 bubbles of sadness burst themselves all around my body and being -
i kneel, i flee the room, i let tears have their way. another token of a saddened day remembered so long ago, so often now reborn. shades of a person, memory of their soul, you want to touch it, press it, but it lies so buried in dimensions’ softness. constricted softness holding eternity, the whispers and imprints of what was, what is. what hasn’t been - its dull and studded wall not yet clambered over, its invincibility a blurred imagining in our ever-present minds. they say we need more presence, or to “be present” i said it myself just two days ago, if I could just be present to the beauty of the present enjoy it as much as my heart deems it wants. but why the “if” - if that’s my solution… to how i wish to be in a state of happiness, how i am seeking ways of thinking to make it so. if I just think in the PRESENT, and positively at that… THEN, i can enjoy the NOW and my tomorrow will be just as good. For it will be its own present, of its own. i’m just not sure that that’s the way of thinking i wish to choose and employ. i sit in the dark at my desk, having forgotten to close the window from the evening chill, i sit and realize i’m freezing, and thirsty, and a candle burns upon the dresser/altar joined by the light of the laptop screen, and the sound machine loops its static heartbeat womb noises from the baby’s room down the hall… and i am unsure. need to take a breath. again i ask my soul, my anything, my world and existence. how can I see into those soft warm folds of everythingness? can i reach in and just hug my grandparents, or, be hugged by them? that’s all I wonder for now, as i cry a prayer of wishing my family safe, after breaking into tears standing in the kitchen after putting the baby to bed, ready to make dinner but first, bang! - - a thousands sadness bubbles burst around my body and being… In tears I leave the kitchen to kneel on the yoga mat left from some earlier lazy stretching. its blue color, along with the welcoming hardness of the wood floor, embrace my prostration but I can only last a minute before retreating to the bedroom and letting my body fall as if in slow motion onto the bed. Feels like I have so much to cry about. There’s no time for crying right now, it’s late and you gotta go make dinner, I tell myself. But the tears continue unchecked until I wipe my face a few minutes later, rise to light a candle and burn some palo santo (because I’m a gypsy hippie after all), and sit down on the blue exercise bouncy ball that is my desk chair. Open the “drafts” file off a fresh desktop window on my macbook to begin typing, but am caught off guard by the last thing I had written here. So I read it. Proofread it sort of. It makes me cry harder for a moment and then all at once it helps me to stop crying. The text was a sort of birth story, written as a review of my doctor. It’s too long (said yelp when I tried to post it), even though I thought I was keeping it succinct. I thought people wrote pretty long essay-ish reviews on there so I went at it. Was too long and I never posted it, having seen that in the 17 months since he delivered my baby, he had gotten loads of positive reviews. ANYWAY, the paragraphs on the bright screen, dimmed to contrast less with the darkness of the room, but still very bright… small thin letters carried me out of the sadness. it had been such a soaking, heavy-ish feeling - encompassing my entire self and requiring full lay-down-on-bed maneuvering. it’s a bit like grief, never quite going away. it’s grief. it never goes away. it gets smoothed and coated. it gets hidden, or tangled, or processed in a healthy way and released. (that last one is bullshit) it never goes away. you can “release it” and think it’s released, observe it as released, commemorate it as such, teach others how to do likewise, describe how and why, when and where, with whom, through what, how else. infinite ways of dealing. of healing. of words and words and thoughts, feelings, dreams, travels, trips, quests, voyages and pilgrimages. of infinities. infinities onto infinities. and then - plop! back to you, just you. a woman on an edge, from maiden to mother. grieving. always. and rejoicing. always. the grief is there, but it becomes something else. creativity. and something akin to an angelic power. an amplifier. a never-ending blessing. i reach my arm into a nondescript void, a void which so embodies the meaning of a void that it is not a void - and I feel my feet follow in step… am I here? inside the everything?
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Strong, weird energy today. Malaysian plane mysteriously shot down in Ukraine. Ground invasion in Gaza. Other things all over the world I'm sure, along with beautiful things of course too. Perhaps the bad news would be easier to chalk up to "duality," our need to experience the darkness of existence in addition to the light, or even to the destruction necessary for transformation. But the news isn't just bad… it's confusing, unclear, untrue, and manipulated by motives beyond our comprehension. It's overwhelming for a sensitive heart. It's too dark to augment with my usual new-agey optimism.
Something is too far out of balance. Wouldn't everyone's prayers and open hearts have healed it by now, if they were working? What are we missing? How much damn collective karma do we need to clear? Can we make our visualizations of peace more concrete so they can better manifest in reality? The molecular energy of hatred is so strong, and causes so much to happen… Where is the warrior energy of all our love molecules? I know it's here, and can be seen everywhere if one looks closely. But perhaps we're not generating enough of it? We shouldn't have to strain to look for love, while fear constantly bears its teeth into our face. After typing up this rant and thinking no new-agey optimism could calm my heart, there actually is a positive notion which resurfaces inside me... that within non-linear time, our prayers have indeed already worked, and the balance ultimately has been restored. I believe in such a reality. Maybe it can't be "tomorrow," but it exists in the ether somewhere, a quantum degree away. I long for us to leap to it. 
a still-shot from a dance video made with photobooth on my macbook..
Within my self, a thousandfold emotive lions. Around my being, a million manifold eclipses, smiles and heartbeats. Light. Dangerously bright. Shadows, delirious and delicious. Strange romantic cravings. Fantastical stories and dreams. Something is in the wind, in the breeze. A silent wisdom speaks, hums slowly louder, unfolds us. Peacefulness is so near, at times reached. Ever there. Ever here.
Somethings pulls tenderly. A familiar symmetry. Bubble-thought and weightless heart, suddenly I'm everything. ** What does it take, creating me? Do it, friend. I'm eager to be born. Whispering linens, spores of sweat and tendrils of your hair, streaming all about you in your sleep. I watch the night you keep. A shadow self, my lonesome wanderer - my effortless loving of you, how I'd hold you if I could. Destiny and legacy, words I use not easily. I think of you, something neutral and unassuming in your being. There's a tall wall, and a lock and a seal, and I still think of you, past the clouds, past the line dividing your heart from mine, it feels still near, I'm reckless, useless, clumsy, with you far. Won't the daylight bring you again? A mystery, folded into harmony, holding my hand, it's transparent at a glance. Leaves, their skeletal lines, the air on the branches of the trees, all the ease with which I remember you. Still see your essence where you sat, not two hours ago. Not yet removed from my iris blot, from my map and chart of your sweet face, your laugh and your grace.  "Valley's Sphere" by Dan Jones* Oh Easter Sunday and all your misguided attention, rather, the attention paid to you... so focused on male energy. So dominated by religion's tongue-in-cheek unacknowledged recklessness throughout history, how shameful and naive, all the beings lost in its name. Today I honor the sacred feminine energy. Rebirth, renewal, transformation, growth, the planting of seeds and the laying of eggs and all good and beautiful things. Righteous in my view, more so than any material or monetary thing or status. I long for our world's healing. I feel akimbo. There's a churning in my gut and in my heart. There's a solid line of force and love, from heart to throat to third eye and to crown and up to sun, and down again through and into the solar plexus, the hips, the base, the root, the crystal core of the planet, the everything of every star and every breath, all connected to the meditation I did on the beach yesterday, swaying like a reed in the wind, feeling the breathing of the Earth. Feeling the rapture and the poignant sadness, feeling the ache for absolution, the destiny of the unwritten, the points in space that time glosses over, the energy of song and movement, the knowingness of faith, the only bliss. Tonight I'm doing a gateway of light meditation and watching Thrive. Goodnight. 'The present moment is a powerful goddess.' -Goethe "We dance round in a ring and suppose ... but the secret sits in the middle and knows." Robert Frost See more of amazing sculptor and artist Dan Jones' work here  My dear cousin Oleg. Moved to America and changed his mind in one week. All his things on our living room floor, and postal tape wrapping loudly while the cat, little baby Bella, snuck around sniffing the looming change. Rather, un-change. A return. A good decision I think. California is paradise, and yet. Last night I set my intention to go to Odessa this year. The Ukraine. Oleg being back in Kiev and Katya my father's granddaughter (not to mention his daughter, my half-sister, Sveta) being in Odessa. And me, being here in California. Now. But wanting so deeply to be there, at some point quite soon. Within this year. It's what I will be working towards. I do not want to lose sight of this goal. Don't want to let myself down on this one, as I have so many times before in my life. Oleg showed us some photos he took in Odessa.... our old street... Dad said it looked the same. I want to go there. Just to stand on that ground. Walk the Potemkin steps and breathe the Black Sea air. There is something there for me, even though I know that we cannot escape anywhere or find anything anywhere other than within the heart.... but oh I've so deeply probed my heart, and oh how I know that a lot of what I find in it is... Odessa. My personal epic odyssey. I don't have many regrets, but the major one is never visiting my grandparents when they were still alive. I really wish I had. It's like I didn't understand how valuable and sacred it is to share space with family members, especially older ones who have so much to teach us. Oh my deep deep painful sigh. I owe it to them now to at least go visit their grave sites. And for my sake, to breathe the air over in that land. True it's not the same place we left. But no place stays the same. Neither do we individuals. It's the emotion of the place, the emotion of the human being. My heart. My soul and eyes want to see. Home. And I know here in California is home... and I can't just turn on it. I never would, even if I left more permanently, it would always live in my heart too. Probably haunting as much as Odessa now haunts me. Or so I choose it to be. I choose the haunting, I welcome it, want it. It gives me depth. And a shape to the mystery. Again, I keep thinking that I'd lived on that land a long time... my ancestors, my self in previous incarnations, however you word it. I feel it pulling me like the moon pulls the tide. Strong but far. Having more influence than one can be aware of. Sweetly tormenting. New affirmation: I will go to Odessa this year.  The amazing Opera Theater in Odessa, The Ukraine.
I'm not self-disciplined enough, but my rage, strength and power are indisputable. A not-yet-errupted sensation, I am dark and whimsical, difficult to categorize, and smelling faintly of old-worldism and the kind of nostalgia for lost childhood that tortures and haunts one's soul till the very end... It's hard for me to write, honestly. Being bare, and detailed with the bareness, even harder. This heart has seen many blurred nights. Memory is mischievous in its hold on me, I wonder at my own happenings like at a detached fictional character's. I dream in bold colors that have no words in any language to describe them. Flat expanses and also, ravines and caves. Monstrous scrapers (buildings) and endless hallways, wooden doors, their knobs, silent slow-motion traffic, territorial characters claiming their stock in my tangle of brain and soul, sleeping deeply all alone. If I could shed my love onto you - crisply, undeniably - I'd pour all of it. Just the love of words alone, the love of books and games, secrets, thrones, demigods and whispers. Everything. All at once. The deep-hidden frosted princess, the sullen girl, the muse. Moments matter not. She encompasses all time and space, all dimension and reality. She is a question, and her own answer never ceases, never tells, never consummates the pondering. On and on and on, she thinks. Beauty, things of beauty, encircle and inspire her. But on and on, she lives and breathes harmonic flutters, bird-wing and sunlit horizon, senselessness, whimsy, love's trajectory, engaging and endless.  Elena Lentini, amazing dancer.
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