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So Leonard Cohen is coming to Seattle and it looks like once again, due to living on the lighter (monetarily speaking) side of life – I’m gonna miss it! No! I mean I would spring for maybe a $40 ticket, not because I don’t realize that it’s priceless, but because that is all my budget could justify.
This brings me to our present economy and my mixed-up-ness with it. I’m not a victim of the age. This world owes me nothing and I feel quite fine in my little apartment, with my cost-effective budgeting. I have high speed internet and a cell phone so I’m not doing too bad. Sure, I cannot drive anywhere or buy anything (not even a cup of coffee my friend) because I am flat out broke and waiting for my tax return to magically appear in my bank account. Rent makes me swallow hard. But I have been poorer than this. I was born naked and penniless.
In spirit I would say I am one of the richest people I know. I actually feel a smidge of pity for people with so much that they forget how lucky they are – how blessed. They gripe about trivial things and it takes away from their lives. Sad!
My blessing is that I am not rich, that I struggle. Trials are my heavenly gifts. I laugh. I jump around stupid and happy like a puppy in the sand. I am joyful in a way that baffles anyone who knows the details of my finances. Most people would never guess.
Why? Because I am generous in spirit so that you cannot imagine me poor. I grew up in stark poverty and learned early that it is the treasure we discover within ourselves – this LIFE that is true wealth. Material possessions don’t even come close!
Special blessing (thank you!!!!) is this recent recording of Leonard Cohen live. The music is sooo beautiful! I’m glad I’m a contributing member of NPR and support this kind of stuff because I so appreciate it!
God asked me to clean my room
But I just pulled the covers over my head
and shut my eyes
Escaped into dreams
When I finally got out of bed
God said, now it is time
go and clean
but I ran to the computer
to the television
to the music and the translation
I fled the house
so the voice moved inside
and made me sad
whispering, sloth
you are murding your life
Days passed like this
with reluctance to do the work
Til at night I fell asleep, praying
God, cut away the veil and give me
the secret out of my sin
In the morning I woke up working and singing
Suddenly joyful in the act of sweeping through
the house in obedience
knowing this is the first door to unity
The things we see when sleeping cannot be said in the light of day. The realm beyond footsteps and open eyes for some is merely the opening and closing of the daytime door. They find only reflections and mutations displaying their fears and hopes and so forth. These dreamers are trapped in waking because they have not let go of the material world. They cannot fly into cosmic trances and take part in imaginative wonder.
The dream seekers who take leave of the land and explore the sea, the heavens, the depths of potential may create new universes from neural networks and leave them whole when the wake. These dreamers do not see reflections or new interpretations. When ill they sit with angels and solve the mysteries of being. They leave the angels and join in direct union with the One. For what need have we of angels when we see that God is within every fiber? God is the dream itself.
How am I so weak?
But you tried to grow
and to never die
How empty life has shown me my lessons -
and have I failed?
For you it was expected and
from you then accepted
They stopped fighting for us
and have you died?
In the family they whisper my name
I am replaced by mist
You are the one who got away
The one who sees
I see – pain all over
I feel – helpless and trapped
No one can hold you down now
No, perhaps it is better to seal the lid and forget
(Written summer 2004)
The not mating is fat back making
In our war torn threadbare dregs
Lofted unswept cage,
A velograph for directing thought
A heated pad for the time you fell down
Because intoxication makes the floor slippery
We’re set to only witness each other and keep the door to the outside secure
Our embarrassed untidy places pretend we cannot see them
While secretly wishing we might have a spring cleaning
But we hold the winter long full fearing
If ever the decision to unravel the futlyar arises
We may find layers of cloth sewn in with skin
And require years of professional tailoring
Just to get back to what was once simply original sin
*Futlyar (футляр) – case
Ref. “человек в футляре” – Man in a Case by Chekhov
Сколько стоит любовь?
Внутри поцелуя тихо спрашиваю
От темноты вводных ворот
Ответ ко мне прилетает -
“Есть простой обмен”
И потом цена в форме стихи -
одна одинокая голова,
яблочко вкусное из глаза,
cердце чудесное ровно солнца
и туда ты прибудешь без языка
How much does love cost? (Skol’ko stoit lyubov’ ?)
I ask silently within a kiss (Vnutri potseluya tiho sprashivayu)
From the darkness of an opening gate (Ot temnoti otkrivayuschix vorot)
The answer flies to me (Otvet ko mnye priletaet)
“It is a simple trade” (Est’ prosto obmen)
And then the price in the form of a verse – (I potom tsena v formye stihi)
one lonely head (odna odinokaya golova)
a delicious little apple from an eye (yablochko vkusnoye iz glaza)
a heart just as wonderful as the sun (serdtsye chudesnoye rovno solntsa)
and there you will arrive speechless (i tuda pribudesh’ bez yazika)
I am written on pages
all over this room
let’s metaphorically burn them
Burn the fat from my bones,
strip off all the excesses
turn to ashes. Let’s fold up
on a cloud together – self with
self-awareness. This is contentedness.
(Written 3/13/2004)
Why a lovely woman to hold against my breast!
She also has a uterus,
Tits and the rest
Maybe two at a time I want
We’ll melt like hot butter
And roast in the summer
Baked like potatoes
Swim in marshmallows
(Written 2002)
My lovely vegetable woman
I made you just for me
Of two carrots and olive eyes
Eggplant boobies and celergy stalk thighs
A morsel of meat snuck between the legs
But every other piece animal-friendly
(Written 2002)
My mother had a fit in her head
She saw visions of destruction and went crazy
Locked inside a glass bottle now
We cannot rub her out
Or deny her need to escape herself
She finds safety in a pot pipe
Her cries pitch high as a child
No matter what seems real to us
She cries for the one she knows is hell
Darkness has leaked from her eyes
And we all fear the demon
That denial births
Just drink instead
Just smoke til your head
Feels better there
Poor, sad, no hope creature in a glass world
I cannot see inside
But would break everyday if I
was only strong
(Written 2001)
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