Her Open Glow

When first I met her
I needed a relationship
that wouldn’t pursue me,
in the usual way.

I needed an intimacy
that moved with me,
as I moved.

~

She will not lead you
to still waters, nor even ask you
to take a drink. she doesn’t even
care if you pursue her.

She just loves.

She met me under a tree,
when I called to her, I saw
that she was the tree.

~

She doesn’t demand commitment,
nor sacrifice,
she but notices it, and gently
encourages me to
keep pacing myself.

keep finding ways to be gentle with you, she says.

She shows me how to love myself,
in this way.

I met her when,
I needed her voice to be the
gentlest, clearest, cut-through-the-bullshit,

opening

she doesn’t define a gender.

she isn’t gonna hurt your heart,
to teach you a lesson.

you weren’t born for that.

she says, “oh honey, life just is,
love as much as you can”

working it out

science has this passion

to discover,
or re-discover

it depends

on who is looking,
what is personified.

but,

when being the butterfly
(or chuang tzu?),

feeling the metal pin slice
through dried wings,

and the suffocation of
entrapment,

that is, having to be a ‘thing’

as on a shelf, labeled, glassed,
obtainable,

found a niche,
now perform well…

if you are a butterfly under glass,
then play dead.

takes the fun and the
joy out of the science of

discovery, out of the
playtime of role-play

and temporary assignments,

exploration, even quantum theory.

we all know nightingales
like to be free, as do

butterflies and whispers

poems don’t love

to be scrutinized nor analyzed
for their psychic material

poems are more like butterflies

than psyches, more like butterflies
than like freud

than like rorschach,

than like LSD.

a poem is not an neurotransmitter,
nor a stimulated receptor, nor the electrical stimulus,
nor calcium

but it can affect you.
social media affects dopamine,
like crazy!

check your ventromedial prefrontal cortex

maybe a non-sequitur, but all things
have namable parts that don’t add up
always, but are still whole processes,
like healing
rarely makes any sense,
exactly

albeit the words are happening

thick, fluid, magical,

ungraspable.

untouchable-tangible

symbols have not 1:1
correlation-symmetry
more like 1: ad infinitum

we, who need to be free
take our freedom

in the moments of our breath,
use dashes, and make dashes,
or take our time,
on purpose.

find truth in
chuang tzu, in

freud, even, if necessary…

poetry as word
isn’t fake, nor outrightly
understandable.
it doesn’t have to be beautiful!

not all poems want to be
delivered with song

but you can see an internal
frequency,

even a trapped butterfly

may effect chaos theory
for theories are more easily

affected than are

the winds, with the momentum
of, say, a hurricane numbered 5.

my prayers were heard,
even when i didn’t pray

the way, i was expected to, with
the authorized format, given to me

by those who would punish me,

by those who would punish anybody,
by those who do not know self-love.

chuang tzu is not my god/goddess,
i reject capital letters right now
except for this one,

Process –

but even so, i yearn for another
language, to facilitate this meaning

***********************************************************************
This poem was written in the attempt to recover the creative adolescent
archetype, when expression was honestly exploring and feeling like the systems of the world were restraining forces, rather than assisting and engendering forces, a great questioning. It’s about being awkward, and being as a poem at the same time. When poetry didn’t have to be about rhyme or song, tradition – nor be didactic in any way. When poetry was about experimentation and “finding oneself” in the world. When poetry was about the journey and not the destination.

Also, this is integration work, and not meant to be viewed as a polished piece, final product, or current commentary. This is art-in-action.

Finally, once I found a coffee-shop, where at the readings, the host’s poetry sounded surrealist/da-da, and I felt like I fit in there at times.

Courageous living, Solar Eclipse

There is no outward representation for peace.
we can look to examples all around us,
and while there might be evidence of the opposite,
the creator force inside us

if we shine our attention on It,

can motivate us to rise out of bed,
can motivate us
to face injustice,
can help us hold our core values
within our hearts,

despite what is happening –

though I do think this is not easy
all the time, and therefore, like holding oneself
by virtue of the muscles of ones own legs,

one needs to rest from time to time
in the center of one’s own being

for a while,
for renewal and for strengthening.

Inside us is the whole peace ensemble.

Inside us is the access to trust,
Inside us is the fuel for living through –
and beyond the terrible rage that threatens with violence,

which is only the weather –
that must pass,
for it cannot stay forever.

Understand

‘Living the dream’ is something that most of
us do, every day. We just don’t know it.
Somewhere, someone has the dream that we are living in,
carrying out. We live their dream.

right now.

That is the infinite possibility in life, all the
different moments, styles, ways of being
havings and not-havings
feelings and not-feelings
believings and not-believings

living in a home and living in someone else’s home,
or not living in any home, or moving to the end-of-the-road home.

Some need work, food, shelter, friendships
but they have self-respect, dignity, and inner peace.

Some people love their pain, and clutch to it like it is their
teddy bear – the last thing that protects them.

things are never as they seem. i don’t blame anyone for
using whatever they have to protect themselves from injury.

Some are retired, some forced to take time off for their
health – others long for a vacation – freedom in their brain,
or from thinking about what their work forces them to think about, or do.

Some want to continue their education, and others, are tired,
overwhelmed and overworked in the same setting, never quite
“getting there yet,” but getting shown more techniques, more ways-
despite that one, done right, is good enough.

Each of us is most likely living someone else’s dream – at least in part.
Or, we are even living our own
dreams from the past.

I think when we realize that –
it’s not a message about having gratitude, like another thing
to check off the list.

It’s a message that’s deeper. Somebody has body parts that hurt
while that same body has body parts that don’t hurt – and someone else
wishes they could be free from pain there.

Today, let’s just acknowledge that together we’ve all got it,
and that makes us all

on the same page.

We’ve got it all, and we are going to do something awesome with it.
It’s not someday – it’s right now. In the middle of the maelstrom.

That war zone that exists, I see it. And the thing that I’m going to do
about it, is be very good at being appreciative for not living in one.
And I’m going to keep doing my best, in the middle of the thick of my own busyness, and stress, to keep my eyes and ears open, above the water – seeing that

freedom is ours. We will make it ours. We will find it, and we will develop it.
Lovingly and kindly, and with compassion.

©2017 Ka Malana
All rights reserved

How Much?

How much do you identify
with your beliefs?
your thoughts?

When you label a thing, “that is ‘good'”
that is “bad”?
How much does this cost you?
By time?
A moment, or an eternity?

One wonders how we can be
in a state of not deciding, while
also very firmly placed on
the foundation of aliveness.

There is a way –

Close your eyes, and breathe
into your hands all the gifts you
are given, see them transforming
your mind, and turning it into
a beautiful branching, luminous crystal –

now sit back

and watch it grow, while deciding nothing,

and experiencing

everything

©2017 Ka Malana

You go ahead and try

You go ahead and try –

to stop creation, !
she’s got kick and spunk,
she’s hyperaware !
keen vision of the mind and heart.
earthly, too.

green tendrils quickly unfurling,
spreading the land.

she’s thought of every move
you might make,
before you –
even felt the urge.
before you even noticed that there was
wind blowing,
and in what direction.

that woman has all the chutzpah
and the hardcore roots of new life inside
of her.

Are you kidding me?

Is she going to wait for a
bigger fish, to say,
“okay – your time has come, and I
give you permission to rock and roll,
go ahead, be your bad ass self?”

One day, you’ll deliver this thing, lady!

Girl, that baby is safe and secure.

She’s yours, forever. I am so glad that I had
the tiniest little, itty bitty role in your
major motion picture.

*******************************************************

©2017 Ka Malana

For those who experience loss, may something be gained.

Maui inspired print

I wasn’t planning on sharing this painting, or at least yet. I made it as a fun print, with kid’s washable paint. It’s on wood. I like the blank spots, for now.  Not worrying about being a “serious” painter – I like that every time I sit down to make some art, or I make art on the fly – it’s for a different reason, season, need, purpose. Sometimes I study an object, sometimes I just want to have fun. That’s what this was. Also, I’m not pigeon-holing it into “something” or needing to be defined. I’m letting it live on its own.

That said, I am sad to hear today about a colleague’s artwork being stolen. I’m angry. I’d like to keep the details private but I wanted to offer up my “make it easier” coloring in honor of this loss and ask that the artwork be returned to the owner it was gifted to and so that the work can continue to heal and make its offerings on the wall where it was originally set.

Scorpio as a sign in general tends to guard that 8th house of losses and gains. We are in the midst of the full moon with the nodes changing into Leo/N.Node and Aquarius/S.Node. I am a big believer that we don’t lose anything, only the physical form. I can only imagine how much of a blow it was to the creator of the artwork – with the art’s intention to heal and provide.  This is the human condition, no one is free from loss. May this person, and all involved, experience a full restoration.

Taurus moon burst, touching, new

i returned home to my roses bursting –
opened by more than mere grace
an abundance of nature, holding space

nature held place for you,
and for me
at home, together

while we healed and learned
and read books, Reikied over everything
while the highest light guided
and nature divided
the space opened and closed
into the shapes of waterfalls

different edges and

how when painting everything is seen first
as a geometric shape
and then
fleshed out,
drawn, stretched, applied,
revealed as nuance,

light shining
light shimmering

and the green gushing
clay cliffs
on the road to Hana
twisted
forming snapshots – would keep an
editor busy for hours,

but i don’t have any reason
to edit

not today
not when more work is around the bend
and poems to be written
and people to see.

blogs to visit
and new names to learn, books to read
at a pace that, that only mercury retrograde
would allow.

Taurus was New, sculpting my memories
of sound, art
in darkness,
and each thing I ever made

came back to life.

the way the sun rises
the poetry is good
because life is written in it.

and the music playing is always the right song.

Buddha’s White Rose, Libra’s Full Moon

IMG_3576
© 2017 Ka Malana, Photography

Tiny granite gravel garners
your contours
arranged and shaped by larger hands
from the hours and minutes
passed

Our conversations linger above
like a cloud
accumulating memories as
rain drops and I chase the
sensations

In new places, on islands,
in another part of the world
I sit under the same tree.

At this point it is beyond
40 days and 40 nights,
how many lifetimes,

Like a leopard stalking
hungrily, I’ve faced you,
and sought your incarnation
in every one.

Yet each moment with you
is like a million moments
that are first moments;
and I am covered in morning light,

a soft gaze, your tenderness.

I shall return for more.

IMG_3575
© 2017 Ka Malana, Photography

Leaf me here

leaf.jpg
© 2017 Ka Malana, Photography

“In Borneo, there are palm trees that walk on their high roots. Slowly, with effort, they lift one leg then another. I would like to join that stilted transmigration, To feel my own skin vertical as theirs: An ant-road, a highway for beetles. I would like not minding, whatever travels my heart. To follow it all the way into leaf-form, bark-furl, root-touch, And then keep walking, Unimaginably further.”  – Jane Hirshfield, from the poem, Metempsychosis.

Completed another chapter,
turned another corner,
met another pause;
With time, already filling herself,
there is more color
in my new schedule,
and a bit more peace, bliss

Please join me at Urbantowergarden.wordpress.com this Spring. I’ll be here, too ~ musing & amusing xo Ka

Water-falling buckets

i am more than happy
to be a cog in this wheel
as one who passes that baton
that has already been passed
by so many of
my teammates,
to so many of my
teammates.

i don’t need to invent anything,
or repackage something else.

and i am happy to be
one who doesn’t win the race often,
or ever, but gets to
make it to the show, serendipitously
through others,
on most days. And when i don’t,
i know – that everything doesn’t rest on me.

the world will turn even without me,
but loves me anyways.

i am more than happy
to be one of this many
of this many that is one,

breathing allows me to be
a precious, tiny cog in this wheel
that turns like water-falling buckets,
yeah, that.

there’s a central axis that can’t be
pointed at.

right now there are so many baskets
opening with the harvest of
sitting dormant all through the winter;

the hardest work done,
was no work at all.

 

Stop

even if i wanted to
i couldn’t stop falling
hopelessly in love
with
each sound that i
hear
or the texture of your
fingertips
as they make a point,
acting as a second face
annotating
their contours, and giving away
who you are
when you elevate a thought
in your mind

or quickly
or slowly

move on to the part
where you enjoy laughing
in the story.

even if i wanted to
i couldn’t become unallergic
to the fluffiest cutest most self-complete
creatures on earth.

but i strangely and unapologetically
relish the event where i’m invited to
suffer this love at someone’s house,
with their cat/s.

I can vicariously enjoy
the gift of pictures.

even if i wanted to
i couldn’t not be afraid.
of each thing i say or do,

how will it effect things, people, butterflies,
or will my actions do nothing at all?

If you only knew what momentum’s
edge has, you’d know that even
if I wanted to, i couldn’t do so
many things, unless they are
‘right’ they felt ‘right’ they
are, me, bringing –> you some “flowers,”
in some way.

i want to help deliver
these moments that make you
go ‘Oh’ and ‘Yeahhhh’
or, ‘i see,’ ‘hmmm.’

even if i wanted to, i couldn’t not
live, just a little bit more
every day.

to live outside this bubble,
is where exactly i am,
and it’s a difficult place to describe,
it’s pointless, literally, figuratively…

i couldn’t not read the news today.

this land, the earth, our home,
i couldn’t help loving even if you
told me, everything is boloney
and all the talking heads are all really
extemporaneous and perhaps
slightly more honest and candid
because of that.

Because if all this is prepared, who did
the script writing, created the scenery,
set the extremes to ‘high’ ?

even if i wanted to,
i couldn’t fast-forward to the part
of the story where everything is perfect
and everyone sees eye-to-eye –
and all the sickness in the world has been
cured, but if i wanted to,

i can stop everything – and look
at where there are no problems, nothing to
sort, no mission to achieve, not a single angle
to behold.

if i wanted to, i could work on this ‘place’
and widen it, and see what its got to share with
me.

i could return to the sounds that i
couldn’t stop falling in love with,
even if i wanted to, silence…

it contains all of this.

Afternoon Exercise

every face today has a smile
eye contact and a
story telling.

“today is my birthday,” he
says. “I’m 24.” I can hear
It in his voice – he is
grateful to be alive.

each year gets more precious

This dog named Ranger, who reminds me of Venus, both black labs, both friendly. One has passed on. Ranger is
panting happily, here and now.

All with a meet and greet – and just now I loOk up and deeply into a woman’s eyes.

Hello! We say It at the same time. Her visor is a good idea. I replace my sunglasses and see more dogs.

They are as happy as I for California rain and shine.

Two more dogs go by, and soon I’m back to my work.

The women who pass me say,
“Recess is sacred”

I add: thank you for sharing your dogs 🐶

quality

one teaching doctor says
“humans operate
with the law of quantity
over quality.”

i resist, but listen
anyway

when we have an injury
we compensate
and use extra effort
to accomplish a task

we might not even realize it,
while our ‘new’ habit-pathways
are seamless – to us.

we practiced it, until we had
forgotten.

to get around the trouble
of doing one thing, me might
enlist a few extra sets of muscles.

i should admit now that
this is not really a poem.

but I’m curious,

how are we so ingenious?