12292012

quiet days...

12172012

yesterday afternoon, my husband and i went outside and sat on our back porch. not an event, usually. except, this time, it was. we chatted, like we always do, while sipping on red wine. we exchanged stories: beginnings. and middles. and ends.

we talked. we talked. with eloquence. but then. as if by design. as if by agreement. a silence fell. a quiet. a calm. and in the entire universe, there was nothing but the two of us. sitting beside one another in the gently droning stillness. he. and she. you. and i. in wordless communion.

sometimes, eloquence is silence.

12082012

another mindful serendipity...

dawn cascades from the sky and

reaches through the window

washing my fingers with

liquid tourmaline

12022012

walking through the maze-like womb of my neighborhood,
the air tasting of autumn and smelling of tranquility,
i am struck by an impulsive thought:

i wish i could ring random doorbells and,
when people open their doors, say,
hi, i'm nevine.
may i come in for tea and conversation?
without them thinking me insane.

but i challenge that intrusion and keep walking.

and the thought vanishes
as all thoughts do
vanish
and are replaced by 
new thoughts
new challenges
new vanishings

vanish... such a delicious word!
like a breath... now here... now gone.

11262012

last night. i sat on the floor. my back straight against the wall. and i read virginia woolf and sipped warm tea with honey. what calm inside those moments! what life! what joy! minutes passed... and then hours... and soon, the hour was late, and the moon was blazing outside. but i? i was inside. inside a world that swallowed me whole. inside a world that started as someone else's, but continued as my own. the words walked through me, as though they were phantoms. they found a resting spot inside me... and became mine. 

Lazy and indifferent, shaking space easily from his wings, knowing his way, the heron passes over the church beneath the sky. White and distant, absorbed in itself, endlessly the sky covers and uncovers, moves and remains. A lake? Blot the shores of it out! A mountain? Oh, perfect–the sun gold on its slopes. Down that falls. Ferns then, or white feathers, for ever and ever–

now. it's monday morning. a new day. a new week. but i am in no rush. no stones hurled from the bank disturb this quiet pond's equilibrium. 

i am here. 

and i am breath. 

and i am life.

unconditionally.

11242012

for the love of memory
for the love of genius
for the love of queen





rest in peace, freddie
11241991

11192012

she said,

i am no longer afraid of anything.

i said,

but fear, my dear, is a necessity.

11142012

i came across this stunning photo of anaïs nin, last night. it took the wind out of my gut. maybe it’s her facial expression… so still… so serene… so self-assured. and yet, they called her a liar, a deceiver, a scheherazade, a witch, a seductress, a cheater, a shapeshifter, a histrionic. why? because she dared to create her own reality.

but, isn’t this what we all aspire to? to create for ourselves a reality that speaks to who we are… without mask… without veil? but the process is daunting. others enter the picture and inject their own fears and inhibitions… their own emotional turbulences… into our attempts at integration. and we allow them. but anaïs… she did not allow. she dared to write what others forbade themselves to think. she dared to do what others might have done… if only they could do so secretly. she dared to be criticized… tried… judged... sentenced. she dared… because to dare is to be free. she yearned to make her life her own, and she alchemized this yearning into reality. and, others? they hated her, not for who she was… but because she dared, and they did not.

sometimes, this is how it happens: we come across people we dislike… even hate… because we tell ourselves… convince ourselves… that we disapprove of what they do. most of the time, if we stop and give it a mindful thought, our feelings are not at all about disapproval. rather, our feelings are about admiration. they are about what we see… what we want, but can’t… or won’t… do what it takes to have. they are about those parts of ourselves that are imprisoned in the labyrinths of ambivalence… and trembling with resentment.

sometimes, we steal another’s truth because we tell ourselves we can’t construct our own.

sometimes, when we hate, we love.

11082012

she said,

last night i dreamed i bought a new house,

but when i went to unlock the door,

the key disappeared from my hand.

i said,

what was it like when
you looked at your hand

and realized the key was gone?

she said,

i felt so dejected. i really wanted

to be inside that house, my house.

so i looked through the peephole.

she paused.

do you know what you see when

you look through a peephole

in reverse? nothing. but this time,

i saw something. it was like looking

into a deep, dark hole. and at the end of

that hole was a broken window.

she laughed.

i said,

what’s funny?

she said,

you know what i wanted to do

with that broken window?

i wanted to fix it.

i said,

what about the key?

she said,

i was so distracted by

wanting to fix that broken window,

i never realized it was my key.

10302012

i write

because

. . .

. .

.

words

are the pillars

of this temple

10272012

another mindful serendipity...

the shine of polish

on a wood floor.

the ring of footsteps

from afar.

a hint of amber.

a breath of oud.

tender awakening

in tortuous core.

10212012

sunday morning. the air outside is soft and beautiful. the air inside is cool and delicious to breathe. my kitchen table is bare. only my journal. my pen. my hands. only paper. and ink. and sinew. and bone.

a dog delivers one solitary bark in the distance. i perk my ears for more. but there is only the dead silence, cut by the sound of the pendulum swinging compulsively inside the clock’s nave.

as i write, i observe my fingers. delicate. thin. but filled with purpose.

my husband comes into the kitchen to make his morning coffee, slicing through my reverie. he bends down to kiss me, sees that i’m writing in my journal, whispers, ‘oh,’ and glides out of the kitchen like a ghost.

my eyes fill with tears. are they tears of connection? or tears of loss? one tear falls on my right index finger, rolls over my flesh, and onto the page. the violet ink blurs. i try to flick the tear off the paper, but the ink smears like watercolors.

suddenly. my journal is a canvas.

i set down my pen. walk to my office. reach for my watercolors. and walk back toward the beatitude that is creative expression.

i am not an artist

but some days

i love to paint

open

stark

empty page

awaiting the touch

of paintbrush

dipped

in violet

in cobalt

in crimson

in black

smeared

one stroke

and another

one dab

and another

expression

saturated

not with beauty

not with artistry

but

with impulse

and whim

and authenticity

10172012

certain spectacles we witness

leave their mark on us.

certain events become

of subjective importance.

but, what do i do with the stories

you tell me?

how do i hold the weight

of your pain?

i will sit here forever

and be

the silent confidante

the speechless keeper

of your secrets

and mine.

10122012

she said,

a few weeks back,

three weeks to be precise,

i caught my best friend looking away,

losing eye contact... and yawning.

she said,

i felt abandoned.

i thought to myself,

if i can't talk to my best friend and

have her listen to me, who do i talk to? 

she said,

i felt angry, and hurt, and sad.

she said,

i don't want a friend.

and i don’t want a nodder.

do you know what i’m talking about?

she said,

i need someone to tell me,

how angry are you?

how happy? how sad?

show me!

she said,

i need someone to tell me,

what are you going to do about it?

show me. right now!

she said,

i need someone to tell me,

really? really?

you want to scream?

well then scream!

that's what i need,

she said.

can you oblige?

10052012

3 a.m.

i drift.

it is dark.

though not yet as dark

as it will be.

they say the darkest hour

is the one

just before the first light.

my eyes adjust.

i watch you sleep, my dream,

following the lines of your back

with eager eyes.

you awaken, like

you always do when

you know i’m watching you.

these are awakenings that surpass

the mere opening of eyes.

i want to speak, but…

the words cling to the roof

of my mouth.

i am filled with arrows, my dream,

questioning, which of us will quiet

the heaving flesh of this storm?

09292012

as the sky falls outside

in violent crescendos and

the pages remain empty

(because sometimes words fail)

i surrender to the balance

that is music

i surrender to the stillness

that is me

09262012

another mindful serendipity...

a child hums

in the mist.

a ghost calls

from the past.

the old

becomes the new.

09232012

you speak as though

i cannot hear through you

but

i hear

(i do)

my own

inner voice

racing between

your elegant temples

tying up loose ends

and unraveling others

09192012

this body… a warrior.

this tongue… a flame.

this voice…

a blind poet in the night.

these fingers…

armored and ready to fight.

it is beside the point to paint

silver stars on a black ceiling

and crown them with haloes.

the sky is wide open.

i dare to fly!

09162012

tonight

summer crashes

to its knees

breaks down

 and cries

and

i think of you.

where are you?

what are you doing?

are the days friendly?

are the nights tranquil

though cold?

am i in your thoughts?

do you remember me?

09142012

she said,

he made me turn away

from all things human,

including myself.

i said,

he hardened you.

is that what you mean to say?

yes,

she said.

she paused.

but that is a good thing, isn’t it?

i said,

you are defending him.

so why did you leave him?

she said,

because he made me feel inferior.

did he?

i said.

or did you do that to yourself?

does it make a difference?

she said,

i feel like a train

that has broken down.

what do you make of that?

it’s better to be a train

that has broken down,

i said,

than to be a train that

never reaches the station.

09122012

we speak

in swollen silences,

the words too fragile

to be delivered by mouth.

09082012

not long ago, one light glimmered and spoke

naked and strong

this light proliferates, radiates, expands

and i sit inside it glowing, growing

knowing, quite consciously, that

nothing can touch me

09052012

another unsent letter…

Dear X.,

You sent me a black and white photo wrapped in red tissue paper. A photo you had taken of yourself. And I held it in my hand and closely examined your face. Yes. There was a smile. But this was no ordinary smile. This smile begged forgiveness for the lies it told. This smile begged absolution… and peace… and prayer. And I spoke to this smile and begged it to turn downwards, to be pulled as if by gravity toward your chin… that your prayer might be answered. That your tears might fall.

A storm of tears. An answered prayer.

But now, how can you go about pretending to others, when you can no longer pretend to yourself?

Fondly,

N.

08312012

they say the crumbling of the invisible wall lies

just beneath the surface of the 1½-page point.

scribbling madly while sitting on the rim of

the vessel that is dawn

i’m almost there, when… dream fragments:

a slice of amethyst

a morsel of monologue

a scent of challenge

an air of quest… a stallion

a shield… a sword

an abundance? an extreme

of sensory stimuli

a lush tree… jeweled with leaves

and the air? iridescent with

the shimmer of stars

a cape? a cloak.

the ringing of my own inner voice.

and, just there… an intricate labyrinth.

but

i know my way.

the eye of the needle

has never been wider.

08262012

i can think of a hundred thousand questions

to ask of the unknown, but if the unknown

extended its lips and proposed to offer me

a response, i would decline it.

thank you, unknown, i would say.

thank you, but… stay as you are.

there is nothing more liberating than an

unpredictable existence. i need but

recall a once calculated life...

i look back no more.

freedom lives inside this psyche…

this core… this cosmos

without orbit.

08202012

another mindful serendipity...

that evening . . . on the sailboat

rocking in motionless water

off the coast of beatitude

a seagull swept out of

one ethereal pocket

of deep indigo

into another

weaving

the sky

07292012

this hour…

this minute…

this moment…

i give a new twist

to an old kaleidoscope.

geometry crumbles.

the walls fall down.

my nose scans the air.

my ears drop to the earth.

i shut my eyes.

an image rasps between my lashes.

when light dissipates,

truth finds a space.

07262012

another mindful serendipity...

chains creak in the

violet glow of twilight.

a child’s squeals

parse the sky.

a thrill agitates

the thin breeze.

chimes tinkle,

calling for me.

07202012

i did not sleep, last night.

i did not sleep because i did not like how i felt before i went to bed. or, rather… i did not like how i didn’t feel. and this, after an evening of talking about emotions and feelings and how we express… and suppress… them. our professor was talking about how america has been conditioned and socialized to suppress emotion. here, emotion is seen as weakness. and how dare we be weak? even when we are amongst those we love...

what sadness… when we have to tiptoe around our feelings because we know that, should we feel a certain way and show it, we will be judged as weak! weakness... a twig that breaks. we… break.

we are fragile.

we are fragile. no. we are not fragile. we had better not be fragile! but if we are fragile… if we must be fragile… we had better not show it… or else! what sadness!

i recall a conversation with a patient who told me, ‘i shut off my emotions and feelings so i can survive… so i can make it. but… it hurts.’ she spoke of her loss of feeling. loss of connection. but do i dare to speak of mine? i speak of loss. yes. but i do not call it mine. i call it someone else’s. or. i keep my mouth shut.

do i dare to ask myself how i feel now? do i dare to say? do i dare to say i feel…? do i dare to say i feel…? do i dare to say i feel… how? how do i feel? do i even dare to feel how i feel? do i dare to sense it? do i dare…?

everything i’ve ever witnessed and experienced is being challenged by a new teaching that says i must feel. i must honor emotion. i must honor it… not only in myself... but also in others… and to others. i must open the door to emotion, invite it inside, and let it sit with me. and let it tell me stories that make me laugh. and let it tell me stories that make me cry.

and so, this morning, i open the door. i sit. i sit… and slowly… i feel.

i feel...

i feel… agitated? touched?

anointed.

.

.

.

hopeful.

my fingers are trembling as they scale this rediscovered land.

the viscosity of its truth pools thickly in the valleys of my temples… rises into my forehead… storms into my eyes… which are watering so i can hardly see what i’m writing.

i surrender to the sanctity of who i really am.

i feel.

i am human.

i am smiling.

i am weeping.

07162012

the divinity of separation

from what is outside…

the beauty of exile

inside myself…

i hold this space.

i tilt this beam.

i bend this light.

naked. bright.

07142012

a grace…

in limbo

and fearless

for the first time ever

07062012

today

was a day so

filled with smiles

my cheeks hurt

and my teeth

are dry

07022012

sitting inside the vessel

that is this quiet night,

i come to a realization:

i am hardwired.

and hardwired for what,

i will not tell.

but i have decided

i will find a spot

inside this wiring

and i will cut…

clip this primordial circuit

in the gut…

and let the sparks flicker,

and flare,

and fire…

and rest cleansed,
burnished,
purified.

06292012

i’ve always set my clocks and watches at least five minutes forward. this was my way of hassling myself. not that i am ever behind… i’m not. but it has been my rule in life to always be on time, even if that means being a little bit early. ‘after all,’ i always told myself, ‘getting there early is better than getting there late.’ but what has this done for me but lose me five minutes of life for every event at which i had to be present? five plus five plus five plus five… how many times? i have wasted enough time trying to meet someone else’s time. besides, wasn’t it albert einstein who once said that the only reason we have this construct called time is so that everything doesn’t happen all at once? i like this thought. and i will not argue with it.

this morning. i set all my clocks and watches right on time! i will no longer be the one who is early just to be present. i will be there on time… or not. i will start saving my five minutes here and there, and i will hold them lovingly between my palms. and at the end of each day, i will bathe myself in all of those precious minutes… mine… mine… mine… each and every one of them!

i will no longer try to race time. i will play with it… slowly. with relish… and pleasure… and joy. and i will smile while doing it, because i believe… i know… that time is only there so that everything doesn’t happen all at once.

06172012

she said,

i dreamed he stood before a woman, smiling,

and placing a ring around her finger.

i said,

was this a disturbing dream for you?

she said,

of course, yes. but it was the woman

who disturbed me most.

i said,

what was it about her

that disturbed you?

she said,

i couldn’t see her face.

i said,

if you were to put a face on her now,

whose face would you put there?

she said,

i would put my own.

i said,

and what if

you were to become the ring?

she said,

i would choose my finger and

i would wrap myself around it.

i said,

and what if

you were to become the woman?