have been laid off and spend time with your mom. Do things with her and Maya. Play in the garden, walk to the beach, go to the park.

Write love letters to Maya. Write love letters to yourself. Take writing classes. Learn to love a dirty house. Just take the time. Take up space, gather it like wildflowers. Hoard it. Revel in it. Enjoy this life in this moment because you can't even begin to fathom how it is going to change in the next ten years.

Lives and loves and dear friends will be gone. What you thought was indestructible will be destroyed. What you thought was impossible will be commonplace.

New lives will be born. New smiles and thoughts, different love, deeper love.

You must hold the space within and around you to breathe and recognize what is real and what is not. To honor what is transitory, which really is...everything.

So stop. Breathe. Love. Laugh. Rub your hand over that sweet bald head of Maya's because in ten years time it will be covered in golden ringlets she won't want you to touch and your hands will be full of other hands and things and even if you don't - can't - won't slow down you'll realize how easy things were now, then.

Love,
You.

A Prayer for 2012

A Prayer for What Seems Impossible 2012:

May there be time and space
for contentment to grow.

For sweet, green tendrils of joy
to unravel
like fern fronds in spring.

Let contentment settle
like a seed in the soil.

Let it send its roots
into the Earth
deep enough to give it purchase.

Let the winds of disbelief
and cynicism
be not so strong.

Let not the rain of self-doubt
nor any fickle frost
cause us harm.

Let the warmth of hope
protect us
like a mother does a child

with guidance
and optimism.

- j woods 2011

Found This Poem

in my journal from this year - here is the draft, unedited.
-----------------------------------------------------------

i don't know
if you know this

but i want you
to love me

to hold me
tenderly

like a monk
cradling his
sole possession

a begging bowl
of brass

all he relies upon
for food
for drink

the brass
rubbed to a shine

bright enough
to illuminate

the darkest hours
and last

as many lifetimes
as it needs to.

-j.woods 2011

The Look

The other day I was at The Farm waiting for my mentor to show for a meeting. There was a young man sitting with a much older woman at the table next to me. He looked like her grandson. She was a sweet older woman with white hair cut in a cute bob, parted on the side and held back with bobby pins. She was quietly sitting across from him and though he said a few things to her she didn't respond. Just sat there quietly.

Eventually, what appeared to be her two children, returned to the table. She looked at them with her beautiful blue eyes and as I watched her look at them I recognized the look. She knew she should love them, but she didn't recognize them. Her son gave her a cookie, which she enjoyed, but she didn't really know who he was - this kind man bringing her a cookie and speaking sweetly to her.

It reminded me of my mom, before the Alzheimer's got particularly brutal. She would sit with us, interact as best she could, but you could tell that while she knew she should love us she didn't know who we were to her.

It must be so disconcerting - to one moment know where you are and who you are with and then the next moment feel completely alone and scared.

I miss my mom. I wish I could go back and be more compassionate to her. I wish I could have loved her more. Better.

I hope she knew it was Juniper and I who were with her, holding her hands and stroking her hair, telling her she would be alright when she left this world. I hope she didn't feel alone.

J.

Activity versus Inactivity.: Some thoughts on stillness.

I feel like I have always been busy, or always had so many things I wanted to do, get done, check off my list. I have had this feeling on a daily basis as well as in life in general.

Lately I have slowed down. I am slow. I'm inactive and yet it feels OK.

im not writing
im not going to the gym
i'm not doing anything regularly

im ok resting

This feeling is different.

It still stresses me out a little bit to not be doing, to be inactive in all ways, but it feels right.

I feel like I need to become completely still in order to move forward.

I don't know what that means or what it looks like or what it will look like, but that's how it feels - like I just need to stop spinning in order to move forward with any sort of real direction...even though I don't know what that direction is right now.

So even though it feels counterintuitive and it feels wrong compared to what everybody else is doing and it feels strange it still feels right to just slow down and be still.

so that's what I am aiming for I guess.

at least today.

in stillness,
jessica

My Feet

Yes, these are my feet.

I have bunions.

I don't look so cute in flip flops any more and I am very careful about the shoes I buy (if I buy cute shoes, which I do rarely these days.) Strappy shoes are out because usually my bunions stick out or they accentuate the curve of my big toes.

I used to not be as self-conscious about my feet, but over the past 5 years or so they have gotten worse. One day I wore flip flops to school because we were going on a walk to the beach and a kid said "Ewww! What's wrong with your feet?!" Granted, I was working at a middle school, so I was able to cut the kid some slack on his lack of social graces, but still.

Then we had some friends over for a BBQ and one of our guests commented on my feet - how I shouldn't have been wearing shoes that showed them. Miraculously I was able to keep from showing him how my foot looked on his ass as I kicked it out the door.

Social graces, people. Learn them. Use them.

I don't know if he realized that he was in my house and insulting the hostess is a great way to never get invited to a free food, beer, wine and good company kind of gathering again. (I don't know this because he hasn't been invited over since. Mwah - ha - ha!)

Last year I was teaching high school and had a pair of shoes on that I thought met my "hide the hideous feet" criteria until one student couldn't take his eyes off them and asked if I had broken my toes or something.

Geeze.

Those are just three examples of why I don't love my feet. Why I am embarrassed by them. Why I spend so much time trying to keep them covered up.

Friends, the jig is up.

I am working on celebrating the perfect puzzle of my imperfections right? I am going to honor the parts of me that I have not honored so far, at least not in the way they deserve to be honored.

Here is why my feet deserve to be honored by me and those who love me:
1) They are a perfect combination of my mother's feet and my father's feet.
2) Bunions are passed down matrilineally in my family, so my mom had them and my grandmother had them. I come from a line of women with imperfections, sure, so do you. But they were awesome women who gave us life, so cut their baby-carryin', dinner makin', scraped knee fixin', laundry washin', feet a break, will you?
3) These feet carried me through ballet classes...with grace and an enviable point.
4) These feet carried me swiftly around the track and over hurdle after hurdle during high school, leading me to 11 league championships, as well as sectional championships, school records and halls of fame.
5) Because of these feet I was recruited by several top-notch schools and offered scholarships to Cal and Cal Poly.
6) These feet carried me to second place at Nationals and All-American honors...3 times!
7) These feet have had the sense to walk away from jobs, men and other situations that were not positive for me.
8) These feet have walked through the Louvre, along the canals of Venice, across piazzas in Rome, between the 5 hamlets of Cinque Terre, through the Vatican, the North End of Boston, the beaches of Kauai, Key West, and have logged miles and miles along the California coast -- to name just a few of many foot propelled adventures.
9) These feet held me on the black lava of Hidden Makenna Beach as I married my husband on a warm Maui morning 11 years ago.
10) These feet pressed against foot rests and midwives' shoulders as I pushed my daughter and son out.
11) These feet have padded quietly, quickly, softly, slowly, with love and care and concern down the hall from my room to my children's rooms in the middle of the night without second thought more times than I can count.
12) These feet carry me each day, as I pedal with them and stand on them all day teaching children about the importance of physical activity, health and positive self-regard.
13) These feet keep me rooted to the Earth as I stand in tadasana.
14) These feet remind me of every step I've taken and, with luck, every step I dream of taking.

Standing just a little taller,
Jessica

Perfection in Imperfection

I shared this on Facebook yesterday. It comes from Dharma Comics who I just discovered. This sums it up so perfectly. I am grasping for "perfection" in myself. Yet I know that is not possible. Nor is it really desirable. I want to be who I am. Fully. Simply. And find my perfection within the puzzle of imperfections that make me who I am...
Jessica

Suffering and Acceptance

Suffering and acceptance. Vinegar and vanilla right there, no?

This is what has been on my mind lately. How my life would be so much nicer if my Judging Mind wasn't along for the ride every day. JM talks non-stop. From the second I wake up to the second I go to sleep...some nights it feels like he just keeps on talking while I sleep too. (hmmm...I typed "he" - I am not sure if Judging Mind is a "he" or a "she", but it is interesting that that was what I typed. Veddy Veddy interestink.)

In any case, JM likes to pick on me mostly, but certainly has no issue picking on others as well. One of JM's favorite topics is my body. Followed closely by how I spend my time - is it useful? is this what I should be doing right now? isn't there something more important I should be doing?

I have decided to fight back against JM. I am going to begin by praising myself. Openly. Publicly. Starting with my body.

I will start this soon, very soon.

I expect these posts to be short and painful, sweet.

Acceptingly,
Jessica

Unexpected Vanilla: Baking

Confession:

I am having a really fun time searching for recipes for breads and muffins to make with all the random, ripe fruit (and vegetables) I have on hand. Like, spending the day at Ikea fun. Or whole-day-spent-in-Los-Gatos-on-Community-Yard-Sale-Day-with-a-girlfriend kind of fun.

Carrot apple muffins.

Banana macadamia bread.

Cream cheese frosting.

Vegan banana bread.

Apple spice muffins with streusel topping.

All from scratch, all by hand...and (so far) all yummy.

Really, who knew?

I love a lazy day...

when your plans are based on whims and the weather...

today is a perfect day for rainbow hunting. pouring rain one minute, sunshine the next. this morning maya was getting ready for school when she yelled out "A rainbow! A rainbow!" so tosh and I ran upstairs to join her on her bed and admire the rainbow together. we spent a good 3 or 4 minutes talking about it - where it ended, what colors we could actually see in it, what it meant.

i told them how a good friend always thinks of her fiance who passed away when she sees a rainbow and how i like to think of my mom. one day i saw a double rainbow and thought of the two of them up there, missing us, and letting us know.

living. fully. simply. happily.

Onward October!

October, the month of:
- resurrecting the blog!
- refraining from purchasing anything new (only recycled, if i must - food items excluded, naturally)
- resuming a regular yogamed practice

stay tuned....

living. fully. simply.

10 thoughts following an intermediate hatha yoga class

1) I can breathe! This is the first difference I notice following Bikram Experience #1
2) I feel a little silly doing it, but enjoy chanting "Om" before the class.
3) I like the instructor - she is sorta built like me. Shallow, I know.
4) When I see my face upside down in the mirror while in downward dog (Adho Mukha Svanasana) my face looks like a happy buddha face.
5) Holding poses for 6-10 breaths is difficult.
6) It is good to practice with a teacher from time to time so you can correct the small mis-alignments you have developed or been unaware of.
7) The older lady next to me is remarkably flexible. Not comparing, just saying.
8) Trying to do a tripod headstand makes me sweat.
9) I am going to add tripod headstand to my home practice.
10) I prefer the slower, centering pace of Hatha to the fast pace of Bikram. But I will try Bikram again. Friday morning. I've begun Project Massive Hydration already, in anticipation.
PS: 11) The day after Hatha I am SORE! Going to do a restorative sequence today.

ten thoughts on bikram yoga following my first class

1) I survived! That is, if survival is just staying in the room.
2) I almost walked out after setting up my mat. I was already sweating and started to panic...my "impermanence" meditation practice came in handy though, and I managed to get through it. The idea of "impermanence" came up a lot during the 90 minute class.
3) I have NEVER sweat that much in my life.
4) I don't feel like I got much of a physical workout because, let's face it, I was just sitting or lying there for the majority of the class.
5) The flip side is, I got to meditate on my breath a lot.
6) After about 10 minutes who cares how big my gut or ass is, I gotta take these freakin' clothes off!!!
7) (Un)fortunately, the above feeling didn't last once I walked out of the room.
8) Note to self: buy a more supportive top.
9) Note to lithe yoga bodied woman practicing her backbends after class: yes, I am staring at you. Yes, you do have a great body. Guess what? I did too when I was 25 and childless. Mwahahahahaaa!!!
10) I think I am dehydrated (duh) 'cause I have a bad headache.

Bonus (how lucky are you?!?)
11) Is it wrong to want a cold beer after class?

Sweatily,
Jessica

impermanence

hi. remember me? your long lost blogging friend? it has been AGES since I wrote, I know. I can't believe it has been over 3 months. It's practically inexcusable. I feel bad.

however, over the past 3 months+ i have learned that the feeling of guilt will pass. i just have to feel it, acknowledge it and give it time. it will move on. (sound of fingers tapping, deep breathing...)

ok. so, the guilt is on its way on to the next person. and i am writing a blog post. albeit a short and pretty boring one, but a blog post nonetheless.

the seal has been broken!

Daily Vanilla

There is a substitute teacher at my school - a white haired older gent who loves to teach Robert Frost and Emily Dickenson. He and I have bonded over rowdy classes (mine that he has subbed for), early onset Alzheimer's in the very young (my mom and a friend of his) and, of course, poetry.

He's wanted to read some of my poetry and when he stopped by today to mention it again I just happened to have some with me, so I gave him some to read.


Later he came by with some lovely comments, some gentle critique and this golden gem:

"Some people are poets and some people write poems. You are definately of the former."

Thank you Jerry. I needed that! :-)

Vanilla! Or, How I Spent My Sunday

Daily (well, monthly is more like it) Vanilla

This came to me from The Writer's Almanac, a fantastic resource that I have mentioned before. I pray they won't mind me passing it on, with all credit given to the appropriate sources - the poet, the publisher and The Writer's Almanac.

God Says Yes To Me
by Kaylin Haught

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

"God Says Yes To Me" by Kaylin Haught, from The Palm of Your Hand. © Tilbury House Publishers, 1995.

Vinegar: Fragile as a Balloon

Dear Reader,

One of my favorite quotes comes from Erykah Badu - on one of her cds she introduces a new song (The Fantagalistic Tyrone, I believe)and she says, "Now keep in mind, I'm an artist and I am sensitive about my shit."

Did you catch that?

"Now keep in mind, I'm an artist and I am sensitive about my shit."

So true, so true.

Us artists (you guys who know me best know I am making a face as I refer to myself as an "artist", but hey, progress, not perfection, right? Not long ago I would NEVER have been able to call myself an artist at all!) are sensitive folks.

I appreciated a moment at the Poetry Slam I went to last month when the MC was encouraging the audience to snap or clap or express their appreciation somehow because poets shrivel up and die if they don't get positive feedback.

Sure, all of us, artists or not, are like that - in need of positivity. But poets and other artists are more desperate for it. We shrivel at a much faster rate.

And then we are no fun to be around.

So, the point of this post, Dear, Dear Sympathetic Reader, is that I am shriveled today.

It doesn't take much. One ill-advised rejection from a poetry submission and my entire poetic path of good intentions is washed away like chalk on the sidewalk. I struggle to keep my chin up - to believe that the rest of my grand poetic plan will happen. To know that there are other markets out there, that I will be able to make the time to submit to them, to know in my bones that this is not a bad omen - that other poems that are hanging out there in submission limbo waiting to be loved will be just that...loved. To have faith that my path is well-tended and worthwhile and that I will continue to thrive as an artist and poet.

In need of loud snaps,
J.