Friday, October 24, 2014

And so the wind blows me about as it will
And so it wends its whistling step across
The dross of New York City.

It blusters, blissfully, through the trees
The leaves bristling at the intrusion
But welcoming a kind of reunion
It's fall, you see, and we're delighted to behold
The slow drop, the sweet stop
Of the heartbeat of the sun

And so the wind whirls through the locks
Caresses the tresses of the girls and of the treetops
And so it pulls my thoughts to pleasanter things
And so... the wind blows me about as it will

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

I am a...

"CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): For over 2,000 years, Chinese astronomers have understood the science of eclipses. And yet as late as the 1800s, sailors in the Chinese navy shot cannonballs in the direction of lunar eclipses, hoping to chase away the dragons they imagined were devouring the moon. I have a theory that there's a similar discrepancy in your psyche, Capricorn. A fearful part of you has an irrational fantasy that a wiser part of you knows is a delusion. So how can we arrange for the wiser part to gain ascendancy? There's an urgent need for you to stop wasting time and energy by indulging in that mistaken perspective." (from the Missoula Indendent's Blog)

There are stories that I tell myself. That I'm bad at this. That I'm worse at that. That my talents are narrow and my skills are set in their ways. But as soon as a statement comes out of my mouth, "oh, I'm so bad at..."  - it feels wrong. It feels like I'm betraying the truth that I know, the one that is different than the stories I whisper to myself. The wiser part of me is taken aback, appalled that I would say such negative, such incorrect things. Because the wiser part of my knows just what I am capable of when I put my mind to it. It knows that I am capable of anything, and my excuses are just excuses, used to hide from the tasks that are difficult or unpleasant.
You see, I am a runner. By which I mean, it's important how you see yourself, how you talk about yourself (to yourself, and to others), and how your actions follow from that perception. And I've been reminded time and time again that my frame of mind needs shifting, until it focuses and settles on the task at hand (namely, music). The truths I tell myself, about myself, are the ideals I aspire to. 
You see, I am someone who exercises. I am someone who does not eat candy. I am a musician. And the things I do with my life and my time are reflections of what a person who is a musician, doesn't eat candy, and exercises, would do with their life.
You see, I am living up to myself, as I visualize myself. And it does no good to simply try. As Yoda so famously said: do. Or do not.



p.s. I had maybe read my horoscope 5 times in my life before I moved to Montana. The last few months we lived in Missoula, I got hooked on the Indy's weekly versions. I've been checking them online every Wednesday, ever since we moved. I don't hold too tightly to these things, but I like the way Rob Brezny suggests you take a look at life and think about things through a different lens.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Just a little green

I've really been appreciating the benefit of being outdoors lately. Often, during my precious lunch hour, I'll scurry as quickly as I can down to the East River to get a glimpse of the shifting water, the free-wheeling boats in pursuit of the sea, and the trees all leafed-out along the promenade. But recently, I've been drawn to the bits of grass that are not-quite-as-far as the water. (This is New York; it is nothing, if not about convenience.)
The grass I like best is a tiny little strip; not necessarily manufactured for human lounging, but just big enough to accommodate a cross-legged girl who wants to kick her shoes off. It's littered with leaves and weeds and tiny ants, but that's sort of the way I like it. There's something about setting your feet on the ground and letting them get all green and grass-imprinted that does an office-computer-weary heart a world of good.

Friday, May 16, 2014

Oops

Sometimes I just like the way words fit together
The way that the clouds can suggest at the weather
But then suddenly I realize
I've written a poem about prostitution.

I wonder what Freud would say.
(Whatever. He was a bit of a quack, anyway.)

Monday, May 5, 2014

Good morning (with a hint of summer)

Oh morning,
I love you and your light, bright clearness,
The way the clouds scurry from your sun

Oh morning,
I love the way you creep toward nearness
The way the birds welcome you with song

The way your crisp winds waft so softly through my windowsill
Like a mother's fresh bread, beckoning her children to return

And so I return to you, each brand new day,
In an ancient, but eternally renewing way,
Oh morning.


Friday, March 28, 2014

It's all about the weather

What a year for weather, and seasons. This is the year that seasons were made for. Summer was hot and humid. Fall was cool and damp and refreshing. Winter was cold, snowy, and long. And now, spring is springing, and April is about to usher in plenty of showers (as it should).

Monday, March 24, 2014

One more

One more storm before we break
To the sunny skies of springtime
One more spray of snow
Before we bid that winter go,
Before we say our terse goodbyes

Another round of cold before we greedily soak up the sun
So take a gasp and hold it in
We'll wait (impatiently) for spring to lift it's timid head again
To spread its fingers over all the flowers
Over limbs and branches unfurling into leaves, please

You bitter winds! Stop blowing down so fiercely.
You haven't got much left in you, do you?
So go on, get out. We don't want your icy breath about here anymore.

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

It Might As Well Be Spring

There's something in the air today. You can feel it, like a sigh of relief after holding your breath for a very long time. You can feel it in your limbs and in your hair, in how they belong out on the sidewalk, in Central Park, or by the East River. You can feel it in the not-quite-humid way the water hangs in the air, with it's tinges of garbage and freshness and salt.
It's getting warmer. Spring is coming. The concrete has a happier quality to it. You can step out into the city like you can't when it's winter, with your ankles out and everything.

I felt like I greeted an old friend this morning. Hello, New York. Glad to see you stirring and shaking off your sleepy hibernation. Let's get coffee soon.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Purple

This purple noise... swirling about my nose, I can't help breathing it in. It tastes smoky and dark and delicious - like wine from a particular wineglass. Carpets that smell like church and basements - a lingering mold that flavors this stew of music and booze and bodies, oh-so-particularly. The faithful and the foreign linger here, in their respective bubbles, treasuring their own respective baubles from a night well spent, or misspent. But the bass strings play on, and on, and on... moving this purple air in pulses towards my ears, my heart, my head.