zion

there were billions of caterpillars falling from cottonwood trees--onto our necks, our heads.
each night we'd pick dozens from the firepit, roast potatoes, chocolate oozing into marshmallow. there were red mountains, day long hikes up and up and up.

here, we wake before dawn. hours before dawn.
before the sun has set, we fall into bed.

today, the birds are merry.
the sun shines, warming the front porch.
plans for our first dinner outside this evening!

and in less than three months we will be in a little tent in a forest in new york. basking in the glow of the three heart sons, khenpo...hooray!

to circumambulate

The nausea. The humidity, the heat. The son of the begging blind couple standing near the stupa-how he hugs his mother while she runs her hands over his face. All the old and maimed people determinedly limping around the stupa. The nausea! The man all crumpled over on the ground-knees up by his ears-permanently bent in half. Mani mantras playing in the giant bhatbatini. All the old ladies circumambulating early in the morning before the heat comes on. The three men permanently in squatting position going round-one always holding the hand of a little girl in red shorts. Girls with long sheets of black hair down backs...Everyone navigating their way between masses of pigeons, dogs.

the last month and a half

trying to become accustomed once again
to the most holy of places
mixed with garbageeverywhereincessanthonkingnoisebeggarspovertyfilth

khenpo telling me i need to be able, "to live at any level," to be able to seamlessly shift between comfort and poverty, west and east

the worry that the indian police would come throw us in jail for not having our PAP's...

and then k's illness. for really the first time in my life being confronted with sickness, and needles, and hospitals. i don't know how k does it...being a doctor

so while Asia was anything but easy this time around, easing back into our american lives has also been a shock to the system...

k back to his gruelling residency and me back to trying to keep us both afloat

and it is fall

coming home, i wasn't prepared for pumpkins and leaves all a'change. the snowflakes that fell this morning as lentil soup simmered, my hands kneaded dough.

 i'm not yet ready for the dark...

Back From Bumthang

and so we've returned 

after clouds, magnolias dripping 

a conch that flew through the sky

a car whipping through pine, bamboo, rhodedendron 
creeping through snow and mud

a chorten that subdued a demoness,
a statue made by a thousand dakinis,
a walking stick that grew into a tree,

a lake which hid a treasure

The Ocean of Thought Foam

In a village by the sea,

blackberries burst, the ocean ringed by sweetpeas.

At the edge of the land, where clouds fall to the ground,

thoughts, images, words unfold from mind...

Sea lions bark in the night,
the gray whales dive down, tail flick in air, backs black in the sun, spouts shoot into sky,
and deer who listen to mantras, their hoof prints in the dirt.

And my mind turns to desire, again.

He said our minds never stop wanting things because they are empty, can never be filled...

"You have lost your minds, so long ago," said Khenpo...

Mind, searching for mind.

And so the Guru unhooks me, unspools me.

Stuck in me like a hook in a fish. Lodged inside like a swallowed marble, like a thread in the throat?

Rainbows around the moon...around the sun...

I no longer have any closets in which to hide old boxes and newspapers, brooms and mops--everything on display--like my mind to the Guru--like a magnifying glass there--in the sun--and I'm beginning to burn...Or my mind the tinder, he the spark...

The rain trickles down the panes. The spots of yellow daffodils. The Guru's voice through the computer. And the endless discontent. 

Spots of pink flowers in the fog, in the rain. Brief moments of sun-like mind.

The Guru says he hopes I'm being beautiful, peaceful. The Guru says to update my mind. The Guru sends winky faces, smiley faces, a rose in his email. Says, see you soon.

Nice little column by Marion Winik:
http://www.baltimorefishbowl.com/stories/true-confessions-a-writing-workshop-confidential/- wish I'd gotten to take a class with her when I was still going to the University of Baltimore...

I Could Find the Path

with my eyes closed.
evergreen bay leaf salt
through the tunnel of green.
there,
there the sea.
the greengrayblue.
seaweed sandpipers.

earlier, with our mothers, we sifted through family photos.
but as night fell, headed to the sea.
moon jellies glowing, bodies bumping against rocks.

and the tide pool,
there, by the jedi we raced as children--
having memorized all the gaps, the sloping rocks.

and the pool in the moonlight.
how i tore my clothes off, dove in...