Dear Dark Brown Eyes,

I  am glad something brought a wave of joy over your  countenance bubbling up as laughter. You deserve the clearest balm to ease your sighs and sorrows. And the warmest of hands to hold yours when evening envelopes the mountains
And the river that divides the north and south of Seoul is frozen over

My dear brown eyes, whatever you decide is yours to decide. Who you pray to, who you love and who you’ll be as the years go by
are all YOURS,
like the chirp of a bird,
or the song of a swallow
it must feel natural to you
and only you can hear it as it perches



MINE. My song calls me to you.
To sit by your side and to meet you once the the sprouts root and grow green,
past the frozen ground onto pathways which the light of spring is to reveal

Who you’ll be then and how you’ll feel
I will respect. The vines grow in many directions in and around all posts, fences, names and memories. They can become nuisances or the fruit for fine wine.

Me gusta escuchar a Silvio Rodriguez
ciero mis oyos
y es como si me cantara a mi

Si, no sola soy maza
tambien soy alma
y me gusta cuando escurre vida
desde las bocinas
desde un libro
desde una pintura
desde la risa de los peatones

Me gusta ecuchar
lo que la vida a sido para los demas
me gusta vivir
y es como si este mundo me hablara a mi

For the first time I feel uprooted
and I want to cling to the earth
I want to belong to this body

I want to search for my place of belonging
I am done hustling for affection

I want true partnerships
I do not want the fear anymore
the fear of losing you or anyone
because I came too late, was born too late
or said the wrong thing

...
Baby I deserve some real sincere
****, **** me all night, cry with me when I’m not doing well, walk in peace with me,wow lets work together to heal that, you got your life I got mine kinda love

I just want a shot at the real thing
not at illusions or romanticized stuff
I want my place of belonging only if it wants me back
...

I am going back to art and words
into creating expansive landscapes. I have the need to grow me like a lovely cactus in this desert I find myself in.


...

I reach for this very human brokenness to hold it in my arms and nurse it. I reach for the true beauty of life and for the me that can be
...
I close my eyes and see a kind hearted woman, devoted to many things, always learning always growing

I see this body boldly aged and I can my hair long and white
an elder
full of wisdom and my soul light as a feather

You are becoming more beautiful
not because more people like you
or because more people agree with you
You are becoming divine
because you are in the closet pulling down the cobwebs
In your home, brewing your tea to cultivate moments of attention
in your heart adoring what great effort
you body makes to keep you here
you are beautiful because you try over and over see the miraculous

I hand you a flower and you open your palm and place a coal stone

I smile
after many years your flowers were pressed
died and combined
made dark but I do not just see one
I see the bouquet you gave
(The years and the darkness of soil mixed with all the gentle things in your heart)

This beautiful teeming orbit is not ours to take care of
it is us
“We breathe together”
it is inseparable
you and I
, it –our fate the same

I want life to flourish
and so earth must sing
i want a shift
a second coming of a loving consciousness
not as some man or some messiah (stop limiting divinity to human figure)
but to have us recognize it in the entirety of life in its miraculous omnipresent light that indeed does shine permeating all

And if he does not feel the same
I would understand
but I needed to be brave
because it means so much to me
he means so much to me
everyone has got their things( their no to great traits)
but i don’t need someone to put on a pedestal that is not what I am asking for

I am asking to see you further for who you are

They are standing on the hills behind me each one
but now I am standing on another

I climbed this mountain up hand in hand with him
this mount that then became a mountain is now becoming an Everest, my love full so full it overflows and drips  as compassion

My brother picks up the phone and speaks slowly to me. My arms and legs tingle and begin to buckle beneath me, I am simply grateful I am seated in a car on my way home. “You did good” he says. “Today was a test run. You learned your limitations”. I tell him I wanted a book. So I tried to go to the bookstore but ran out energy. He tells me, I overdid myself not because of the book but because upon exiting the bookstore I joined a march around the block to protest g e n o c i d e. The timing was perfect. I thought it as a sign to join I mention. He laughs while holding his phone almost 6,000 miles away, asserting that I should take care of my human needs and rights especially after my injuries. I laugh again. He is right. I laugh some more but I begin to cry. The book I bought was by bell hooks.

In the preface, she describes how turning away from love in our society “risks moving into a wilderness of spirit” one from which it would be hard to find our way home. Is that what I am witnessing, I think of the picket signs. I think of the lovelessness war connotes.

Have we lost our love of this world?

Are we so afraid and so broken-hearted that we merely theorize about love? But will not stretch our open palms towards it? What does it mean if collectively we cannot conceive of love’s open palm or the love of others to makes us smile at a stranger or cook a dish for friend.  
I like a  falcon in her gyre of words spin in their warning. When suddenly, I hear my brother’s  voice and I am on the ground watching the falcon turn in gyre, his voice soft like when we were kids. I return to his voice, I return to the comfort of sibling love. Each block of joy we have built since children and I cherish the placement of each one.

I think, the world is not too far gone. It is like this. Waking up to the sudden voice of love that will breathe life. Suddenly able to see clearly with awareness where we stand and where our hearts have stood and will stand until the end of time—in love.

I always waited for them to be sure of me
the way a weatherman is sure about the forecast, before I decided to settle in a certain country or city
and perhaps they waited for me to decide to stay before they were sure of me
but what is never asked or addressed never can be transformed

She is a seamstress pulling
strands of words from the ether
into the wooden loom beneath her

Sometimes I press my hand to my chest when this feeling comes and I close my eyes
who is it?
who calls me at this time
sometimes it is my mother or my brother
sometimes my childhood friends
sometimes it feels like an older brown eyed man
each of them different strings
but when I concentrate I can work my way back to the source
I don’t know how but I don’t need to know

I have hugged a three thousand year old redwood tree and asked it to remember me
someday  tree will use marrow, absorb my nitrogen,  my iron that I grew accustomed to seeing in my youth drip red drip
every month clearing my ****** to grow its own leafy children
I will be locked in it’s green splendor
come spring and summer
and fall I will die again as I did before, and in winter I will disappear as I have done before o my to defy death with the help of my ringed friend. We together. A redwood in my heart my heart in a redwood

The thin layer of burned bark sits black
over your hand no more hostile

than a passing thought preparing to exit
for a new one to emerge

from the mind’s entrance

Dear love could you see me with new eyes too
could we clear the slate and I could I love you
as I have always longed to love you
I forgive and I wish to walk down the narrow streets with you

It’s in the small moments you being to steal my heart, scooping it with your hands as if you have known well what it’s like to have an ***** decompose, return to soil, recycled to nourish once again this earth

It’s in the small moments when you play out 1966 salsa albums, Ray Barretto, Robert Roena that homesick in Jamwon-**** near the station in our tiny home, that I the dust begin to rise

that my heart, my being just as immense as all of life, mundane and earthly dances in our small kitchen. how much I love that in your hands you hold me and I don’t sieve through; I get thicker.

It just gets deeper and deeper this
never ending route inward
and there is and less and less  resisting
And I want to laugh with myself in-hand and “say stop just relax. isn’t it nice to just be”:)

Can I wrap words,
clutter them around your hand
and make them press
warm and soft?

Could they be of value for you
like the gems people mine for
or the things they pick to be family heirlooms?

How deep is their deepness and
how far is their reach?

Can they feel Infinite like my existence  and finite like my life ?

Can they build a bed to lay on ?
Fabric, metal springs, foam, cushion, soft, plush, lifted, comfy, useful,
Can it be a good place to rest when it’s been a long
day?

la vida se disuelve
y la calor de ayer persiste
en las temporadas adequadas
y al imaginar tu cara frente a la mia
yo tambien
me quiero disolver
      
          d
                i
                    s
            ­    o
            l
          v
             e
              r

entre esta primavera
con la esperanza que mi coctel de átomos
llegase como postal a tu dirreccion  

en noches como estas el pacto que hizo el alma
con el cuerpo se quiere deshacer
pues me gustaria ser libre
para ir a sostenerte

y preguntarte <<¿Que te pesa?>>  
<<¿Te puedo ayudar a cargarlo?>> 
 y finalmente decirte
con sinceridad que <<por ti no me rindo>>
por ti, en tiempos como estos, me deshago

What can I do if my tongue does not want to stretch. I boil some tea in hopes that it will loosen its tea leaves unfreeze this iceberg of a lengua
I am an ice picker just trying to carve this **** thing but it is stuck and ten Hail Mary don’t warm it up, two miles along the river do little to exercise it; only my feet feel the distance but where in the world is my tongue–daydreaming in my mouth.I drink more tea hoping that it will be jolted awake by the unbearable heat of my pu’er tea like a woman who feel asleep at the sauna reddened not only by embarrassment but by the sheer heat.

Were there a better way to soften your pillow,
I would
like a massive online shopper at the drag of a mouse and at the click of a button I would choose to check that box

At the foot of a mountain, I come to bury the ashes of all my past lives. I come in joy to lay down what sorrows were of old
to empty my heart as if it were a pail of water to be soaked up by the earth below me

to build another mount to honor all the challenges that like rocks struck skin
those difficulties that winded across time and felt like chains
but that were really sections of a map
that were really my healing under a long period of time  
that were a gift worthy of receiving

I come to sing and play and love and be under the moon by the mountains as I commence the burial of all which weighed me down

Mind of mine I brought you some rubber gloves, a bucket and some soap. Mind of mine we must dust and rearrange; I know change is hard but bear with me. We must make it a little nicer since lots of our time is spent here. Mind of mine we cannot quit as we get older we must continue to reach for growth, and yes relax a little more. But right now we gotta clean so put on your rubber gloves it’s time!

Sometimes it pulsates in pain
and I ask “ is death near?“
but then I think when has it
never been near
from the time
my mother birthed me
it’s been looming
over my head
holding hands with my nativity

We went surfing as a team of five
out into the water helping each other know when to catch a wave

we floated over the waves
and we fell often,
I fell often
always just 3 feet from the shore
everyone kept trying
and we cheered for each other each time one of us rode a wave

and every-time the waves were too strong that it knocked one of them over like rag doll
I saw their head emerge again from the water their arms reach for their boards
we failed together many times
but still we stuck together
in their bruises a similar purple to the one in mine

I have no intention of ravaging
through the piles and aisles of consumer goods in my mind

No ravenous hands that will do the hunting
deed and feed a primal thirst of mine, aching
to satiate a beast from an old fairly tale

Long, long ago is over. Long long ago in a faraway place
is no longer here and now, there are no beasts
except the ones I indulge and tonight- the room is empty

No high wall outside my window
just a half moon of solitude
and its ray of acceptance shinning through

How magical is life that I still want to open my palms
breathe the dust, pollen,  

and carry flowers from the fields
to my gentle resting place
How magical that we suffer
but that woe is never us

And there
and here
I transform
what you give me
all the splinters
****** to open
a small surface protruding
into my life
but with intention
find it laying over a flower
Over the smile of a stranger

I need good soil; no one can do things alone. How strong you are, how bright your light remains depends a lot on the richness of the soil that nourishes you. The less nutrients in it the more you have to compost the more minerals you must add every so often to your life just to get by. And now your adding more and more –without fixing the root of the problem: you need good dirt. Yes gratitude is a fertilizer and does great things  but you need to plant yourself somewhere divine & loving.

I know I am a distant breeze. And though I wish to come close to you I think I am better off far trying to build a loving life
where I no longer run after you
no longer run after what does not want me

I know I am distant scent
And although I wish to reconcile
and laugh with you
I think I am better off trying to mend myself and build more staircases to my other dreams
where I can find my joy in being of service to others
where I do not run after anything
but instead wander into the right rooms
and truly find that which appreciates me
for being what I am

I know I am just on this earth for as long as this body lasts
And although I wish I could travel the world non stop to see myself in all others
for now I am better off appreciating the small womyn who stares back at me from the bathroom mirror
she too is sacred

It is raining outside but close to me
it is dry and warm; monsoon
season rests in my chest
rain descends consecutively like each living
second–
one after the other making both, life and rain, seem endless.

the clouds trickle their misunderstood grey-ness into my yogurt bowl sweetening my existence; each droplet a new second held in time so I count: 
 1 - 2 -3 -4 …until I arrive at endlessness, presence and peace)

My mother would always argue with me. “Why can’t you look nice” “here wear this”

I would smile and wear her dresses with black combat boots. My dad would always laugh.

Bickering. We bickered always over that. She would utter “you are a locked combination box
whose combination I cannot find”
then she’d proceed to laugh and let me out the door with my black lace up shoes.

I dreamed I carried you close to death
dying
over my shoulder
and your  breath so weak

I asked you where you like to go
“ to the place we met” you could not speak
“It’s too far, right” I answered my own question then I awoke in pit of sorrow
in a pool of my strength the next step was over the floor into waking life

Then, I knew that I accepted
I would be there when you died
,if you like me to, if I was still alive


I would not promise a life together
the arrogance of such promises
are mythologies of the old world
dying
of old humans wishes to exceed even life itself, control what on lips of heaven
neither angels can affirm

but i knew if you were willing and if you are able
I will join you on that day

You are carrying the frame an old  brick house of pressure determined
to go in your intend direction
your quest to get ahead
in life blinding
you are too busy to stop and really see
all the growing things
still you ride on with your oversized load over the highway

I like to see you smile.
I secretly wish I could keep it in my pocket
like a child wishes to keep light in a jar.

It’s a smile that is covered in joy.
oh, it looks so good on you Brown Eyes.

finally, i understand peace is a price too high to pay. continual compliancy is not a sign of consistency or of love. indifference is more painful than goodbye, and forgiveness is not something many are willing to do just as compassion is a muscle so is letting go so is admitting to seeing the steps you took of your own free will to destroy your own self worth. simple and benevolent the truth will find you scrape at your insides, stick its finger in your wounds
and reveal what still aches

When my mother plays foreigner, I know she is sitting on the carpet playing tracks  pensive or standing by the stereo alone dancing in the living room like I would find her alone and eyes closed. Sometimes drifting into the kitchen for a drink. Which in my mothers case is lemonade or manzanilla tea because she doesn’t “drink”. Today, within the song she picked and shared,  I saw her at the precipice of heartbreak as I have been many times.I saw her palms and her eyes in my own face reflecting off my hand phone’s screen as it auto locked.

poem writing is a slow art
cannot just cultivate
your mind, you must train
your senses,
your eyes, sculpt
a beautiful mind
and become a deep sea diver coming up
for air at just the right speed

the art of poesy is the art of living
with age more profound

Prove someone wrong
chose the person
chose the exact words

prove someone wrong
run into another hamster wheel
until you have proved you are “__”

make “__” your motivation. Add another layer to your persona; keep your ego fresh sautéing those words over it

jump into that wheel
do it, again
and again

and when your finally exhausted
find out that living for someone else is not as powerful
as living for your own being

proving is over. you do not need a hamster
wheel. proving is over. You powerful
when you are fulfilling your own heart. Proving ends and you begin

All thought patterns need to be out in the light. If it makes me uncomfortable I dig in even more, see the thought patterns and give them a name

I talk to folks whose job is helping others navigate life and identify unhealthy ways of thinking and acting
from monasteries in the mountains to therapist over zoom
the classroom extends to the even the people around me
there is a teacher everywhere

much growth is in progress

I am cataloging the thoughts that pull me into a whirlwind of incompassionate self-talk
observing them
carefully watching them in hopes of not repeating old patterns
in hopes of breaking away
in hopes of being more conscious of the way I live
and the way I want to spend this life
my little notebook and I held together by my hope writing down each painful thought we wish we did not have to admit to

To every heart that shivers
let me shiver with you
we along way from the beginning
have the same end

we all suffer
cycle in and out of fortune
can answer to the heaviness
of pain and transform it
(lets us be wise and gentle everytime it  comes)

I am loved and I should soak up the small gestures of kindness by friends and let them marinate. I am loved and able to let unkindness slide off me because it not a reflection of me; other people are my teachers. And no one can take away the love that is  already mine– everything everyone has poured willingly with into my cup. I am loved. I am a bright beautiful being and so are you.

My heart caught on a hook flung out of the water and into the air
did three somersaults before it was hit with an iron cast frying pan
dropping into the current of the River
where there the rays of sun peering through could not offer warmth only show  me the color of blood dispersing from body
in that state, I drowsy
could not recognize myself
from that murk of suffering
yet to know if I would survive

like all things left looming
over the water, I was afraid
that large fish would devour
or anger’s current with its companion wind of bitterness would rest my soul on the side of the riverbank

I miss her

“Who is your favorite Beatles member?”
This was a serious question as she was a self proclaimed Ringo fan, and anything Ringo related  she could get her hands on she did

Some people are just so sure of what they like
of things
of life
that they make you want to questions what you like
They’re like a strong river, and you have to make sure to keep obedient to the nature of your own flow

I remember turning towards her bracing myself to be met with vehement disagreement and saying  “ Harrison”.

“Oh, okay” she said and kept digging around in the crates filled with vinyls

My friend is like water
anything and everything that comes at her
she flows with
She has been like this  since we were 12 years old aways a master of embracing without loosing her core

Today, she wrote to me She is going to try rock climbing

Look at the very edges of yourself

the wall studs that have always been sturdy
from corner stud to corner stud you have been built well               you are made to fit

each end joist, brace and girder right where they must be
you are harmony and beauty just as you are

Look at yourself every edge constructed with purpose       and the space left in
between purposeful, too

my dear tender eyes
the smallest things are the greatest things
disguised by nothing
their beauty standing on its own and like truth
it can only be recognized
so my dear tender eyes take my hand and can you feel we are made of that same tenderness that tilts towards love

It could be the stars could fall on me tonight but I think they’d turn tiny if they touched the earth’s ground
where I would pick them up
and place them in a blue plastic bucket

“When we are trees are we dead?” my niece says
“no, we are trees” my little nephew tells
me over video chat
I smile so deeply that I shatter passed the notions of “ me and tree” and I wish my life as a tree offers as much shade from the harsh sun as I hope my life as a human does until there is no sun, no we and we are one