more like mirrors

you just want it to go away,

like the song from your childhood...

come again another day.

but the rain rarely listens to your song

and neither does grief.

the important stuff knows when it's needed--

whether you like it, or not.

the clouds know when it's time to unleash,

your body knows when a monsoon's in order,

the earth knows when it can't withhold the crack.

we are not ones to fight nature,

to think we know what's best and when.

we are more like ants

than we've yet to embrace,

dancing perfect synchronicity without

as much as a word,

being stepped on without

as much as a chance

to escape.

ants being ants being ants.

we are more like freedom.

you just want it to go away,

the idea of war or domination

or greed or separation.

a translucent desperation

staring you in the face.

name the pain, the pang it leaves.

the important stuff knows when it's needed--

we can become more like mirrors than

organized shelves.

we can become more like ants

meandering our mazes,
making new ones,
holding three times our weight,

singing in silence,

letting loss be loss be loss.

the important stuff knows when it's needed--

like it, or not.

Here. Now. Happy.

I spent this morning with my two best friends. Judy laid on her bed as we held up her clothes one by one. "Yes." "No." "Ummm, nah." We tossed the future into different piles, letting keepers tell the story of who we're becoming: a tall tree grounded to the beauty of existence; slender power revolving into an indistinguishable knowing; puddling eyes drizzled with sunlit freedom.

Bri & I are down to two weeks until departure for our grand bicycle adventure. My dresser was sold for $20 on Craig's List and the little clothing I kept is resting on Brian's recently cleared bookshelf. In boxes by the door, my art supplies wait their turn. New seeds are being born under florescent lights on the stove. There's a clearing here. There's room for new life.

I pick up my ukulele and play the song that Jodi and I wrote about the comfy red couch, about the coffee from the local shop, about choosing to be together. I walk barefoot through the front yard garden, watching the wine glass path glisten in the sun. I breathe in pollen and car exhaust and sky blue spring time and songs sung by birds.

I read my twitter feed and give all the attention in my bones to the truth of what's happening in the world. I look up and give all the attention in my bones to the truth of what's happening in this room. I pick up my new iPhone and smile at pictures of a long-held dream made manifest; the movements spreading with fiery force.

This is where the stories meet, I think.
This is where everything exists together.
This is where I get down on my knees and kiss the earth and choke up in gratitude and silently scream with my tears.
This is where I am.
Exactly where I want to be.

My Friends, The Feisty Ones

I've been tutoring high schoolers in the District for the past few months, and I'm having a frickin' blast. 3:30pm rolls around and I've got a clan of students, all smiles and jokes, gathering at my table, pulling out their homework, slipping in sly remarks like, "Where your pigtails at, Miss Rachael?" Or "Did you miss me, Miss Rachael? I know it must be hard those other 22 hours of the day you not with me, Miss Rachael."  I smile and tell them, "It's true. You're the highlight of my day." And I'm not lying when I say it.

Where I work, students can receive after school tutoring in a number of places: their teacher's classroom, study hall, or detention.

I prefer detention.

Why? Because that's where the feisty students are. And I love feisty. 

feisty
–adjective

1. full of animation, energy, or courage; spirited; spunky; plucky.

2. ill-tempered; pugnacious.

3. troublesome; difficult.
 
To me, feisty reads powerful. For better or for worse. Here... let me paint it out...

Feisty + Confusion = A number of Tragic Situations (Bullying, Fear, Disrespect, Attention-Craving)

However...

Feisty + Self-Development = A Chain of Hallelujahs! (Integrity, Vision, Passion, Confidence)

I think we can all agree that when you're working with feisty, self-development is especially essential. Likely even more than academic development because of the need for deeper focus and heart-felt intention to inform priorities and passions--to point that feisty power in the direction of love and more love.

I must admit, I love my feisty friends because I can relate to them (call me Miss Feisty Rachael). Every day I feel like I am on a self-developmental path right along side my students, and I do my best to let them know it, to show them the ways we're not so different after all.

I come clean to them about my fears every day. And every time I let them in on one of mine--"I'm terrified about riding my bike across country."--they let me in on one of theirs--"I'm afraid I'll always suck at reading."

We move on quickly passed our fears. We get into the assignment at hand. We take our time with it, reading each word slowly, sounding things out little by little, piecing sentences together until they finally make sense.

They ask me, "Where's your bike today?" I tell them, "I wasn't feeling brave enough." They tell me, "That's okay. Tomorrow's another day." I tell them, "For us both. Thank god!"

Together, as if we were long-time friends, we check in on each other's hearts, each other's progress, with laughs and jokes a-plenty. With vulnerability, and all. It's sweet, to say the least. And I'm beyond grateful for the lightness and connection that follows coming clean together.

~~~

I'm thinking about my young friends today, curious about what questions might continue to offer a path toward lightness, integrity, and confidence. I've got a handful jotted down, but I'd like to know from you, what questions you wish someone had asked you in high school? The comments are open for your hindsight & wisdom. And I'm thankful in advance.

conversations with abraham

 
i have a tendency for falling in love with people everywhere i go. it's a condition i simply cannot shake. yesterday at the big bear cafe, abraham was no exception.

we were sitting catty-cornered at the common table that was long with deep grooves from many years of use, many mugs and plates clanking down on it.

i was drawing and he was typing. peering over his laptop with a slight grin on his face and love in his eyes, he asked me, what are you making?
--sorry, what did you say? with his soft voice and east african accent, it was hard to make out his words.
what are you making, love? it's beautiful.
--oh, thank you. a flier.
ahh... what is it for?
--an arts festival.
oh, you're an artist, yes? i nodded... what kind of art do yo do?
--writing and painting, mostly.
his brow perched up. i'm a writer, too. what do you write about?
--umm... being human, i suppose. you know... fear, trust, love. my nerves must have shown through the confidence i projected. but something in me knew that neither nerves nor confidence were important here. what about you?
he paused. yes yes... ego is the sneakiest of human struggles, he said finally, stroking his beautiful white beard in a quiet and thoughtful way. you never really rid yourself of it. you just learn how to control it. and fear is at the center of everything. i write about these things, too.

i put my pen down, took off my reading glasses, and smiled. hello, love, i thought, let us begin.

our conversation stretched on for hours with velocity and ease. at times when abraham went into longer stories i let my mind quiet and watched the widening and narrowing of his glossy eyes--the space between his barrier-breaking smile and curious furrowed brow.

i've learned through practice to let go of individualizing myself and others... to become part of the universe.

do you still have fear? i asked.

yes, but my fear does not haunt me. from the center of his chest out toward his sides, he motioned with his hands, shaking out the space, patting down the air. this was his letting go, his shaking free. i love to dance, he told me. too much, sometimes.

i knew this was true beyond words, without ever seeing it happen. dancing is freedom, and abraham seemed to know both.

there are two paths you can choose: the average path or the spiritual path. choosing the spiritual path does not land you at the ending like *that*. it takes you on a journey. he leaned back smiling, tilting his head to almost touch his shoulder, as if he saw me straighter that way. i never know where it's taking me. but i'm glad to be on it.

i understand that intellectually, i told him, followed by an exhale of honesty, but i'm still very afraid in my heart. 

ah, you are young. you have many experiences waiting for you and much exploration to do. the universe will teach you many things. many lessons about impermanence and loss. my acceptance of impermanence has liberated me from fear for the most part. but like they say, if you're not an idealistic marxist in your twenties then something's wrong with you. this idealism makes it hard to accept loss. you have many experiences waiting for you. you will live to explore many ideas and truths. but right now, this is enough.

yes, abraham, i thought, right now--this is more than enough.