Not the sexy kind of love

     Many words of wisdom I've heard over time about loving everybody. Two commons ones are: I have a desire to give myself away to every stranger no matter how dirty or dumb, and to love everyone means loving no one. I respect all opinions greatly, even if just out of fascination with them. Here's my personal. I believe that loving everyone is loving yourself. It's recognizing and being aware of the Oneness. Loving everyone is, ultimately, happiness.

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Pretentious Thursday

     There's a woman where I live, in the same valley, somewhere nearby, she's the main character here. Her name is Creepy Susan (fictitious name, her real name is Susan). Every time we run into each other, or more honestly - every time she jumps out at me from the crowd - I get very uncomfortable. Besides her persuasions to sell "the plan" to the right people and the talks of transcendence into higher consciousness up the ladder of I'm not sure what (I mean, we all agree, right, we know what's up), she stares at me. At the end of every conversation she closes her mouth & stares me in the eyes. I've even caught her doing that from across a crowded room before! It seems like she's: a) working to hypnotize me into selling "the plan"; b) dissecting me in her mind and swimming in my blood; c) trying hard to telepathically pass ideas into my head. Whichever one it is, it's unpleasant & creepy, and makes me want to deck her in the face. But really, I come from an educated family, we're all civilized here. We don't use fists with force. I just don't know how to deal with C.S. Maybe next time I'll flash her.

Teach me

     I'm just going to go ahead and say it out loud, for myself to hear: I am ready to learn. But the questions I ask no one seems to have answers to. And no one has interest to debate about it. Should I do as many have done and join a church congregation? I did, however, discover that the more persistent I am about asking, the more the chances of an answer coming to me. Now I just have to learn to be beautifully patient. Teach me.

Last Kiss

Oh, poetic heart, do know -
I am not in competition
to outdo your story
nor to enrage a good church-goer.
Yet I do have to tell that
which my mind saw and
share with the world the glory of
the
last kiss.

The story is about an angel, who was punished for an idea he played out with a human being. His play rooted in the earth and spread among the people. The angel fell, of course, but his act is being played today still, and forever (in memory at least).

I paint you a white canvas. Notice the people are starting to gather in the amphitheater, around the edges of the cotton space - mere shadows & silhouettes, with brown outlines, their heads up, up. They're curious.
Up, center, now towards the left - the angel is treading air with big white wings, red fabric in his hands. Adonis is hanging on the satin red, an aerial dancer - his body perfect, a sculptor's envy. A winged beauty flies up to them and kisses the dancer his last kiss. But we don't know that just yet. Next, Angel moves with speed - pulls the fabric up to him and jerks it down, breaking Adonis' neck. The end - idea has been introduced.

On being a parent

220 день материнства. Сегодня была в ванной, там так тихо и спокойно. Разглядывала циферблат на весах - десять, двадцать … сто сорок … сто восемьдесят, сто девяносто, сто сто. “Сто-сто вы сказали?” - переспросили весы, и засмеялся большой локоть в углу, у окна.