All the Buddhas in the World

Silent statuary
Garbled diction

There is no line to render
The life I could've lived
A memory, resonant as the song birds waking chorus

On the other hand

there is the National Guard
and I am considering that it may be time to serve my country

or at least work off my student loans
so I can stop avoiding those phone calls that I didn't know I was getting
because I changed my number

all this and more

I think I will turn to god

When we allow ourselves to be separated because of strife, turmoil, or suffering we lose the very thing we are fighting to save.

Counting back blog posts 8 years and 285, 286 counting this, and I start to think that perhaps it's time to do a little editing for material worth salvaging and wrap it all into a tidy package.

My mind has become a place of great beauty: I have chosen to see every interruption as a miracle, because it is a moment to reflect and regain my presence. What am I doing that is so important anyhow?

Longing for youth and folly and endless nights chasing dawn with a rolled cigarette hanging loose from parted lips, I look back.

squalor

I've been working in filth. Removing dog urine saturated carpets in a jumpsuit, respirator, and black gloves is far from glamorous, but it pays bills and I am learning how to labor.

As I think toward my future I try not to bite my nails, rip my hair, burn my skin. Instead I scour craigslist in search of a career. The pragmatic side of me questions historical Chaya; the enigmatic me says faith based living has me here. But where is here. I question my commitment to myself. These are big questions. I wonder why I never completed the final two months of fashion school or spoke to the people who could help me pursue my career as an artist or how I failed to become a professional horse trainer. I am wondering if I have a deep seated bend towards sabotage. I certainly hope this is not the case, that the latent tremors of nostalgia speak to my desire to create rather than destroy.

Heart lead me home

Take more past remember
And please don't forget me tonight

I used to imagine a ride so bright
That nothing could steer me from  straight

Then age caught up to me
Nothing like I've imagined

The little birds

The chill of night
Cracks as dawn pulls over the horizon
I pause a moment listen to the chorus of sparrows delight in the rising sun
I remember to feed the right wolf

Home Sick

Spending hours with a surprisingly gentle seven year old with an ear infection is teaching me a lot. First, watching Barbi cartoons is heart warming; second, this particular girl is growing her incredibly thick chestnut hair for locks-of-love; third, I have been told that with practice it's possible to perfect anything.

Perhaps, I've been listening to the wrong people. It's possible that with selfless love, practice, and a healthy dose of sunsets everything is perfect.

We also sorted through her homework, detangled those locks she's growing to donate,  and talked over the horse gossip from her riding academy (Duke broke out to visit Seven, really???). This helps me realize that we all encounter encouragement as long as our eyes are open.

The way home

I rely these days on my phone's predictive text to provide new interesting words. It's a surprisingly good system.

I work and am distracted by life. I watch other people and wonder how they manage all of it.

I am back to counting rations: time; joy; socks.

If I could lose myself in an eternity of sunsets, dance with fire, remember without regret I would

Landed

Sorrow beats through my heart as I make the bed up in my new residence.

However grateful I am to be here, warm, listening to the horse's nickers, I remain unnerved by the turmoil of this week. I recognize my fallacies, those familiar resolute factions that interrupt intentions.

What is left to be said remains unknown. I will start with stopping: no more running on sensory support; no more taking more than I give.

Even as the day's dust settles I remain human.

Backpack living

Things have been beyond interesting since Wednesday.  If I wanted to tell a long version I would go back months; however, finger dragging on my phone is tedious, so I'm sticking to now.

When my ex decided that I was plotting to leave him he kicked me out of his house. It was 1:30 and I don't have a vehicle. I managed to leave with my backpack strapped tight. Luck was with me and I was able to get my charger so my phone stays fed.

What little cash I had was spent on basic necessities: body care; service blacks for work; coffee, not for the caffeine but for a place to be and charge my phone.

Last night and the night before I slept at some friend's home. They live with their mother, have a futon, let me shower. I am in their debt.

Now it's today and I learn if I have a landing in a few hours. If the texts from my ex are correct he has thrown all of my belongs out.

I care because those things thatI collected over the years hold memories and comfort. But I collected them, they didn't collect me.

I have what wits are garnered from a long hard sleep and the fortitude of good spirits.

I am praying that my memories are safe and that calm can be restored.