Imprinting

I am working on an imprinting machine and it’s kind of like Konrad Lorenz did with his ducks. Only this time everyone that wants to feel better about themselves can go through my machine and be imprinted with a more powerful, confident personality. It’s slightly painful but you forget that immediately because you take steps out of this machine into what is now sunshine and everything about you is more powerful: your arms your legs your heart your brain the way you look the way you feel the way you move. People pay a lot of money to go through my machine but I don’t take it. Actually that’s a lie. I am like Robin Hood. I take the money from the very rich people but I don’t give them as much boosting as I give to the people who have no money but are just very fragile and need it. The boost. The key measurement is compassion. No compassion, no boost. I don’t think I’m God I’m just very smart and the machine has been extraordinarily successful. In my old age I’ve decided that I am only going to allow women to use it. I just think it’s a better bet in the long run. Frankly, testosterone gets in the way some of the time in allowing people to be compassionate, humble, and kind. Life is too short. I want to be prudent in using my machine.

My House

Flash 2 My House

 

 

 

I live alone people think but in fact my house has so many inhabitants I have to be careful when moving through it. There are many men lurking about in my closets and bedroom all of whom seem angry and hungry. The kitchen contains some young ones with damp, slightly curled hair who cook gravy. I happen to hate gravy unless it’s on turkey which is tasteless without it. So many things are. I walk slowly through the detritus of my life so as not to stumble over hillocks of bodies and chirping young friends who think I am hopeful so I am. To them. I need young friends. The doors are unlocked and the flowers wander in and out flagrantly fragrancing the hours and the hallways making memories melt into the cracks and settlings of bones and earthquake reinforcement. People ask don’t I want an elevator but why would I when I can wander in an elevated state up and down and sideways into the dining room where the chairs are always filled with brilliance and I can sit with the thoughts of so many nights, so much laughter, the best wine, and no gravy.

Dinner

Light the candles, dim the lights, serve the good wine, make people laugh, tell them to go home after 2 1/2 hours, go to bed, drink water, pet your dogs, Dream of passion.

Last Night I Saw My Friend Vanish

Last night no one knew if it was

the sun setting or the moon rising

but it was orange: hung there by a

wire moving around our sky, currents

of warm air lifting and lowering its round

shape enough to light the narrow, soft roads

crisscrossing the sandy summer peninsula.

One young woman pushing her

old cruiser bike silently, leaving Book Club late after

a chat about amphibians, taking the

long way home, blond hair falling in a

triangle down her back, white Keds glistening,

she thinks of fall when everyone will be gone

and suddenly there in the mist she becomes

invisable except for the sound of one repentant

bicycle spoke grinding it’s rhythm until she’s home.

Hopeful

Yesterday a man held my hand so

powerfully I couldn’t tell after a while

as it seemed so right

that consistent pressure.

Normally I don’t like comfort in any form as

it embarrasses me like the chameleon

turning pink

on lava or carnation, I pull away from

touch as I know the consequences.

But this time I stayed and cried.

It had been so long since I

felt comfort.

Maybe

 

  Soon Enough

 

It is dark nearly all of the time.

People have forgotten the feel of water.

Lifetimes have shortened

Partners are assigned

The dictionary has been revised.

So many words no longer exist,

Joy, Hope, Heart ,Listen, Compassion,

Friendship, Cookie, Sunshine, Language

Touch

The past disappeared so rapidly that

history

Forgot to transcribe itself.

There are no more Buddhists.

It’s tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Reality

For the longest time I thought I might become

someone else.

I could be Norwegian and learn the language well so people would say how

no one could tell I wasn’t a native.

My hair would miraculously turn blond.

It would be ok to like sex.

I like the sounds of their desserts.

Or I could be a lawyer in Manhattan wearing crispy tight suits in black with very high heels and click click click across the court room floor stating my case with brilliant red lips and always winning.

Rootless like a malformed carrot I

refuse to flourish in one place.

I know this is a  problem this rootlessness.

It’s prevented me from 

applying myself  to much of anything: love, housekeeping, friendship, home repair… you get the story. I kept a suitcase filled with cash hidden in my house and a bag packed with essentials which changed from month to month.

Now my rootlessness fits right in. No one is going anywhere but everyone would like to be rootless.

Where will I go when I can go anywhere?

Hawaii because I can’t get the music of palm trees out of my head.

Like Eloise, I could move into the Four Seasons hotel on the Big Island and go down to dinner every night sitting at the bar overlooking the lapping ocean generously tipping the bartender so that he always saved my seat.

And oh yes there is the spa with palm leaves that rattle above your hut while you are having a massage. Preferably a Lomi Lomi massage and I don’t know what that is.

I have entertained myself all day thinking of places I would like to go when I can go anywhere. Frankly, it may be better in my imagination. That’s been a life long problem of mine.

Travels with Trulia

Trulia is my travel agent of emotional escapes and several times a week I am a voyeur into other people’s lives. There are several settings to consider before I go on my trip: price, location, amount of bedrooms and bathrooms, acreage, and one that I always take seriously which is fireplaces. Once I have made my selection, I begin my voyage. I prefer houses that range in price from 10 to 20 million with at least seven bedrooms because then I have a lot to manage. It’s important to have staff rooms as well. Yesterday I transported myself into a mansion in Pebble Beach, California. The rooms were large and had heavily ornate little metal crosses on the walls and enormous arrangements of dried flowers in dark, muted colors like vampire rooms.There was a dining room with a stand in the corner for reading the Bible and at least three kitchens spread throughout the house. My very favorite room, however, gave me the inspiration that I had been looking for. The master bedroom. There was an enormous bed with a headboard covered in powder and silk and a duvet also covered in the same silk spread over the feet. The nightstands consisted of pieces of glass balance upon carved gold wood made to look like unicorns who are slightly crazed. There, above the fireplace, was a portrait of the mistress of the house and when I saw the portrait I knew I had found my true self. She was blonde with babe hair that hung to her waist and was thick and wavy.She wore a black knit dress, unbuttoned, and a black lace bra under that. The black dress clung to her curves and she was leaning forward with both hands holding onto a couch breasts pressed forward as if to say I’ve got you in the palm of my hand. She was a dame. She was a slut. She was in control. There was no question that this was her House. Oh! How I wanted to be her! Powerful! Sexy! Men falling at her feet! She probably had a gun underneath that black dress. She never suffered from loneliness or despair or depression or anxiety. No way Jose. She just lived in this giant house and swished around the hallways in her black dress and bossed people, Particularly men. It was really hard to leave that Trulia house.I figured if I stayed long enough staring at those photos I would end out being just like her.Fearless and powerful and as a woman who had never been victimized.

The Hard, Cold Snow

The Coming of the Snow

The hard, cold snow is here,

The kind that makes you wince.

The great, crackling steps one takes that sink unexpectedly,

Mother earth reminding you she’s but a heavy footfall away.

So a morning walk becomes impossible and the dog, depressed.

Your husband reminds you how he loves the winter but

You remember how warm sun feels and how each morning contains freedom.

There are those who live outside and those who live inside.

The watchers and the livers

Each needs the other to remind them what they miss

Not better or worse

Just different.

This Year

NobelPrizeSymbol
Image via Wikipedia

The year my heroes died

This year quite a few of my heroes and friends died: Howard Lester, Walter Shorenstein, Dodie Rosecrans, Dick Goldman, and on and on. Yes, it is true that for the most part their lives were long and fulfilled but I still miss them and always will.

 I wonder if we are creating heroes as we did in past generations. People who accomplish a lot in their lives and give away a lot in return without looking back to see if what they have given away is still helping to make them more important. I love to have heroes and to me, heroes have been people who march to the beat of their own drum without looking around and listening to what others around them are playing. I know Howard did this as I was lucky enough to have a conversation with him about his “Maverick” side.  Walter, Dodie and Dick were the same.

Dodie was vibrant, curious and very intelligent until her dying day and spent her life in a state of exploration and excitement about one thing or another. She could have cared less about someone’s background or wealth when she included them in gatherings at her home. She cared about creating new ideas and putting different people together for various causes.

Walter and Dick accomplished a lot in their work lives and gave a lot in their philanthropic lives. Howard ‘s generosity was apparent at his own memorial mass where a few spoke of his many charitable gifts and the difference he had made in the world.

I wonder where we are going to come up with another generation of like-minded people. People who give without looking back and people who are compassionate members of our community. I wonder who in the younger generation will fill these shoes and have a generous and mature approach to managing and contributing their wealth? Even if people do not have great wealth I wonder if they will keep on giving.

I found a hero in today’s New York Times: Liu Xiabo, a Chinese poet, writer and dissident who was awarded the Nobel Prize. As he is in prison he will not be able to accept it but his work is the kind of work that makes me think of heroes. He has been outspoken in his criticism of the Chinese government and as a result of this has spent much time in prison.

His statement at his court hearing was quoted by the Times:” I have no enemies and no hatred. Hatred can rot away at a person’s intelligence and conscience.”

All I can say is that is a hero.

Much like my friend, Marla Ruzika who was killed by a car bomb in Iraq while counting civilian victims of war, and countless others who devote their lives with passion to improve the lives of others, thank you for living!

I look forward to reading and meeting more heroes in my life and being very grateful we have them in our world. Maybe some would argue that business leaders are not heroes but in return I would say that without the funds many contribute we would not have the world we do. Just as without the words of dissidents like Liu Ziabo governments would not be challenged into change and the lives of many see improvement and more freedom.