"Long Nights in Monasteries"

April 2013

"I've spent long nights in monasteries."

More than three years, in fact. 

I left the world, 

And became a monk, 

Because I had some things to work out. 

Now listen carefully - It's an 

Art 

Monastery, 

So it doesn't look like you think. 

There's no physical location. 

There's no man saying what you have to do. 

There's no bullshit Order or 

Dogmatic fanfare or just 

One sacred book. 

It's not like that. 

There are no rules, but you can help make them up. 

There is a vision, but it would be nice if you brought some ideas. 

There are no official robes, but I would bring some silly outfits just in case. 

You can visit. You can even join them, 

If you want. In my experience, 

They'll let you in so deeply and 

Love you so much 

You might not be able to come back. 

So be careful what you wish for. 

Be careful of Caterpillars, and 

Careful of dogs, and 

Careful of the Mama. 

Careful, careful, meaning 

Oh so 

Filled with care. 

Because there are other people there too - 

And you're not the only one being affected by this experience. 

What you say matters. 

What you do matters. 

What you think...it's important. 

I bet you have a lot of ideas about what an 

Art 

Monastery 

Could be. 

You should. 

We're counting on you. 

But remember that the people who have built it - 

Those who have already given their lives to it - 

They know too. 

They have LOTS of ideas 

And they've heard lots of ideas - 

And they know exactly what an art monastery is. 

Its so sweet, 

The way they listen to you, 

When deep in their hearts they already know

Exactly what it should feel like and sound like. 

The Art Monastery 

Tastes like tomatoes with salt, and 

Smells like coffee and garlic, and there are so many 

People and animals, and a surprising amount of 

Electronic dance music. 

The music, 

My god, the 

Music. 

There is also more  

Laughter 

Than you could possibly handle. 

And tears, at whatever meal you want. 

Theres usually a weird collection of 

Dogs 

And cats and chickens around. 

There are literally endless round table discussions, about 

Anything you can imagine. 

And there's music everywhere, all the time, and 

People with new ideas, 

Who are just trying and drawing and loving and leaving all over the place. 

They're transformation hosts over there, 

Which means a LOT of crazy, wonderful people come through. 

If you stay long enough, you get to love all of them. 

So when you go - 

Make sure you bring your whole self. 

And don't hold back. 

And jump, when its time, 

No matter how scary it is. 

My god, 

You just have to 

Go 

See the sun 

Rise like that 

Over those mountains. 

And you have to BE in some of those meetings 

Where you believe you actually can change the world.

And you have to FEEL the magnitude and weight of 

Mystery - of knowing that you are part of something 

So much bigger than yourself. 

It's outside your body, 

It's not just up to your one mind - 

We're doing this thing together, 

Don't forget. 

And don't forget to feed the dogs. 

And take the car in right away when the light comes on. 

And think ahead about when we need groceries 

Because if it's Sunday or Tuesday morning or Thursday afternoon 

And we're out of beer, 

We're totally screwed. 

And don't make her go alone to the post office. 

She could, 

But it's harder that way, and 

There's no reason to go alone. 

And make sure you say yes to scrambled eggs, every time. 

Try to say yes to everything. 

Try 

To love

As much as possible

Everything. 

Shit, man. 

What do I know. 

Probably things have changed a little bit over there. 

Best case scenario, really. 

People go on without you. 

I find such profound relief, and
Peace 

In that. 

In learning you don't have to do it all on your own. 

That's one of the things I learned at the monastery. 

In fact, 

That might be the reason I came. 

To know that. 

Cellularly. 

So, look, you'll have to figure it out in your own. 

You'll be fine. 

It's gonna be great. 

It doesn't look like you think it will. 

It didn't look like I thought it might. 

I don't know what I thought,

But in the end,

It's exactly what it's supposed to be. 

And the one thing I know for sure - 

It's the privilege of a lifetime,

To be in the Art Monastery with you. 

I'll always be...

Nowhere with you....

"Purple Mountain Majesty"

or "Dishes & Gratitude 2.0"

Fall 2012

I live by the purple mountains.

Engrossed by the majesty of 

Dead seasons and

Our lives,

I live amidst this wonder.

We love in front of an orange fire,

Having no shame for 

What the fire sees or knows.

I sit here, now, alone,

On this couch that hosts so much 

Business,

In this Space that holds so many

Stories.

Our lives are written on this couch, 

And in these mountains.

I know, so many of us, 

Have secrets we share only with the valley.

I used to pour my heartache into the valley. 

Now, I pour
Wonder, and 

Awe, and

Gratitude.

..........................................................

I wrote a poem, once, 

About heaps of dishes and bottomless gratitude,

And everyone thought it applied.

When I sit on my own,

The world comes to me in verse,

And I try to transmit

Things Everybody Knows.

I think I've never had an original thought,

And everybody knows that.

I try to name what we know, collectively, 

So we can put it in a bin and look at it.

And examine whether we think it's true.

This is my work.

This is my life.

..........................................................

This is my life.

I've never understood that.

I understand less now than ever before. 

The washing machine is going and

My heart is beating and

Twenty minutes ago a Swimming Pool was here and

We call today Tuesday.

Space and Time.

Ok.

Ok, fine. These are the types of things 

You have to accept 

If you're going to keep your human being suit on. 

So I pretend to accept. 

I pretend to get it, and to incorporate, these

Things that everybody knows.

It doesn't make a bit of sense to me, but that's fine. 

You can't understand everything. 

And people pretend things all the time.

So I'll pretend for awhile longer, that I understand 

How light and color work.

I'll pretend with you that we're stuck in these bodies.

It's no problem for me to 

Pretend that electrons exist, and that 

Time is a one way street, and that the 

Bushes won't turn into crocodiles.

I do love this game. 

I love to be here with you.

I love when we all pretend together,

When we put on our important voices and

io parlo italiano and

We try to make miracles happen.

Or even better when we garb ourselves in

Orange jump suits and

Halves of mints and

Try to make an appropriate face.

I love that.

I love living with other people who 

Float in and out of the game(s) with me,

Who have somehow, over the years, 

Become perfect compliments to each other.

He will never clean the bathroom and

I will never chop firewood and

This is what I call

Community. 

We make the daily transition from coffee to beer,

And live somewhere in between our 

Oh so complicated relationship to both.

Hell, babe, you bring the sparkle and I'll bring the love

And let's call it the Art Monastery Project! 

We'll fight about it and LAUGH about it and

Still we cry and still we feel pain and

Still we don't know when to stop. 

Maybe we live here with each other because 

We can't help it.

Turns out - 

We really don't know any better.

Maybe the arteries that lead to our hearts have become 

So entwined over the years that it is 

Physically painful 

To separate. 

Maybe we have to, 

Just to prove we can, and to have the 

Joy of reuniting again.

..........................................................

I know that when I leave this year,

Things will be different. 

Everything will change.

Everybody knows that. 

But they don't know 

How many cups of coffee 

With perfectly frothed milk 

We've had together over the years. 

No one knows why the word 

'Cantaloupe' 

Can send half of us bursting into giggles and 

Make me run away,

Or how many times I wanted to kiss you,

Or why I relax when I see a bird.

These are the real 

Things Nobody Knows;
These are the secrets we agree to keep.

And when we go, 

Go,

The rhythm of our hearts will change. 

I imagine it will adjust, to be not quite so in sync.

I imagine that's inevitable.

But I think there's something about these 

Secrets that are kept somewhere between the

Purple mountain majesty and 

Her soft lips, and all the labbri di Labro. 

Somewhere between these

Stories told 'round the orange fire and 

Hidden in the winks of poems - 

There is a wonder that will not die.

There is a spell that won't be broken. 

There is a dream that we live and we keep.

And everybody knows:

Endings aren't real.

(The end.)

It's been almost 6 months now, and I never really feel like this poem is finished, so I'll publish now, anyway, in memoriam. In honor of the feast day of Saint Anthony on June 13, patron saint of lost things & pets....preghiamo.

"For my San Antonio"

January 2011

The loneliest thing that could happen to you is to lose your puppy dog.

That, and your own death, I suppose.

I suppose it's necessary.

I suppose it's supposed to feel like this.

But this is scary, and dark, and the 

Isolation seems to swallow me from all angles.

It seems to me Grief is like this.

I want to tell you a story - 

I'm 7 years old, 

And I'm crying on the back patio 

About being misunderstood 

And I can only tell Pandora who won't laugh or disappear. 

But Pandora's dead and gone, 

And I get a new puppy dog to replace, 

Now, almost 20 years later.

And it's been a long time with bottled up secrets, lies, feelings, love, 

Wishes, dreams, hopes, fears, 

And no puppy dog worth confiding to in sight. 

It's called Healing because it's like this. 

Slow. Painful. Patching & Re-bleeding.

Building up protective tissue only to have it torn away in a single swoop.

Starting over from scratch sometimes.

Remembering not to pick at the same wound, but 

Failing, and then 

Waiting, 

Patiently, 

For the Healing to begin again tomorrow.

And now it's like this: 

I still feel the wind and the warmth, and can see the

Sunlight 

Through the trees 

As it makes dancing shadows & silhouettes.

The puppy dog runs through fields of mint and sage, 

Rushing uncontrollably through fresh breath & knowledge,

Until he comes so close you can whisper secrets in his ear.

And he's so happy and pure...How could you tell him it's like this?

I've told him about the fall;

I used to teach him about the winter.

I mentioned once that things die, that for now the plants are hiding ---- 

I told him that even though it doesn't look like it, 

Life will return.

Spring will come.

There's no reason to be afraid.

------------------------------------

And the crows seem to know.

And the weepy trees in Oregon seem to know. 

And the other dogs seem to know.

(I know it's silly - but won't you let me believe it for just a little while?)

I swear, they stare at me

With their Loving, Innocent eyes,

And it's as if Tony's staring right into my soul again.

It's like there's only one Dog Spirit, 

And Doggy Life emanates from and 

Returns to that One Source.

I supppose Life is like this. 

And I finally understand what it means to look around the room at 

"Other Yourselves." 

It means you have to jump from your own 

Lonely perspective, and imagine 

What the world would look like to you if you had been handed

That set of circumstances.

Or if you had grown up with 

That mother,

That mustache.

If the Source had manifested you as a 

Little more insecure or a 

Little less judgemental, or with

That set of fears, or

Those sisters, or

That tail, or

Those particular beliefs.

Or if you had grown up 

In Indiana, for God's sake.

Or if you always had to look out at the world from over that mustache.

It can't be easy.

Or how difficult it would be if you always saw everything, watched everyone, 

Knew everything. 

Or thought you did. 

That wouldn't be easy either.

Owned that quirk, Used this quip, Met this sweetheart, Believed that myth. 

You can begin to see how the same world could look so very different.

If you had never seen it all before.

You begin to really, really understand what the world might look like 

If you were 

That Man

A Man,

A Healer,

A Doctor,

A Dog.

And it's the Same, the Same

All perfect & incompete manifestations of the Whole.

And Great Compassion for those other journeys ----

None of the paths are easy.

And Compassion for your own,

As you realize you are just

An Example. 

An also imperfect, complete version 

Of Something

Part of a Matrix

a Leaf on the Tree,

as Unique and Identical as all the other leaves.

And so you have to wonder ----

How can it be possible to Be This Lonely 

Around so many other Leaves.

But it is.

It is like this:

It's like fumbling around in the dark with a cord, 

Searching desperately for the plug in the wall.

You know, as soon as you find it, as soon as you can 

Connect,

Plug in,

It will all be over.

The darkness will seem so silly,

Be just a memory, a shadow.

But until you connect it all, 

Until you can get back to the Source, it's all

Dark dark

Scary scary

Fumbling

Awkward

Desperate

Like falling

In a black hole

Downward Spiral

There is no light

There will never be light again

What if the plug doesn't work or the cord gets tangled or 

You for whatever reason are incapable of making the connection?

And it's Scary.

And it's Real.

And there are flickers and candles of Hope

But you have to look carefully, 

Pay Attention.

Or you'll lose them

You'll lose it all.

Your whole grip

Everything, all over again, from the beginning. Begin again. 

And again, and again, and again and again and again......

------------------

Do butterflies ever feel grief?

They come and go so quickly, 

I imagine it must be impossible to get a sense of

Missed Opportunities

Lost Dreams

Vanquished Friends

Possibilities that will never come to be realized

When you live as short as a butterfly.

And it's very hard to be one of the animals on the planet who outlives so many other animals. 

Maybe I will have many dogs.

Maybe I will know Love many times.

But they say it's never like the first.

How can a dog make you a better human being?

I don't know - but it does.

To love a dog,

To see the world through his eyes,

With all the fear and wonder 

And curiosity and First-time-ness of it all.....

I tried to give him a sense of the big picture of it all.

To help him out, more than I could for a butterfly. 

Wishing someone bigger than me would explain it all to me, in the same way.

That sometimes life is like this.

That the pain comes and goes, that

Life comes and goes,

That dogs come and go.

Pandora will never meet Tony and 

I will never meet my great-great-grandmother or great-great-grandson 

And I suppose that's all Ok.

I suppose the point is 

Life continues.

In some form.

Any form.

The butterflies don't have to meet each other because 

The spirit of the butterfly continues.

I guess.

I don't know really, 

Honestly I'm just trying to work something out.

Some desperate rationalization to make it all Ok.

---------------------------------

But if I could have ben there ----

If I could have been by that cold metal table, with all the 

Incomprehensible doctors and 

Helpless machines all around ---

I would have whispered these words of comfort to Tony.

Wishing someone would whisper them to me.

Will you whisper them to me now?

Please, let me pretend, let me believe, just for a little while?

Repeat after me.

"My love,

Sometimes life is like this.

And it's going to be ok.

And you can go home now to that 

Big mint field in the sky.

And I'll meet you there.

I'm so lucky to have known you at all."

E ci vediamo presto presto, sì sì tesoro mio?

Lo so, che pazzo...

Ma la vita, lei è come questa. 

Non preoccupato.

Non impaurito.

Ti amo ti amo ti amo, per sempre.

Good-bye.