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.


‘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


©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

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
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

© 2017 Ka Malana, Photography

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

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

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.

© 2017 Ka Malana, Photography

Leaf me here

© 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 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

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.



even if i wanted to
i couldn’t stop falling
hopelessly in love
each sound that i
or the texture of your
as they make a point,
acting as a second face
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

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 🐶


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

i resist, but listen

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

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?

Excitement! Art for Art: Free Verses!

Hello dear friends & welcome new followers!

I am delighted to share with you that my 1st book of poetry is published and available. It’s available immediately at the CreateSpace eStore. It’ll be able at in 3-5 business days (now available!), and to a wider audience in 6-8 weeks!  The thing is, to me, this was everything: I finished!

May you all have a Happy New Year – Chinese Lunar New Year is coming up – let the festivities continue while we work!  I hope. I can breathe now… well, sort of… I’ll sign and autograph as you request. I had one or two of those already. It may take some time as I am just adjusting to my new schedule, but we’ll work stuff out on a case by case basis. Please use my contact form, and just allow me 24-48 hours to get some thoughts together, and of course, to be in front of a computer again.

Ps. I have taken note that every time I write, there are crickets!  Right now! Bright daylight, and I hear crickets near the screen door.  So grateful!! Remembering this.


Character Sketch: from times before. #MercuryRetrograde

©1999-2016 Ka Malana

This one I could see myself revising, or considering an expanded story, developing it, adding details, connecting up loose ends, etc. At the very least, it’s nice for me to meet this character again. I remember being able to picture all of this very well when it was shown to me in my mind’s eye 17 years ago. What do you think?

By the age of six Lucas Walker was wearing his mother’s lipstick, dressing in her nylons, and playing in her high heels. As soon as Lucas heard his mother saying “goodbye” to the babysitter, Mrs. Milton, and the hallway smelled of freesia, Lucas was waiting to play with the bright colors in his mother’s dresser drawer.  And immediately after the old wooden front door closed, Mrs. Milton, the seventy-six year old, would resume her usual babysitting position on the rocking chair, with her knitting tools and drift into a heavy snore.

Lucas waited upstairs around the corner, next to his mother’s doorway.  After the door creaked shut, he would start rummaging though his mother’s drawers in near darkness, pulling out strings of old Mardi gras beads, watching the green in them glisten from the hallway night-light. Then he would flop around in her high-heels, dragging his ankles, and humming songs like a honeybee. After enough time had passed, little Lucas would figure that the old woman had fallen asleep, and he would put on his mother’s records, turn on the vanity light, and apply lipstick around his lips while puckering into the mirror.

Then, when Lucas was about fourteen years old, he would dress up, paint up his face, and sing and dance around while his friends toppled over in fits of laughter.  He usually did this right after school, and invited his friends over when his mother was still at work.  At school, everyone loved Lucas.  Wherever he was present, there was radiant charisma.  Especially after one of his school musical productions, when his charm was the most indispensable.  Friends and activity gathered around him, showering him with praise, as Lucas was cast as the main character of almost all productions.  His smile inexhaustibly stretched across his warm, reddened face and his eyes twinkled like something ethereal had touched him, while he breathed heavily, winded from the rush of the crowd and the performance.  He never seemed to recognize all the admiration of his peers, but no one ever minded.  His eyes were always clear and wet, glistening like gems, reflecting.  His dark, curled lashes haloed around his light eyes, as he looked at the people gathering around him, and looked high into the sky, beckoning something beyond.

Three years later, Lucas was in a club in downtown St. Paul, Minnesota, playing pool with a couple of his friends and singing tunes.  He was halfway drunk but smiling modestly. A woman walked towards him from out of the shadows. She had come from behind the bar and had two glasses in her hand. She walked up to Lucas and didn’t say anything but extended the glass out to him, her fingers filled with rings.  She never took her eyes off of him, but just watched him take a sip.  Then she started, “Do you have an agent?”

“What, ” said Lucas.

“I mean, you just look as though you’d be making movies, and I have a boss that wants to know if you have an agent.”

“Nno, I’ve never had an agent–you think… I mean, you think I… look like I could be making films?”

“Yes, ” she said.

The woman introduced herself as Sandra and gave Lucas her business card.


Lucas Walker stared into the vanity mirror in his studio apartment.  His eyes were grey and swollen as he touched his face with his hand.  What he saw in the mirror was a fifty-five year old man, wrinkles gaining the best of him.  He envisioned the light from his mother’s vanity, in her room, brighter and better. He also envisioned his friend’s faces. He didn’t realize it then, but they really loved him.  Not like the people that rushed towards him whenever they recognized him on the streets, crowding his space and demanding his voice for their own advertisements.

Lucas had made one film in his life.  One that made him millions.  For two years afterward, his face was all over the newsstands.  Articles upon articles were written about Lucas Walker, “The Most Loved.” The epithet was branded upon him by his fans and followers: those that idolized and emulated him. This was a cage for him, this intense but short-lived popularity. So, there was within him a gradual change.

As he sat in front of the mirror and reminisced, he smiled and smiled. His grins becoming more profound as he traveled back in him through his history, recounting his joy that was so simple and satisfying. Little wrinkles formed at the corners of his eye lids while he smiled, until he realized, that he longed for it back, all the real things that existed: the friendship, the simple laughter, and people around him accepting him for who he was, loving him, and laughing with him.  His lids lowered slightly more, until his eyes became slits.  Then squinting, the rest of his face fell back to its former position, accepting of age. He smiled once more into the mirror, sighed, and switched off the light of the vanity.


Jungle-Like District: A Short Story

Preliminary Stuff

©1999-2016 Ka Malana

Originally written in 1999, and now transcribed and published by Ka Malana from its original form, created for an assignment dated due on February 3, 1999, written by then undergraduate college student, Ka Malana. Copy made: August 25, 2016

The story:

On Hawkslanding, deep within the jungle-like district of the largest city in the world, Gregory Orson is tied to the edge of his desk, hanging to the top of a 40 foot building, singing ludicrous prayers. He has, for fourteen years, been infatuated with Mr. Schwartzpitzer’s secretary. Mr. Schwartzspitzer is his boss, owning a large toy industry. Since Mr. Schwartzspitzer is the executive of the company, he requires many servants. Gregory would every day, when he would fetch Mr. Schwartzspitzer’s coffee, place little love notes cleverly atop of Ms. Dowery’s desk. Ms. Dowery read them every day during her Earl Grey tea break. Sometimes she spilled her tea, and sometimes she didn’t, while reading them. Inside of the notes he always included a small letter of the alphabet which would eventually spell words, revealing a secret sentence, that would identify her admirer as Gregory.  Gregory continued this notion, until Mr. Schwartzspitzer, aggravated by Gregory’s apparent distraction and not properly attending to his job, was fired. At the end of a long year, Gregory tied himself to the desk, on the 40th story, to end his life.

However, on the day that Gregory decided to take his life, he heard Ms. Dowery singing.

Gregory was unfamiliar with the tune at first, and then remembered that the first day Ms. Dowery started working for Mr. Schwartzpitzer, she sang that very song; Gregory Orson saw Susan Dowery’s big blue eyes for the first time when she sang this song.

It all began after Gregory’s fifth day of work. He was on his way to the photocopier with a loose stack of papers in his hands and his ears chimed in on the most beautiful sound. He felt for that moment that he was in an enchanted forest, deep within the jungle, gazing upon a Scarlet Ibis that somehow found itself far from its home. Ms. Dowery was wearing a vibrant pink dress-coat. She had long slender legs and held her head posed with serenity. The best part was that Gregory could see her, but she couldn’t see him. He stared at her stricken with wonder. To him, it was obvious that this unique and rare species of beauty did not belong in a toy factory, and she must have mistakenly misplaced herself.

Gregory went into the photocopying room.

One day, finally, Susan caught his stare. She was a bit startled because she hadn’t realized that anyone was watching her. She also noticed Gregory’s glowing eyes. This sort of frightened her so she looked back down at her work. Then, feeling as though she was being rude, she looked up and introduced herself. Gregory responded shyly with a, “hello,” set his stack down, and walked quickly out of the room. From this day forward, he always avoided being in the same room with her alone.

Then, one day, ten months after he had been working for Mr. Schwartspitzer, Gregory noticed an odd document placed on Ms. Dowery’s desk.  It was a document concerning Mr. and Mrs. Schwartzspitzer. To Gregory, it wasn’t the fact that the document itself was odd, but the fact that he saw Ms. Dowery staring at it the way she did. She read the document like it was her own. Surely, Gregory thought that Ms. Dowery wasn’t the type to be invading in one’s personal property!

Gregory also recalled seeing Ms. Dowery and Mr. Schwartzspitzer speaking once in a room by themselves, when Gregory walked in, Mr. Schwartzspitzer and Ms. Dowery seemed to be standing very close to each other in awkward silence. Gregory also began to notice that Mr. Schwartzspitzer grew more and more hasty with him. All of these observations were made by Gregory, but he never really took the time to consider their meaning.

In one day it would be Gregory’s 14th year anniversary at the toy factory. Mr. Schwartzspitzer breezed past Gregory and asked him to come into his office later, but that he had to speak with Ms. Dowery first. Walking quietly over to Mr. Schwartzspiters’s office, and listening through the door, Gregory heard the familiar voices of his boss and Ms. Dowery speaking. Incidentally, the voices were familiar sounding, but he noticed that they had changed tone. Ms. Dowery’s began to be even more sing-song like than usual, and Mr. Schwartzspiter’s  voice had softened. Suddenly it occurred to Gregory that Mr. Schwartzspitzer and Ms. Dowery were married! and Mr. Schwarzspitzer had only hired her, because she needed to get out of the house more! She hadn’t any previous experience nor training. Mr. Schwartzpitzer had Ms. Dowery use her maiden name to keep the employees from knowing.

Gregory became so lost in thought that he barely realized that the conversation between his boss and his boss’s wife had concluded. He was just about to leave and walk to the photocopying room, when Mr. Schwartzspitzer and Ms. Dowery walked out of the office. They saw Gregory immediately. Mr. Schwartzpitzer looked down at Gregory and wrenched up his face, while Ms. Dowery dropped her face into a frown.

“Gregory Orson, would you please step into my office now, ” was Mr. Schwartzspitzer’s immediate request. Gregory stepped into the office and gazed around at all the leather furniture. The room smelled like Ms. Dowery’s perfume. Mr. Schwartzspiter told Gregory that he has been preoccupied and that he just wasn’t completing his tasks, and that he was in fact being “let go” from the corporation. As Gregory exited, he heard Ms. Dowery singing her song. This time he didn’t look at her at all.

That evening Gregory felt that his life was over. He tied himself to the 40th floor of the building, to a desk, so that he could hang out of the window, because the building had no ledge.


There is no winning hand

Each day
I look down at my hands
and make sure
I’ve emptied them.

Otherwise, they can’t be
filled, and sometimes
I get thirsty, and need to
make a cup.

For wisdom.

Maybe tonight we can
just not talk, but
just sit beside each
other, silently rooting
for one another.

Silently saying, “Go, go, you can
do it.” Your hands are open,
and you are ready to
and all the Universe will
silently flood in,

no one will know it, but it’s
already happened.