Your camper van house all the things I'll never need to know againYou invited me into your tiny house and taught me its secrets: The water pump needs to be on to flush the toilet One shower
groceries (what you've left behind)Just last week you walked through my door with Arms full of groceries, filled the fridge with my favorite zucchini, Kombucha, leeks, huge portobello mushrooms (which you claimed Are
sand I send off my grief like sand spilling through my fingers settling like silt at the bottom of a river salty with tears I'm sorry, J for not asking more of your suffering
to my hungry ghost Dear hungry ghost deep within my body Welcome to this new day of existence in this 30th year of life Please come, blinking into the sunshine, for this moment, Sit down beside me
Roasted Sunflowers Post-revisionIn this Japanese Chinese American skin color of roasted sunflowers after a long laze in the sun I breathe on behalf of those not here – My grandfather, whose very hands labored in liquor
basket of water I set down the burden of grief at my feet It becomes the cushion on which I rest Touching the earth with head bowed I am capable of carrying this burden now, Learned
Roasted sunflowers Dear one In the midst of this suffering I give you permission to feel joy Joy for no purpose other than Sinking into the crisp wind ruffling your Exposed hands, the sharp summer
I wanted to complain and go home Arriving at this little white house Through the forest, past the river I’ve come for four days of quiet retreat Knowing I’ll cook for myself I wanted to cook tom kha
fertile ground Pregnant with poetry I stand on this fertile ground waiting, breathing down into my abdomen my breath nourishing that which is growing within me The budding rose grows solid in the open pasture
Melanie's birthday retreat changing like all thingsTo my dearest friends, Each of whom I have invited to Delight in the towering trees Of a mariposa spring Our time together is canceled for now The conditions are
practice critical thinking What does the practice look like if critical thinking is built into the beginning of every dharma talk before the refuges, before the four noble truths What if nothing is noble or right,
fuck the practice Today, throw a tantrum, rage at every Fucking thing you hate Let the axe fall hard into the ground, Fuck you fuck this fuck everything Allow yourself to feel everything. Notice what is
critical thinking [raw] What does the practice look like if critical thinking is built into the beginning of every dharma talk? Is inserted before the four noble truths as the first and most important thing Do
Severing roots Accessing the power in my body swinging the axe, letting the weight of the blade sing in my hands, I am but the metal's vessel The axe slices through perception, the infinitesimal roots
Axe My body sings with power heat, sex, lustful for destruction, taking The axe arcs through the air, from the ground, past my left shoulder, singhing the air with the force of my fire
fireglow Little fireglow bathed in the rainbow light of the sun Welcome to your new home May you be happy and safe here able to plant your roots down firmly and stand up to
if you were to ask again... thoughts on wednesday's resiliency trainingthank you very much for your question, johanna for including your own mind and body experience in the possibility of human experience I recognize it - and you -
Can I share this? the poet is to write without fear to release her words into the wild knowing they are not just hers I do not wish to hoard my truth I want to celebrate and
pointing at the moon Fuck the moon Fuck pointing at the moon I’m tired of looking at things outside myself pretending That they are a way out No, the way out is to Destroy everything Break
belief hey, I am happy to connect but I don't know if there is a bone in my body that can commit to anything outside of showing up I hate the idea of filling
Poet I am a poet The horoscopes already read this fortune but I protested in my unconscious No, give me something more prestigious, more colorful more of service No, god roared This is your
If you were to speak of me again... I have a client, so broken by her own hatred that she emerges glowing in the summer light mind on fire lit by rage Everything she loves is broken. Ambition, pride, hope -
acts of love From Melanie to Joann:today was an act of love, my dear feeling caught in my own dark well of sorrow, angry, processing I carried myself to this little zoom and asked myself
fuck you, demons I am terrified of you, J Terrified that in your company I will be so fucking bored Fall asleep during your stories Have no delight, no joy, no play I am terrified that
10000 words of hatred I wrote 10000 words of hatred, broke everything I love, including practice, my family, you, every person, every thing broke them with hate, broke them so I never wanted to see them again to see myself again