*
*
is what I want to be
a hollow bamboo tube
with holes carefully placed
burnished by lifetimes
*
a pipe that channels
the eternal breath of Spirit
whose holes release
the wind of sacred song
*
Oh, my beloved,
play your tune through me
breath of love and light
holy golden melody
*
*
Alex 3
“But Dad, you don’t get it. Billy’s friend says that I have to call the judge. I can plead guilty and then we won’t be wasting his time in court.” Alex blows into the fingers that are not holding the iPhone. It’s really cold on the street corner.
“Alex, it’s Sunday. You can’t call anyone at court today. Besides, I don’t think that’s an acceptable procedure.”
“Dad, I have to talk to the judge. Do you have his number?”
“No, I don’t, Alex. It’s probably unlisted, and I’m sure the judge has a secretary who takes his calls.”
“Look, I get that I’m not innocent. I’ll just cop to driving with a suspended license and take the fine.”
“We’re hoping that the judge will be lenient, given your medical history. We talked about that, remember? I’d like to get that $500 fine reduced,” says Alex’s father.
“Jeez, Dad! All you care about is the money. You’re gonna let me go to jail for thirty days. That really sucks!”
“That’s not what I said, Alex.”
Alex clicks off the iPhone. His dad is such a jerk. Billy’s friend said to talk to the judge. And anyway, the new doctor gave Alex a clean bill of health. Alex can barely remember the first time they picked him up. He’d done something—ecstasy?—and he was out on the flats, in a cornfield, and the ball of light came down out of the sky and the aliens came and touched him. After that, he got back in town somehow, and his dad and Gram met him a restaurant. All the people he saw had three eyes, and Alex had this weird taste in his mouth, so he was spitting it out on the table. Dad got the cops to take him into the ER. Big guys, practically lifted him up like a suitcase and carried him to their car. Handcuffs and everything. It was terrifying.
Alex shakes his head. He touches the spot Jack Kerouac stabbed and erases the thought. It works to get rid of thoughts and dreams, too. It’s too damn cold outside so Alex heads for the coffee bar. He has his stuff stashed behind one of the couches. Maybe Deborah is still in town. She’s good for a coffee and a snack. He’ll give her a call.
The iPhone meows. It’s a text message from Gram: Job apps? Where R U staying 2nite? Alex frowns. He’s been looking—kind of. He talked to Jake who has a friend who works at the smoothie place. He even got an application from the music store, but he can’t remember where it is. Not in his pocket. Maybe it’s in the tent. He’ll look later. Meanwhile, he’ll call Deborah. It’d be great to get laid tonight.
*
*
Genuine compassion is based not on our own projections and expectations but rather on the rights of the other: irrespective of whether another person is a close friend or an enemy, as long as that person wishes for peace and happiness and wishes to overcome suffering, then on that basis we develop a genuine concern for his or her problems. If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.
–His Holiness the Dalai Lama, The Wisdom of Compassion, p. 1
*
*
In my palm
I hold a sphere of lapis,
blue with flecks of gold.
I found it in her drawer,
resting in a cloth basket.
It lay in her hand
for thirty years
during meditation.
*
“It’s a microcosm,”
she told me once.
“The blue is space.
The gold flecks are stars.”
She’s gone now,
but I hold the universe
on my palm.
*
When I lift it to my nose,
I smell the lemon verbena lotion
she spread on her hands.
Such small things connect us.
*
*
if he cannot recall his own past,
relations, stories
if he forgets where he lives,
the year, the president’s name
if all that disappears,
those are his losses
*
if I am not remembered as wife,
as friend, as the one who cares
who plans, who cleans
if he can’t recall my name,
my special place beside him,
then I am erased too
*
*
She awoke knowing she wasn’t alone. Faint moonlight slid through the gauzy summer curtains. Her heart struck like a gong. A dark shape, a figure in the corner, appeared as a darker outline where the closet met the wall.
She pulled the sheet up under her chin, hands trembling. “Who-who are you?”
The figure moved slightly, emerging into the thin, dim light.
She saw the feet first, bare, and then cloth wrapping to shoulder, bare arms and hands, a stack of bracelets, an armband.
The head remained obscured, but even in the dimness, she could tell it wasn’t human. Large and square, with a huge, curved beak. A glittering eye reflecting moonlight.
“Who am I?” the reply came in a scratchy, unused whisper. “You should know. You called me.”
The one in the bed drew back further. “I-I called?” Flashing thoughts reviewed her most recent phone calls and texts. Nothing.
“In prayer,” came the crackly whisper. “You called for a healer.”
True. She had prayed, just that night, for help. Help with the unraveling health, and guidance.
“Can you help me?” she asked. “Heal me?”
“Where I come from, no one would ask that question.”
“Where do you come from?”
“Saqqara. Egypt. From the time before the desert, from the beginning. From the green Nile and the rains making furrows in the holy Sphinx. From those who read the stars and moved great stones. They called me Horus.”
Dear Followers of Tangledmind.blog:
Now that my husband is enrolled in Medicaid Long Term Care, I find I’m spending a lot of time (like hours) negotiating this health care system.
With a larger portion of my time being directed elsewhere, I’m going to take a break from writing this blog, and restrict my postings to Tangledmagic.blog. Please keep following me there, and thank you for your interest in Tangledmind.
Good wishes and good health and gratitude to all,
Kim
The created world and the creative world.
Outside, grim, overcast, soggy ground thick with clay
Inside, veined, wrinkled hands
piece the cloth with thread.
Between the two: the Abyss
where humans reside
between angel and animal
between seraphim and foliage
seven stitches, a bright needle
Be sure you understand this!
You, an incomplete human,
You, the bridge
between two realms
blue triangle, green triangle
You yourself are the bridge
Always in the center
Rising or falling
By actions, by thoughts
Piece by piece, a braid, a blanket
It will not avail you to desire the radiance of creation
Strive to unite the opposites
Linked by language, to be, to be not
Pure Light, Pure Matter
The pattern of stars
When you, within yourself, are the bridge
Fully human, fully divine
A stitch in time
Find your place
Between the absurd and grace
This has been given to you.*
Excerpt from Gitta Mallasz, Dialogue avec l’ange in The Gospel of Mary Magdalene, Jean-Yves Leloup, Inner Traditions, Rochester, Vermont, 2002, p. 72.
In the past six years, since my husband was diagnosed with vascular dementia, I’ve collected a variety of coping strategies and practices for 24/7 caregiving that have helped me. Some I use daily, like meditation, and some I practice for a while and then let go. And some I know I should do and avoid. I’ve written about many of these coping strategies on www.tangledmagic.blog
Here they are, in no particular order:
Meditation: Meditation is a regular, fundamental practice I’ve been doing for about 45 years. I started out with Transcendental Meditation, and then moved into Siddha Yoga style. It is an essential start to my day.
Daily Energy Medicine: This is a 5-minute routine that resets your energy pathways. It’s easy to learn and takes so little time that there’s not much excuse to leave it out of daily practice.
Tapping/EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique):Tapping has proven to be one of the best resources for me in order to deal with the emotional stresses of caregiving and COVID-related issues. www.tappingsolution.com
Yoga: Yoga is such a great way to relieve stress and muscle tension. There are so many levels and styles to choose from. I like restorative classes.
Walking: It’s important to get outside and connect to the natural world.
Podcasts: I like to listen to inspirational and educational podcasts. Oprah’s Super Soul Conversations, On Being, and Fresh Air are on my list. I also listen to The Daily, but never at night.
Audiobooks:Listening to a story can take me far away from my COVID-limited world.
Zumba: Especially good for days when the weather keeps me indoors. I love to dance and Zumba gets me moving. Actually, any kind of dancing lifts my mood and makes me feel better.
Breath work: In addition to two minutes of alternate nostril breathing before meditation, I try to pause for a minute of deep breaths when I’m waiting for something, or when I feel anxious. There are many breathing routines (pranayama) for different purposes.
Writing: I don’t do a daily journal anymore, but I do keep track of interesting dreams. I write with two different groups, and post poems and other curiosities on my two blogs, this one and www.tangledmagic.blog
Prayer: For solace.
I hope other caregivers and/or COVID-stressed folks will find one or more of these practices helpful.
Dull as dirty snow
my mind speaks
random words,
sings old Beach Boys songs,
“Wouldn’t it be nice”
Every morning the same
expanse of white window
(eye to horizon)
God only knows
what I’d do if
the same voice didn’t ask
“Are we getting up now?”
No good vibrations in
the struggle
to put the dirty clothes
in the hamper.
The same cold air
hovers in the big room.
My mind rambles
I wish they all could be
California girls
I was a California girl,
But not the surfer’s dream.
A little old lady lives
in grief’s shadow.
One day too many but
don’t worry, baby,
just keep your foot
off the accelerator.
Tangled Mind 