My element is a light roast of hot, black coffee that goes down smooth, usually with dessert on the side, is Amos Lee and some brilliant poetry - these days along the lines of Mary Oliver, is warmth - in general, is a window that looks out on no particular thing, is, perhaps more than all these, an intimacy with Jesus that makes me speechless and breathless and basically just less.



And I have all these things just now. I do love to be in my element.

Not Forgetting

We used to talk about middle-aged apathy, the lack of passion that would roll over and consume us like a wave somewhere in our thirties or forties.


I desperately do not want to forget where I'm at right now. Change can come so slowly you don't notice it, but I want to be able to trace my steps and remember why I made the choices I did.


I don't like being inside all day. The best part of my days here is the skipping home in the afternoon, being kissed by air that didn't come out of a vent.

I need interaction. Cubicles do not suit me. While we're talking about suits, suits do not suit me.

A Fire in Your Belly

Rosa Parks had a fire in her bellly. According to Ralph Nadar, that is. He blankly called us out on our apathy and lack of passionionate anger. I will admit, I was pleasantly surprised by pieces of what he said. There was an unmistakble sadness, though, that distracted me just a little bit. Where politic should have been, instead I saw weariness. He wore age like chain mail, it hung all around him. What he did say is that "Freedom is access to power." I believe that.

Would that I could throw out all money and pay for life's necessities in poetry....


"I can tell what I saw next; it was not a miracle.
A beautiful villa stood in the sun
and from its doors came the smell of hot coffee.
In front, a baroque white plaster balcony
added by birds, who nest along the river,
--I saw it with one eye close to the crumb--

and galleries and marble chambers. My crumb
my mansion, made for me by a miracle,
through ages, by insects, birds, and the river
working the stone. Every day, in the sun,
at breakfast time I sit on my balcony
with my feet up, and drink gallons of coffee. "

-From Bishop's "A Miracle for Breakfast"

A night of poetry reading and spoken word at Busboys and Poets: Perhaps the best night I've had in this city, and I held my breath for most of it. We went for moral support, and Mark was fabulous. Novice? I think not. But the other contenders left me speechless. The tension made my toes curl and I've come to think poems come alive in the author's throat, because along with words came out accusations and confessions and revelations. I could barely walk home I felt so lightheaded. And here is Tasha Jones, who I cannot even begin to introduce...


State of the Union
by: Tasha Jones

I have walked in the valley of shadows and death
I have prayed for the redemption of those I adore
while I bleed, while I feed, while I attain
I have cursed what opposes with bitter breath
I have consistently aimed for better and more
while I drink, while I sink, while I refrain

I have given everything I could of the nothing I possess
I have battled to take every offered gift back
while I pine, while I whine, while I complain
I have clung to every forgiveness without seeking redress
I have waged every possible war without making an attack
while I scream, while I dream, while I abstain

I have poured my life into every choice I've been given
I have flowed freely through the reality that escapes me
while I grasp, while I pass, while I extend
I have endeavored to draw more out of life and living
I have promised to be both sister and enemy to the sea
while I grow, while I flow, while I contend

I have longed for a redemption that hasn't yet come
I have ceaselessly been a reckless pawn of my heart
while I rave, while I pave, while I intend
I have been less to most, but more than enough to some
I have decided that it's far too passive to wait for a start
while I lie, while I try, while I wait for the end

I tried to grow out my nails in an amusing attempt to prove that I can be the girl with delicate fingernails. But I cut them, and remembered how much I love freshly cut fingernails. I bought sweaters and dress pants for sophistication, only to crave the afternoon change into jeans and a white tee. I bought makeup only to remember that I like my face without it. And here I am in Washington, DC, only to realize that I love waking up in Valley Center.

The Bright Field

I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
treasure in it. I realize now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying

on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.

-R. S. Thomas