Everything still

1)dark of morning
2)drive into mountains
3)white sky
4)summit, two plows
5)snow
6)wind in the chimney
7)the park city weather like my emotions
8)snowing, then not, then snowing

Surreal

-Used adult magazines! What the?

-laying on a hospital bed, alien organs on the screen. My beating heart a small mouth opening, closing.

-watching the fighter, feeling we know those people, those voices (oh Massachusetts, you are in my blood)

-driving to park city over the weekend-forgetting the sundance craziness. Strolling downtown, feeling as though transported to manhattan. The young and thin dressed to the nines. Heels and fur coats and spaghetti straps stalking the streets, the Indian jewelry shops. Celebrities closing down bars, restaurants.

-taking successive chairlifts up to 11,000 feet. Endless mountain ranges spread before me. Riding the pristine mineral basin bowl under purpleblue sky. The powder spray.

Wholly

i leave home in the dark of morning, drive into the mountains, silhouetted black against blue. by the time I reach park city, the sky is white, snow melt. along 224, the field of clouds--a milk lake. but oh, the return of headaches. sufjan stevens, laundry, sweet potato hummus and homemade pita in between. a baby, a dog, asleep at my feet in the sun. making small dolphin noises. shadows of aspen leaves dance across a face. the gray bustle of baltimore has been replaced by wide blue skies in my heart. not like the way the baby's eyes fall shut half heartedly--but wholly.

Yay For Summer Food!

as a kid, at the beach with my parents. a long flat expanse of quiet. eating dripping plums, nectarines, cherries.

And yay for Farmer's Markets! Cherokee, Mortgage Lifter and Japanese Black Heirloom Tomatoes, tiny native plums...

fresh corn, gazpacho and salad for lunch on the porch with peach sun tea!

They Came, They Saw, They Conquered aka This is the Place/Part 1

cities were walked upon, heads were dipped in waterfalls by pixies doing god-knows-what, last minute lavender was picked from sidewalks, white mulberries and green grapes were munched, apricots were "borrowed," plums were gazed upon, trees were climbed in, hidden lakes were found, fields of flowers were sat in, other friends were missed, breaths were caught, mountains were meditated in, mormonism was explored, park city's mexican restaurant was disdained, practices were practiced (unlike at retreat, here one can do their bodhisattva vow with one's fellow retreatants in one's bathrobe), hats were worn (by some), sunburns were gotten, books were read, ds's were played, laughs were laughed, coffees were drunk, noses were covered

I Unfold

suddenly the cuckoo
chatral rinpoche's coconut
the rigor mortis cat in the gutter
the barefoot street boys huffing glue? from bags
crazed wobbling on the sidewalk
the small goats on the roof
they spooned mindrup into our hands

Bits and Pieces

The ceaselessnes of change within my mind. Billions of fake flowers. Like the way I don't notice until a droplet of sweat has already formed. A leper standing on his stubbed legs like a little deer with hooves. Waiting for Keith. Always waiting for Keith these days...Our underwear and socks hanging in the window. Watermelon juice from the new cafe above Beena. American Idol and Heroes at night! Crazy Indian music videos--one stangely compelling. Keith shuffling around in his sandals. The miday sun beating down on our heads--stalking each slab of shade. The hotel worker monks always watching TV. The garbage man monk driving around in the tractor. Bodhisattva fruit. Two small dogs running around the Migyur Dorje stupa. The Chinese ani sweeping all the beggar spots near the main gate at five in the morning with her short twig broom. The Hong Kong ngangma and one monk doing full prostration khorwa around Zangdopalri...Eating tiny ants. I hadn't realized they were crawling all over my cashews. Keith's prickly heat rash. The string of jasmine above the mirror--my sticky under chin. The always melty chocolate.

There's

Holiness' sister doing khorwa around Zangdopalri every night--looking amazingly like Holiness.
Touching leper hands. The salt of his body.

I Never Would Have Believed

I'd still feel this way. Something happened last year--and all due to the blessings of His Holiness Penor Rinpoche...For example, to be honest, I usually cringe and avert my eyes when passing by the old stub-handed beggar who cries, "Ma, Ma," stretching his arm towards me. But this morning he was wearing a winter cap with his shorts as it was early and still cool. When he saw me, he cocked his little head to the side, red inner eyelids showing and crossed one little arm over the other gentlemanly. Suddenly, he was so sweet to me. Cute, even. For me, for this mind of mine with such impure view--it was a tiny bit of progress--albeit fleeting. And somehow, I still don't notice the trash. Or if I do, it doesn't bother me. The horns no longer grate on my ears. So strange. And here in the internet cafe, Holiness' mantras play...
Oh all you dear friends of mine, I wish you were here. Ed and Meredith, you have to come next year!!! And you too Minh and Noelle. And Dizzy. And you too homebody Drew! Well, at least Keith and I are meeting Dizzy in Nepal in a few weeks--the three of us will be missing you guys as we visit Guru Rinpoche caves and visit as many lamas as Keith can think of...Speaking of Keith, I think a tiny bit of bragging is in order! He's doing the tsa-lung retreat with the monks here and as he says, "Representing Holiness' American students..." Needless to say they are impressed! The first day, our friend Gaywa Sangpo asked Keith if everyone in class laughed at him. "Laughed? No--I led the class!" Keith replied...But for some reason, the monks can't seem to wrap their heads around the fact that Keith knows tsa-lung and can do it--asking again and again where he learned and who his tsawai lama is! Oh, and Noelle--I see Pema all the time--I'll tell him you two say hi--I've decided he's the Tibetan (or is he Nepali?) version of Minh...He'll be a Lopon in a few days now... Also, I am staying away from the curd although it is calling to me, and today I did walk a bit on the wild side at the new juice bar above Beena...But I'll try and reign it in! Hope all of you are well! Love Jenn (and a very bruised and sore Keith) PS We're taking lots of short little videos and hopefully can post some when we get to Thailand...

I Hear Them

The deer thunder through the forest. I hear them blowing air through their noses--hidden behind the bushes. The doe chomps field grass, cocks her head to listen, and prances before Drew and I (he atop a haybale).

Leaves Flutter

into the clear pool at Yangleshod (feeling like fall) as a young man takes a bath in his underwear, repeatedly dunking into the freezing water, then washes his socks with a bar of soap on the step; the cave "priest"--still in street clothes (before having changed into his thin white lungi), vigourously finger-brushes his teeth; a woman throws huge handfuls of what looks like mud, but must be fish food, in to the koi; and the ngakpa K and I saw sitting in the field the other day, takes his small bird off his shoulder and dips it in the water before putting it back in place and climbing the stairs to Chatrul Rinpoche's gonpa. Every few steps the bird falls. He repeatedly picks it up and puts it back.

Difficult

Difficult: like how hard it is for a tiny boy to fit his fingers into his fingerless gloves (Bekas)--inside out and too many fingers in one hole and where does that thumb go? Snot snailing from his nose into his mouth--sighing when I do--not chanting, "Papa Dina" "Papa Dina" (Give me sweets. Give me sweets.) like the other children. Both of us a little sad--sitting in silence--alternately staring into my eyes and then out through the railing. His long wet lashes.

Now

Here in Kangding, I have no idea what day it is. I'm at the Tibetan restaurant downstairs from the hotel. Drinking Lhasa sweet tea from a tall clear glass while Tibetan music plays noisily. It's cold. I'm warming my hand on the glass. I have a headache. Outside the street is bustling with honking cars. I'm waiting for my breakfast of scrambled eggs with tomato and tibetan bread with yak butter.
In Kangding, street vendors sell potato slices on skewers roasted in hot oil. Girls have unbelievably long pony tails. The Tibetan waitresses sing while working. The streetlights have mantras on them--prayers glowing in the dark. There are Chinese shops of jewelry and tea bowls. Malas and rugs. A whole shop of bizarre plastic curtains--all hanging throughout the store so you have to walk through as in a maze. Tea shops full of smoking men in suitcoats. A whole shop of stuffed, standing Tibetan antelop wearing yellow khataks.

Sticks Crackle Black in the Night

Small animals scurry around the tent. Sweet purple milkweed vibrates bee buzz (as Keith and I sit amongst it). And the spiders and the ants, flies and mosquitoes, inch worms and moths. And the snails softly moving over leaves as in dance--heads slowly swaying. Mornings of fog.

Here, The Nights Are Cool

Awakening to the chatter of birds; woodpeckers pecking; an old Tibetan man chanting mantras, ringing a bell--here in the forest. Here in the mandala of His Holiness Penor RInpoche. Where brown rabbits hop, rainbow flags flutter, and tsong smoke wafts. Where I'm exhausted by people and talking at meals and retreat to the quiet of my tent on breaks. Where Keith reads and I write or nap. Here, my friends Min and Noelle offer drinks of gingerale and lime juice in their dorm room, Vietnamese sweets--as they tell me how they mix cayenne pepper into chocolate ice cream cause it's good for stomachs and lowering cholesterol. Here, small children sleep on red cushions in the temple, chase white bunnies and each other in the field. Yellow butterflies dart amidst milkweed. And still, anger flares.

Odds and Ends

She pulled chunks of stained glass from the ocean (in my dream). His body flowing down the page. Gramp's old rotary phone on the wall by the cuckoo clock. That day held me prisoner. A ripening headache. An old tree covered in glitter. And tired. And how can I stand it? How can any of us? Everything under wraps--nothing decoded. Oh to run in the snow and be free and open. Grains of rice swell. Water droplets drip. I imagine my word swirl around you, the distance it brings. His burns will heal, but when did I stop looking at trees? This is the year 2134? Slip of thigh. The leaf of days. He showed me a picture of her when she was young. He'd had it in his wallet 65 years. We sat on brown swivel stools, arms leaning on yellow formica. (You are) an artichoke's sweet aftertaste. Want to preserve my thoughts like a bug in amber--the irony. At the sink, sun reflects off the blade of a knife.

Lines from 2003

Beginings of two poems:

I’d Stand With my Hip Out Trying to be Sexy, When I Was a Girl.

a teenage ballerina with a joint in a tutu. small pebbles in a soap dish. raspberry pie. spinning circles in the kitchen. fireworks like poprocks burst in the sky while the last drips of my blood dry. in my dream we’re sharing blackberries. sunbeam, moonbeam, marmalade. butter on burns. tea and toast. watermelon toenails. a thin film.

did she have freckles between her breasts? fingernails stained carrot? lollipop colored clothes? and the strawberry moon has already passed.

Friday, Saturday, Sunday

If I take out the headaches and the stress and the homework and the tears, I’m left with:
a trapped mouse
milky chai
a walk along the harbor boardwalk, in the sun, from canton to fells point
a sushi lunch special with keith and anthony
warm chocolate chip cookies
a trip to a tiny neighborhood Mexican restaurant where it was still Christmas and the jukebox played mariachi
an episode of lost where I’m left wondering once again
11 hrs of sleep
a saturday morning episode of my so called life where angela breaks up with jordan catalano because he wants her to have sex with him…
mary’s beautiful prose
another sunny walk to the grocery store with K
new grass poking through sidewalk cracks
tiny tiny buds on trees
the green of flower stems rising through dirt
tangy blood orange in a bowl
fresh brewed sweet mint tea
banana flapjacks
sun and blue sky