This summer has been a wild journey. I’m exhausted – but mostly in a good way.
I’m assessing my life, love, career, home, and the next moves forward. I guess it’s natural this time of year. Life feels like it’s reflecting the season in transition. In Flagstaff the days are perfect right now, but they are getting shorter. The lobster mushrooms were bursting from beneath pine needles and stones on the sides of the trails I was riding this afternoon. (I ate some sauteed in butter today – delicious!) Fall is coming.
This week, High Mesa Yoga starts up. Tuesday and Thursday evenings are going to be full-on with yogic energy. I’m preparing the space. Smudging. Bringing in more good vibes. It’s a shift from using all available light to ride up the mountain. Turning-inward energy.
While going through my things, I found this poem. I wrote it in 2005 while living in New York City. I made a couple of edits. It’s a play off of a poem by John Ashbury.
He smelled good to me, so I wanted to taste,
put him in my mouth,
while light softly glowed through green curtains
then, his moss eyes. He didn’t know what I was thinking.
It was Sunday, so time was short.
Soon I would be thinking about Monday
and my lousy job.
I played lotto and lost again.
If I had money, I’d own my own parking spot,
a driveway. I didn’t think I could be so selfish
but I really like space.
I could just leave the city and look at the sky.
I could ride a red bicycle with recycled
plastic ribbons on the handlebars
and not think of people as I watch
treetops and clouds cutting through blue.
If I turned up at your door with a long
but true story
would you invite me in —
or would you notice I’d lost my childhood fat,
like our friendship, and block the threshold
thinking you know all about
my skin and bones?
I have my bike today, and a place to park it!