entertaining infinity

daring

April.  (ahh)

While we're still feeling that crazy not-quite-winter/not-quite-spring weather here in Joisey, the simple change of the date on the calendar brings with it just a little more hope for renewal.

So, isn't it fitting that National Poetry Month is also in April?  As Poets.org say on their NPM FAQ page: "T. S. Eliot wrote, April is the cruelest month. It is our hope that National Poetry Month lessens that effect."  (me too)

I love poetry.  For those who read my irregular musings with any regularity, you know how I do; I look forward to The Dodge Poetry Festival like a little kid looks forward to Santa.  Listening to poetry is a spiritual experience for me; an invitation to the sacred.

And while I write a lot (but clearly, not that often here), I don't identify as a poet.  I'm a prose writing gal pretty straight on down the line, but when I was a kid, I wrote poems like crazy. 

In junior high, my journal was the place I vented in excruciating detail about the crush I had on Randy (or bill or scott or ... whoever the boy of the week was), or how I was annoyed with any one of my they-don't-understand-me family, but poems (and song lyrics) were where I poured my soul without the story.  It was all feeling, all raw emotion and energy. 

I don't know when or why I stopped playing with poetry, but other than the rare stab I've taken over the years in my writing groups, poetry's something I read, hear, and love, but it's not something I do.

Then, in the last several months, I've been feeling a pull to write differently ... a little experimentally; and so I started playing with poems again (might post some if i'm feeling braver). When I was reminded that it was National Poetry Month, I went to Poets.org to see if I could get some ideas and inspiration for this month's writing group.  Almost immediately, I fell in love with this poster image ... and found the question simmering at the back of my mind a lot.  While I was wandering the site, I'd noticed NaPoWriMo.  NaPoWriMo (national poetry writing month) is an offshoot of NPM; and while I've been aware of it for a few years (a few of my blog buds participated in years past) I'd never even considered taking the plunge. 

The idea of NaPoWriMo is to do a full-on poem every day and post it to your blog, and while I'm not open to that much quick-change discipline and universe disturbance at once, I thought I'd venture out on a smaller scale: 140 characters of smaller, to be exact. 

Yep, this month I've committed to a Twitter version of NaPoWriMo - a 140 Twitter poem(ish) every day for the month.  It might be poetry, and it might suck.  (and it might be poetry that sucks ...) But I'm going to play with the structure and see how it goes.

If you dare to disturb the universe just a little, I invite those who Twitter to follow me @uncle_deb; let me know you're playing, and hashtag your bits with #twitterpoetrymonth and lets see if maybe, by months end, one or two of those 140 character poem-ish's inspires a little of that junior high passion. 

And when the month's done, we'll look at the universe, and well see ...

feelin' the love

In my (new-ish) life on Facebook, I've been fascinated by the wild craze that was (and still is, i guess) 25 Random Things About Me.  Today at my writers group, I had the babes play with a variation on the theme: Random Things About Love.

Just a few (random) things that came up among us:

It's hard to write about love without quoting songs.  (for me in particular) (no surprise there, huh?)

We've heard that "love is a many splendored thing," but none of us quite got what "a many splendored thing" was supposed to mean (but i remember there was a soap opera).

Divorce isn't necessarily a failure of love; sometimes its a changing of form.

Poetry is the ultimate all-access backstage pass to the soul.  (and rumi seems to be the ultimate guide, with hafiz coming in a close second ...)

We like sex but we like it better when in love.

Strawberries dipped in dark chocolate are really, really good.

Many of us associate good food with love.  (and when mickeyg writes about food, we all fall in love ...)

We are mixed on the whole Valentines Day thing ...

... but the Valentine Peace Project is a great way to re-think the day. (i don't see why it needs to be reserved for just one day though; i might do it tomorrow too ...)

John and Paul were right: Nowhere you can be that isn't where you were meant to be.

We sometimes get in our own way with love.

Hugs from kids accelerates heart expansion.

Sometimes the heart wants what it wants; we are not perfect.

It's easier (and harder) than you think to write randomly about love. 

But we still love love, and we love writing about love.

(oh yes we do)

(feel free to add/expand on this in the comments writer babes ...)  (and anyone else who cares to play ...)

beyond the mara

Back in Joisey.

The week immediately following the mara, I was in Florida hanging out with Dad and I couldn't seem drag myself away from the beach or pool long enough to give a blog-recap.  But now, with a little distance (and no pool to sit by), I've made some the time.

What an experience. 

January 25th ... up at 4:30 am - Dad had driven down from his sister's place in Ft. Lauderdale at 3:30 am to meet me at the hotel ... then came with me where the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network team gathered at the American Airlines Arena under a big-ass promotional poster of Julio Iglesias for a photo op (this will always be etched in my memory, and now, if anyone mentions julio, i will think of gathering there [but wondering: does anyone actually mention julio anymore?] ...) (but i digress ... ).  After wishing me well at the team photo, Dad went back to my hotel room for a little nap (smart dad).

Reports say there were over 15,000 participants in the marathon, and the Pancreatic Cancer fund-raising team comprised just under 45 of those.  Together we - and our supporters - were able to raise over $144,000 to contribute to pancreatic cancer research. (not too shabby) (thanks again supporters; you are fabulous.)

As I've said, I don't run-run, I run-walk, and I did probably 85% of the mara at a fast-walk pace, the other at a slow-jog, but I was mostly happy with my time - 3.23 (according to the cool little chip you attach to your sneaks that clocks when you cross the start line, and then stops when you cross the finish line).  For a woman who was 30 pounds heavier this time last year and who most people would laugh their ASSES off if they ever heard that I was participating in a half-marathon, I say again: Not too shabby. 

The route itself was pretty amazing; in addition to the drag queen and cigarette smoking cafe goers I mentioned in my audio-posts, there were Boy Scout troops and other random volunteers handing out Gatorade and water at the mile markers, cheerleaders shaking pom poms, cops holding traffic back all along the course (some, like this fabulous woman, really getting into it), high school drum corps banging out rhythms to keep us pumped ... and always, the beauty of the course (over cause-ways, through south beach, water, water, everywhere ...). 

Around mile 12 my legs were starting to feel like lead and I was cursing the times I'd stopped to take photos, slow down to send an audio-post, help a woman figure out her iPod, or hug a volunteer who'd yell out "Go Cooperman!" (the name was on my race 'bib') ... I cursed all these little detours cause by then I was pretty sure I was going to go over my goal of a 3.15 finish time.  But then I came upon a band perched on a corner singing 'Eye of the Tiger' ... I couldn't decide whether this was cheesy or inspirational, but since a little inspiration never hurts (and i've never believed that cheesy could not also be inspirational), I shook my groove thing as I jogged past and pushed it out. (at one point, mid-way through the race, i was jogging and keeping pace with a woman who said: i'm not sure why i run at all, since my running pace is no better than my walk pace, and i could totally relate, but somehow, it felt like running was the only sane response to the lead-leg feeling and 'eye of the tiger'...)

And of course, through it all, I'm thinking of Mom.  She's the reason I did it, the reason I wish I didn't have to do it.  And glad as all hell that I did. 

At a post-race lunch, the members of the PanCan team gathered to celebrate our little victories, but we couldn't stop talking about the people we'd lost - the ones we had run for.  It was inspiring, and it was damn sad.

I'm still trying to wrap my head around the whole experience and wondering what I'm going to put my attention on now that it's over and I'm back to life without this central focus.  Bro's talking up a 5K this summer, but I never got into this to become a runner ... although I might do it anyway, since I find myself appreciating the gift of a goal and the longer distance work-outs.  But I'm not sure what it's all going to mean when the dust settles.  Or if it's supposed to MEAN anything at all ... or just be what it was.

What I do know is that I walked and ran 13.1 miles on January 25th, and I (and my fabulous supporters) raised almost $7,500 for pancreatic cancer research.  The rest, I think I'll figure out as I go. 

And since I've learned that I get a lot of really good thinking done when I walk/run, there will be more miles ...

in today's sharp sparkle ...

Praise song for the day.

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum; with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus. A farmer considers the changing sky; a teacher says: "Take out your pencils. Begin."

We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."

We need to find a place where we are safe; we walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; the figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."

Others by "first do no harm," or "take no more than you need."

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.

~ Elizabeth Alexander

YUM.  (can i get an amen?)

feelin' the love ...

Had writing group yesterday, which is always a luscious thing.  For a few hours, my home is filled with cool, creative women who write together, drink coffee, and support one another in our writing, creative expression, and (in a not-entirely-round-about-way) our lives in general.  (and for this i get PAID? oh yum ...)

Yesterday I asked everyone to donate to the PanCan walk instead of paying me, so when we were all done, I brought the laptop downstairs, pulled up my "donate page" ... and wound up with $360 from 5 women (writing group's usually $40/session, you do the math ...). 

Talk about getting support in our lives? ... man oh man, I frikkin LOVE my writing group babes.  What a treat ... feeling grateful, proud, and very, very lucky.

(... and this time next week, i will have crossed the finish line in miami.  although, in my dream last night, i went off the beaten path of the course and didn't cross the line until 7 hours after the start ... leaving my dad and some others who showed up in the dream's 'cheering section' very confused.  wonder if there's a metaphor in there somewhere ...)

weeeee

I've been saying "weeeee" a lot today. 

When I left work last night I stopped by my favorite wine shop and picked up a split of champagne; as I packed for the first leg of the extended business trip (which i'm on now), I turned on CNN in the bedroom.  As I tossed clothes in the suitcase, the results started coming in ... Ohio, Pennsylvania; weeee!  Florida ... weee!  When it became clear that it really WAS going to happen, I sat on the bed, opened the champagne and called a few friends who I knew would be up and celebrating too.

I have been keeping my attention on the dreamed-of outcome for so long ... not allowing the other possibility (and the associated fear) to take my energy (well, there was a brief period after the republican national convention when palin's announcement created some buzz that i got a little nervous, but it didn't last long ... ).  And then last night, when it started to sink in what had happened, I thought: Holy shit ... what if it hadn't gone this way? and a psychic wave crashed over me that took my breath away (thank goodness then, that i didn't allow that energy in earlier; it would have done no one any good ...).

As so many pundits have pundited, expectations are high, but we need to be patient; things won't change overnight.  And yet, they have.  I remember at the very beginning of this campaign I was really excited about him because it seemed like he wanted to change the conversation, and the tone of the conversation: in politics, in Washington, and globally.  I didn't know a lot about his background or readiness or leadership and organization yet, but I saw that, and I LIKED it.  I liked it a lot.

And I think that's a large part of what people voted for last night, to change the conversation ... and to be part of it.  That's exciting.

Weee.

And ... AEDM?  I took these photos while I was out on a walk tonight.  It's raining here in Atlantic City, but my hotel is right on the beach and I can't resist a walk by the sea, even if it is raining and windy.  I discovered the water fountain in a shopping center on the boardwalk where I popped in to pick up some dinner. 

I'm realizing that AEDM may be less about "art" in a drawing/doodling/craft kinda way (except when it is), and more about paying attention, taking some photos and finding the art in my every day.  Stay tuned. 

w

hit

space

spacewhite swhite

white space

spacewhite swhite

white s

space

pace

the art of choice

And while this is pushing it for AEDM, I am frantically packing for my back-to-back business trips and I AM looking at AEDM from a non-literal perspective ... looking for the art in my every day.  And this, my friends ... this is art ... this is frikkin' POETRY. 

Life is good.

rev-ing

Got to do another wedding last weekend.  I feel like a fish to water when it comes to doing this ... I love working with the couple, helping them decide what they're trying to create, the vibe they want for themselves and their guests; I love helping them work through the cultural expectations and "we should's" to discover the essence for themselves ... making the day theirs in every way.

And even though (i still have to pinch myself about this sometimes) the power's been vested in me to make things legal, I couldn't do that for this couple.  Because in Pennsylvania - where these two women live (like so many places in the US) - there's no one who can do that for lesbians and gay men, so this was a ceremonial on all levels.  For some reason, this seemed to make it even more important for them to have the day go just as they wanted.  And in spite of a few glitches that we had no control over (kinda like life), it wound up being an amazing celebration, and I had the most marvelous time helping these two women declare their intention to walk through life together. 

The week before (and the days immediately following) the ceremony were some of the most stunningly crisp, clear autumn days - but the day of the wedding?  Oh baby, it poured like nobody's business: fog, wind, rain, and brrr cold.  A & J had rented a cabin by a lake in the Poconos and they'd hoped to hold the ceremony down by the water; instead, we all crowded around on the covered porch to do the service.  But since we all know that the weather of intimate relationships is ever changing, and life can throw storms at you anytime, we decided that the rain offered the perfect metaphor for all that, and the humor didn't dampen.  

Friends pitched in with food, guitar accompaniment, and an artist friend of theirs made the cake topper: a stunning likeness of the brides in sculpey-clay.  When all the ceremonying was done, they lit up the grill and threw on chicken, burgers and hot-dogs, people gathered in the great room as the wind whipped outside and the fire blazed inside; everyone broke out their kazoos* and tried (badly, but valiantly) to play the Hallelujah Chorus and other celebratory sounding tunes for the delighted couple.  (*the kazoos were part of the great wedding favor bags that A & J made for all their guests)

What a day.  Spirits were high, the rain was falling and love was in the air.  And even though I hope that one day I'll get to file papers for them to make it legal, for now, as the 6th century philosopher Boethius once said: Who would give a law to lovers?  Love is unto itself a higher law. 

Amen to that Boethius.

full

I had some work related events in Cape May on Thursday and Friday, and after I got back to my hotel on Friday night - when the official schmoozing and eventing was done - the time was all mine (until today at noon). I sat by the sea, reading and writing; I walked miles and miles by the water; sat on my hotel balcony drinking coffee looking at the water.  Mmm ... just heaven.  What is it about being by the sea that calms the soul?

Whatever it is: YUM; more please.

 ... to the beach.

white space 

white space 

 

 

 

 

 

... Saturday perch ...

white space   

... dolphin's keeping one of the charter fishing boats company (the dolphins were everywhere ... so cool ...)  ... can it really be the Jersey Shore in the spring/summer/autumn if there's not a wedding going on?

 white space  white space   

 

... sunrise Sunday morning ... 

... my spot on the Sunday morning sand (aka: my version of church ...) 

drunk on poetry

Spent much of the weekend at the luscious Dodge Poetry Festival and am finding it hard coming back down to earth.  How, after a weekend immersed in all that open hearted conversation ...of being whumped again and again in the gut ... of getting the wind knocked out of you (in a good way) by sweet invitations and soulful energy, how do you go back to work and details and gravity?

Photos and more thoughts may come later, but for now, sink into this delicious Rumi poem (and then, if you can surface without feeling just a little bummed that you have to come back, you're a stronger soul than i ...).

Love Dogs

One night a man was crying "Allah, Allah!" 

His lips grew sweet with the praising,

until a cynic said:

"So ... I have heard you calling out, but have you ever gotten any response?"

The man had no answer for that.

He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.

He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls in a thick, green foliage.

"Why did you stop praising?"

“Because I've never heard anything back."

"This longing you express is the return message."

The grief you cry out from

draws you toward union.

Your pure sadness that wants help

is the secret cup.

Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.

That whining is the connection.

There are love dogs no one knows the names of.

Give your life to be one of them.