Somebody

I was looking for a picture to give to someone–a picture of myself, and it became very clear that I am not free of hang-ups. I hate my pictures. They don’t reflect who I am. And my ego doesn’t like them either–they are not flattering. No. I don’t take good pictures. That is because I don’t generally live in the physical realm very much, but its high time I did, because I have to bless my body, i have to become friends with it. There is a lot of talk about not being the body, as if it is some old rag to be thrown off. But this body has seen me through a lifetime! This body was a newborn baby once and someone held me and loved me. This body climbed trees and chased rainbows and fell in love with thunder. This body had babies and grieved when the firstborn died at 37. This body has danced! And walked in rivers and prayed in empty churches. This body has had communion, the Holy Eucharist. When the host touched my tongue for the first time, my life changed. And I didn’t expect it to because i wasn’t Catholic at the time. It was an accidental communion at a friend’s wedding. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to receive. Apparently, God thought the churches’ rule didn’t apply to me.
This body has worked in the fields in summer and felt the rain and made love and been sick and almost died and …so much more.
Yes, we are more than our bodies, but we ought to respect the life our body has carried us into and sustains us and allows us to chant and meditate and smile at the one we love.
It is time to do my yoga: the yoga of releasing shame for my scars and crumbling bones. I Yam what I yam as popeye says
Dear body, Dear Ja-niece Manjeet Amrita Bisset, I breathe. And With this breath, I thee wed, until death do us part.

I Offer It Up, as they say.

I woke up..no, I got up after being awake for hours. My eyes hurt from crying so much yesterday and I’m grumpy.

So the first thing I had to do was to pull some kind of yucky creature off my dog. I don’t know what it was, but it looked like something from outer space and was driving her mad with itchiness.

Then I went to get my coffee cup and mom said, “There’s a dead bird in the yard.”

But it wasn’t completely dead. omg

I couldn’t give it a quicker death…. But I felt so sad watching its last moments. All I could do was pray. I covered him with a blanket and put the little red wagon over him so the cats wouldn’t disturb him.

I pray for his transition.

Then I came in and tried to get that coffee when Jane promptly threw up. So, there was vomit to dispose of.

All this before coffee!

Finally, with coffee in hand, I called my bank to dispute a claim and secure my card since some unknown person seems to be using my bank card.

THEN during the lady’s closing, scripted spiel, I remembered that I might have actually made that purchase, though I am not 100% sure. Yes I am. I did it and now I have to call the bank and say, “Opps.”

Okay! I give it up. I offer this prayer of gratitude for the opportunity to work out this karma, or to be of service to God’s creatures in spite of myself.

I let go with love, for love.

Then mom comes in with a bowl of Dawn dish soapy water and a towel. “We have to give her bath.” She said. “Come own, Jane.” (That is not a typo, she really does say, Own—Come own, and the animals respond.)

Now, may I have a cup of coffee?

Cierra’s Mountain

People do not think of mountains growing tired, but I am weary. I am happy, but sleepy, in that in-between state where one is conscious of her dreams as they begin to play out, like a movie theater darkening for the main event.

Another thing people do not realize about mountains, is that we can sense when a bird, on one side of our vast body, first learns to fly, or has a successful landing upon a branch that looks too thin to hold its own leaf, or when a bird falls to the ground and is no more.

We are aware of everything that lives or dies on our boulders, our trees and grasses, in burrows, in our waters, and I can tell you, we love them all.

And this mountain, in particular, loves you.

I have seen you in the meadows, gathering lemongrass. I’ve felt the joy you absorbed through your skin as my brother, the sun, bathed you in his light.

I have heard you singing to the wind, heard every lovely word and sent your songs echoing as far and wide and I could so that more could hear.

I have listened when you wept. Why do you think my rivers are so full? How could I let one tear disappear without adding it to the healing power of a river that is flowing back to the sea?

I love you.

Come into the silence with me and share my dreams. When we wake up we can discover this world anew.
There is nothing to lose when we surrender our all but every wonder in heaven and on earth to gain.
Now is the time, my friend, to be here as fully as your heart allows.
Mmmmmmmmmmmm.
Settle in.

The House That Walked On Its Nails

Once upon a time, in a little town by the water, a girl and her mother were sleeping side by side in the guest room of a cousin’s cousin’s sister. The house belonged to this relative and had been in the family for generations.

It was dark in the guest room, but not scary, even though there were many new sounds to be wondered about.
 What was that noise?” The girl asked
 That was the wind in the trees.” Mother said.
It was quiet then, except for the sweet sound of the wind whispering through the Aspen.
The girl was almost asleep and so was mother.
“Uhaa! What was that sound?” The girl asked as she snuggled closer to mother.
“Oh, that? Well, that was all the hens scooting over in their roost to make room for the hen that was the last on duty. She finished her chicken chores late and had to slip quietly through the gate and into the roost and that sound is the fluttering feathers of each hen scooting over.”
The girl thought about all the sleepy chickens until she felt sleepy too.
Until a creak creak squeak skip-skwip woke her right up.
“What was that?”
By now mother was so sleepy. She said, “Oh, that’s just the house walking on its nails.” And then she snored. She was fast asleep.
The girl did not know houses could walk, much less walk on nails. She began to imagine all the houses picking up their skirts and walking all about the countryside in the moonlight. She was a little worried that they would not find their way back to the right place by morning.
Soon, the rooster crowed and mother turned over to finish her dream. Then the birds in the trees sang all the morning songs they knew as they darted through the air and swooped low for breakfast bugs.
The girl remembered that the house had been walking on its nails all night so she ran to the window to see if everything was where it should be.
The little pink and yellow and blue bath shacks by the water were where they had been yesterday. Her relative’s house was in the same place too.
At breakfast, she asked her mother how the houses knew how to get back to their own yards after walking on their nails all night.
After a moment of bewilderment, mother realized what her daughter was referring to. She laughed so hard she snortled coffee out her nose.
“Oh sweetie,”she said, when I say a house walks on its nails I mean it just settles in, you know, it wiggles around to get more comfortable. Old houses do that.”
All the relatives laughed and clinked their dishes merrily as they enjoyed their breakfast.
Thank you, Virginia Warren, for the beautiful photo. I have been trying to write a story about the real events that are the crux of the story, but it never came into focus until I saw your picture. That was it! All of a sudden I  imagined all those houses dancing in the moonlight…the story then wrote itself.

Don’t Hit Send!

I am weeping my eyes out.

Well, My eyes are still in, but I did have to stop typing to wipe down my keyboard when I tried to hit a few keys and splashed into pools of my own tears. I should have taken a picture—it looked liked of cool, really. The black keys were all shiny and there were actually little tiny pools of tears on the R and S keys.

But wait. That is the whole problem. That is what I was crying about. I thought that Facebook and Youtube had hijacked my phone and that every single picture on my camera, every stupid, messed up video that I tried to make but rejected for its utter absurdity, was made public.

I have been searching phone settings since 3 am trying to make sure everything is clicked off. I still feel shaken and violated.

This was a wake-up call for me. I could either stop taking stupid pictures of everything, including close-ups of that thing I can’t see on the side of my face, that thing I use the zoom lens of my camera to get a closer look at..I mean, you never know, it might be cancer or a parasite. One has to check. And I could stop making imperfect videos until I get one that is good enough to post on youtube and just be perfect the first time around.

Or I could just disappear off the grid completely.