something blue, something new.
cousin Conor James Choy
"Hot off the presses" (2 days old)
"Just think -- nine months ago he was a dollop of my jizz!" - my uncle Mike
before I get into this poem, here's Yoko Ono saying it way before me (the song is "Revelations", remixed by Cat Power - from Yes, I'm a Witch).
great Dalai Lama audio
info about teacher Pema Chödrön, whose books are giving me a lot right now.
and as always, there's this, which I highly recommend reading about.
Toby recommended this documentary Deliver Us From Evil to me, about the Catholic priest pedophilia pandemic. I just saw it and I would say it's pretty important see. it's an inspiration for this piece below. the trailer's here.
unedited piece
"learning"
5/27/08
1
I do not believe in
an interventionist God.
God is within me
to unveil
or ignore
and wall off.
I’m learning to say
Yes to myself,
and to life, loving-kindness,
and God.
I do not want to suffer
and I do not want others
to suffer.
I want to know
and love myself
unconditionally.
I want to love people,
experiences, thoughts, and feelings
unconditionally,
without judgement.
I am happy
to feel the sound
of raindrops outside my window
vibrating within
my body, in
my heart.
There is no seperation.
All is passing
within me.
Anger, tears, jealousy, and grace
are passing through me
as if in a dream.
2
I am so happy
to cry out of pain
for those who suffer.
I am glad to be given
this gift of compassion
that I am learning
to receive
and outflow.
I am learning from the river
who takes in rainstorms
and flows out life,
branching out
to places it cannot see
or know.
3
God’s rain is love,
as God’s sunlight is love.
Death brushing against me
is a chance to heal
and widen my iris
to the grief of others.
When I accept
the thunderstorm,
only then
can my roots grow.
My roots grow
into groundlessness
and confusion.
I will not
count the hours.
My iris opens
at its own pace.
4
The redwood tree
did not think
of how many decades
she would take to tower
from a seedling.
The redwood just takes in water,
sunlight, carbon dioxide,
and outflows oxygen.
The redwood does not know
that I might breathe
because of her,
and she does not wait
for thanks.
She does not ask
for thanks
for the shade she gives me.
She gives
unconditionally
just because.
She is grateful
to the sun,
the thundercloud,
and to me,
little ugly hateful lovable me,
for the carbon dioxide
I outflow.
She is.
She is.
The coldest killer
and the newborn
breathe because of her.
The molester and the poet,
the president - yes,
the president - and the Dalai Lama
breathe because of her.
She is.
She is.
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