Six Short Words 8 April 2008

While too woo-woo (?) for official inspection, I spied these winning words on a resume today:

“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.” – Emily Dickinson

I’m a big fan of hope & calling a crumb a crumb so couldn’t resist its charms. In an ironic twist, I’m posting a poem rather than heading off to workshop my own stuff tonight. I feel called, instead, to mind my memoir again.

On this, the eve of my 4-year-cancer-diagnosis-day anniversary, I feel closer to knowing what I want to say. Here are six words I sent to SMITH to start me on my way:

“Here to wake up the world.”

I’m All About the Energy 4 March 2008

As one with her own Enlightened Inner-Eminem, I’d like to introduce you to my new inspiration, Energy. He’s a conscious rhymer, easy on both the ears & the eyes:

I love seeing someone going with the flow, letting what’s in come out oh-so-authentically. Check out Energy’s new album, “Weary Traveler” & here’s to unleashing the artist in us all!

Living Aloud 23 February 2008

After reading to my writing group last week, I got the message I most needed to hear: human hearts yearn for more than just sweet sounds. This one woke us all up so have a little listen & I hope you dig it too.

farewell.mp3

Farewell

I came to break up with my doctor, two years to the day since we met. My friends got houses, married, pregnant. I got cancer. Kicking its ass took nine months from my life. And convinced me to live it. Surgeons scooped lymph nodes like seeds from under my arm, taking my cancer away. I show the doctor the swollen hand souvenir they left behind. She suggests physical therapy, says, “Sometimes these signs shake us up, remind us to keep dreams alive.” I announce I’m moving to New York, to ride passion, write real and banter with beautiful boys. To bask in bustle, soar in stale subway air and evolve ever more. To find. The life. I want. I say I’m going in May, spring forward, hope not to fall back. She hands me a new oncologist’s name. “See him in six months,” she says, “Make sure you see him in six months.” Flat fingers circle my breasts, one slightly smaller than the other now. I breathe shallow, insides screaming “no lumps, no lumps, don’t find any fucking lumps.” She doesn’t. And I get dressed, one more hurdle cleared for take-off. I hug the doctor and wonder what it’ll be like to not know her. The doctor tells me to send a post-card then heads away. I call after her. “You want me to use your real name or an alias in my book?” Dr. Ellis turns, grins again, and says, “Oh, use my real name.”

Promised Land 7 January 2008

My fabulous friend, Susan, visited the city this holiday season. Making much merry, a wonderful (& occasionally inebriated) time was had by all. Here we are sporting our swanky stuff, one of those aforementioned evenings.

Upon return to her Southern-California-cul-de-sac-serenity, Susan wrote, “The trip to NYC was great. I’ve decided it is a really nice city to visit, but after 7 days, I was ready to leave. Too many people in too little space….not quite my cup of tea!”

The claustrophobic shelving she finds hard here, is like the lost, lonely emptiness embodied in strip-mall central to me. But, as Susan says so wisely, each to her own. The beauty lies in there being a right spot for each of us; we just have to hear our heart loud enough to listen & follow its lead.

I toured New York as a kid & pronounced I’d make it my home someday. Lost along the way, I took a long time to get here. But here I shall stay.

I smiled as I strolled home tonight,

admired another Christmas-tree-graveyard

and snapped this shot. I know they go

in other cities, too. But piled high,

in New York,

it’s all art to me.

May you find your promised land & live there!

Pause for a Poem 21 November 2007

When it’s over, I want to say: All my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

-Mary Oliver

Me too, Mary, me too!

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs 9 October 2007

As I’m learning in my latest educational exploration, 4Ts, all the good I need is lined up, ready & waiting for me to feel worthy of it being broughten. I know, I know, this is not the easiest pill to swallow for most of us, as who wants to think it’s their “fault” for being poor of spirit, spending money or, God forbid, sex? Not me! But since I’ve sheriously started shifting my shit around, business is booming in all the bureaus.

Ironically, yesterday, the day I headed out to 4Ts at Unity, everyone (on the Internet anyway) seemed in agreement. Here’s what I got, in back to back email updates:

 

• From the Universe via Tut.com

Actually, Jennifer, it’s not that you want stuff that you don’t have, but that you want stuff that you think you don’t have. And the best way to change this is to begin thinking that you have it.

“Oh, there’s my electric, fully loaded, 2008 Habitron cloud maker!!” – The Universe

&

• From my friends at DailyOm

October 8, 2007
Purposeful Prosperity
Pisces Daily Horoscope - You may find you excel at everything you do today, whether your day’s tasks involve professional responsibilities or domestic duties. Consequently, you will likely feel quite prosperous as well as sure of yourself where your abilities are concerned. Capitalizing on these pleasurable feelings may involve channeling them into self-trust so that you can further your efforts without doubting your capacity to handle the changes that take place as a result. Your purpose will no doubt be as clear to you today as it has ever been, but your potential may be heightened by your willingness to see yourself as someone who is destined for success.

When we view our growing prosperity as a sign that we are on the right track, we can continue forward confident that we are doing all we can to realize the purpose designated for us long before our birth. Many people have learned to doubt themselves so severely that they find it nearly impossible to break the cycle of uncertainty, even when their lives are unfolding in a positive and fulfilling fashion. It is important that we allow ourselves to draw encouragement from our successes, as it is these that will contribute greatly to our level of confidence and drive. We tend to be far more enthusiastic where our prospects are concerned when we believe that we are capable of achieving great feats of strength, intelligence, and endurance. The fact that you are excelling at work and at home today should be seen as a sign that you are making the right choices.

The 4Ts may not be for everyone – as it’s a pretty potent program for prosperity – but this Pixie’s ready to move on up. Watch out, George & Weezie, cuz I’m making it look easy!

Here’s a poem I shared last night that popped out in my magical Mexican shower stall:

 

I AM PROSPEROUS

I am prosperous.

I am prosperous.

I am prosperous, got blessings galore,

Got all kinds of good showing up at my door.

Thanks to Stretton and Britt, my mind’s not the same,

No more playing that tired “poor old me” game.

There’s fortune and fame and love all around,

I’m up to go get the bounty I’ve found.

God in me guides my soul to the love,

My coat of new consciousness fits like a glove.

This Pixie is prosperous, published and free,

Do you see all this substance coming to be?

I’ve prayed and I’ve prayed with all of my breath.

With pleasure I measure my treasure, chest

held high to the sky.

Caterpillar no more,

I’ve learned how to fly.

 

 

Say it with me people, “I AM PROSPEROUS” & so you are!

 

Farewell 29 July 2007

Something told me to post this poem today, another extraordinary one spent loving my NYC life…

I came to break up with my doctor, two years to the day since we met. My friends got houses, married, pregnant. I got cancer. Kicking its ass took nine months from my life. And convinced me to live it. Surgeons scooped lymph nodes like seeds from under my arm, taking my cancer away. I show the doctor the swollen hand souvenir they left behind. She suggests physical therapy, says, “Sometimes these signs shake us up, remind us to keep dreams alive.” I announce I’m moving to New York, to ride passion, write real and banter with beautiful boys. To bask in bustle, soar in stale subway air and evolve ever more. To find. The life. I want. I say I’m going in May, spring forward, hope not to fall back. She hands me a new oncologist’s name. “See him in six months,” she says, “Make sure you see him in six months.” Flat fingers circle my breasts, one slightly smaller than the other now. I breathe shallow, insides screaming “no lumps, no lumps, don’t find any fucking lumps.” She doesn’t. And I get dressed, one more hurdle cleared for take-off. I hug the doctor and wonder what it’ll be like to not know her. The doctor tells me to send a post-card then heads away. I call after her. “You want me to use your real name or an alias in my book?” Dr. Ellis turns, grins again, and says, “Oh, use my real name.”

Pixie Pillow Nipple Hat 26 July 2007

Someone (God bless you) used the above search term to stumble upon my my blog today. If that ain’t poetry, I don’t know what is. In fact, I’d be remiss not to use it in my next ode so consider it assigned. I mean, as soon as I finish the Boy Scout Pledge piece, that is, of course. My #1 fan can wait only so long. They grow ‘em patient out there in Idaho.
Some others that brought in the bizness include:

• flip flop fetish – Oh yeah, s/he’s out there.
• why was mammogram tech wanting hair out – They mean nipple, armpit or ponytail? Either way, I get to say “nipple” twice today.
• poem about a kebab -Seems I’m not the only one writing them, eh?
• when ego is lost, limit is lost – Amen, sistah!

Care to share some surfing secrets of your own? Pixie readers are dying to know!

Manifesting no more mosquitoes,

The Urban Pixie

P.S. This inspiration came from a post I found earlier on http://kpatrickglover.wordpress.com/so please read (Parenthetically Speaking) as I did & enjoy!

Hot Child in the City 10 July 2007

As I’m too toasty to type, here’s a poem to make you (& me) a little less sweaty:

Snow

Metal shovels scrape a city’s
sidewalks, toss salt rocks in my path.
Gray boots hit concrete, cold,
hard, yearning for the life tossed
in little loads, to the curb.

On the Chuck Wagon 30 May 2007

I played the game again today. Setting out to walk somewhere in the city, fairly far away, knowing I could take any number of Pixie Path’s to get there, I let the traffic gods guide me. Sure, I have the way I generally go & the way that’s probably the most direct – filled with the fewest construction sites, vagabond vendors, tacky tourists (give that there Empire State building a wide, wide berth, matey) – & would result in a timely arrival at said destination. But, I find it much more fun to force myself to follow the cross walk signals in a slightly Seattle fashion but with the speed & determination of a native NYer. Even if I feel compelled to assert my GPS will another way, I say (hopefully inaudibly) that there must be “something down there” that I’m “supposed to see.” And let me tell you, there always is.

I’ll save one “sign, signs, everywhere signs” story for the next “Sacred Action Item,” for tonight, I must talk about Chuck. There’s usually something special for me at W. 31st & Broadway. Once & only once (& believe me, I’ve looked) there appeared an adorable African with whom I had the most innocent, 8th grade moment over the kebab cart. So shy was I that I lost him to the city streets. So moved was I that I penned a poem about it. & what the hell, maybe I’ll even post it for your entertainment. I do owe you a poem, I know. What kind of person puts that they’re a poet then fails to deliver. It’s not as if that claim to unfame boosts you in anyone’s book, is it, Jason?

Anyway, today I looked up as I rounded my magical W. 31st corner to see a huge sign from good old Charles Schwab, that’s “Chuck” to you & me, “Feel valued no matter what you’re worth.” In recent days, months, years, (lifetimes?), I’ve been working on not attaching the old ego & it’s evil twin, self-esteem, to others’ opinion of me. I try hard, too hard at times, to be perfect & somehow can’t quite shake the old Iowan inside that believe mistakes, misdemeanors, melodrama & even being mad are things we ______________s just don’t do.

But today I was feeling fairly good about myself on my own. And then mere moments before, I’d even gotten a gratis, spontaneous “nice outfit” from a man who seemed highly unlikely to notice and or care about female fashion selection. I’m chalking it up to my new over-sized, retro, pale green, $10 shades & the $5 bright yellow flip-flops I wear for my commute. (Yes, all shopping-freeze bets are OFF when guests hit town or I travel. It’s my favorite & most deadly loophole!) But, more likely than not the man on the street liked the look of my rack, right? It was completely & oh-so-appropriately covered (it’s a work day!) but finely flattered by the springy shirt I scored at the Salvation Army a few weeks ago if I do say so myself.

For more on this see the bOOb Lady’s piece from GMA today. Such the hot button indeed…

http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/OnCall/story?id=3221538&page=1

(Seamless seque or gratuitous chest chat?)

But back to my somewhat lost point. Oh yeah, so while I was already feeling oh-so-fine about myself today, Chuck’s reminder was a good one. We should all strive to be alive in our inherent value every day, from the inside out, regardless of outfit, hair-do, possible accounting entry error, lapse in good judgement of the unmentionable (who me?) kind or anything else that might make a person cringe in the rear-view mirror. I’ve heard it another way too. “You can be broke without being poor.” It’s entirely up to you.

That’s it for me as I’ve got some massive meditation to do tonight, complete with a wee bit of “cord cutting.” More on that one later…

Sleep tight & buck up with Chuck! Your stock is ALWAYS soaring!

p.s. one for the lost boy…

 

You were Z. and I was me, wrapped up

arm and sandwiching small talk between big

looks today, where west thirty-first meets Broadway.

Kebab-cart line moved too fast for us. Shy then

but now so brave from behind my screen, I see

your sweet smile and wonder which restaurant

you work in and why I went home without an answer.