THe QFW speaks in naturally arising spontaneous intuition, impulse or reflex. It’s a spark of a thought, a tickle in her gut , a leap of the heart, a sudden smile upon her face. She doesn’t have to act on it, doesn’t have to give her voice credence at that moment, but she will always try to keep a light on for her.
Queen of Fortuitous Whimsy
… At the local farmers market I bought the largest bunch of peonies I could hold. Securing them into my bike basket, I cared for them on the transport to the house. I would ease my bike slowly over the bumps and turns being sure not to bend stems, or ruffle their precious blooms.
Complete any unfinished business. Now is the time.
This seemed even more poignant to me now as I recalled the funeral pyre smoke drifting across my nostrils all day and all night while I was in Varanasi.
We don’t have as much time as we think.
Now boredom has seemed to settle over me, like a lovely old quilt, that smells, “only a little’ of cat piss. Somehow comforting and familiar and somewhat uncomfortable, but still longing.
I would, on occasion, be distracted from the reading. Squirrel, dog off leash, aforementioned poop
It is happening, the air is growing crisper the apples, now reigning the market, usurping the glorious peaches of palisades.
In my frenzied moments of watching her from afar in the airport security line I struggled with my anxiety;
This is the time for love, for beaming love to others — across the divide of social distancing and sheltering in place. To our trash truck driver with his quick smile as he carries away our refuse. To the brown bears that have awakened and are prowling our mountain.
Between our tears and our heartbreak we witness her soaring. I steal glimpses of her. Her little red car, solid in holding her safely down the mountain roads away from the house into the town. Away from home.
We currently have thousands if not tens of thousands of news sources at our mere finger tips. We don’t have to tune in to a particular channel at a specified time on a certain day. It is ALL there for us 24/7. Some of our major news sources are: ABC News, CBS News, CNN, Fox, MSNBC, NBC, New York TImes, LA Times, USA Today, Wall Street Journal, Washington Post, Bloomberg, Vice News, CNET, Techmeme, NPR, Hollywood Reporter, Newsweek, Time, US News & World Report, The Guardian. I’m sure each of you could add many more sources of where you get your information. Not even mentioned are the numerous omnipotent social media platforms we rabbit hole into daily, hourly.
At once he is the custodian, defender, chaperone, attendant and curator of my authentic self. He protects and encourages the waving of my freak flag. We know to be gentle around our tender spots.
I was just coming around to consciousness, awakening from an unnatural sleep. My eyes work hard to focus in on the blurry, large, neutral colored, stone tiles moving, somehow, below me. My little body was so heavy, I could hardly lift my head. I had been drugged again.
Bardo: noun(in Tibetan Buddhism) a state of existence between death and rebirth, typically 49 days and includes three stages. It is a Buddhist tradition to pray for the deceased during this time, hoping that the benefits of such practices would reach the deceased.
The woman awakened this morning sweaty, desperately searching for cooler air, afraid of the unknown that lies ahead in her life. The feeling of aging, isolation and insecurity in this new role prompts her once again to make another appointment.
One upon a time there was a young girl sitting at the breakfast table hunched over her cereal bowl, just as she was every weekday morning. Each morning this girl would tell her unlistening family about her recurring dream, a dream she had nearly every night. “What are you babbling on about?” snapped her older, incredibly tedious sister. This sliver of attention was her cue to retell the dream again, in…
She woke up in the back of an orange VW Beetle. Her eyes popped open to the astonishing glory of the Swiss Alps seen through the back portal window of the car
In the midst of the gilded age, John D Rockefeller Jr. gifted a beautiful tapestry to the Met. He purchased it for approximately one million dollars and had it in his personal collection for over 15 years.
At the peak, the climax of the halfway point the lights come up, the crowd stands, some still jeering some still cheering, stretching, turning to their neighbors and commenting on the game. Time to gather snacks, drinks and hit the head. Most of the 25k faces turn away from the ice below, but one tiny 6 year old girl standing between the legs and hips of the adults next to her, gets what she came for.
The man who was almost my father was a Boston Bruin goalie. Brent, a youthful, strong athlete in the prime of his life, handsome in his iconic black and gold uniform with imposing B set in sharp features. His sculpted jaw and cleft chin were saved by the grace of the recently adopted facemask for NHL goalies.
They had been hibernating for the past 48 hours, padding across the wood floors in slippered feet: Lounging in pajamas, not really noting the time or the day. Then it came, as it always does, Monday Morning.
The van smells of patchouli, dog hair, incense and cake. She is being expertly piloted through the dark wooded roads by the driving and navigation team of Dad and Uncle. Her mother deftly balancing a cake with five lit candles on her knees as the chorus of “Happy Birthday” begins
Desperate, I convince myself I am content to sleep outside for these few hours until the sun rises. The chaise lounge I stumble upon near the pool will suffice as my bed. I am cloaked in the disarmed feeling of being dropped into the unknown in the middle of the night.
He will be gone for at least eight months I’m told. My message to him on a freezing dead of winter morning reads, “Is there anything else I can do for you before you leave? Find out anything I can do about your taxes? I bet your jeep looks great! Get out and ride her as much as you can before you leave.”
Waking again at night, or more accurately in the darkness of the very early morning, lathered in sweat, the rise of heat flushing through my weary body. Flopping off the comforter, finding the cooler part of the sheets, swiping hair from the nape of my sticky neck, flipping the pillow, poking one foot out to full cold air exposure.
I have been there for about 17 minutes all told and I have spent countless hours, days, weeks practicing getting there. My formal introductory journey began in the citadel-esque Dorje Dzong building in downtown Boulder CO, home to the Shambhala Center.
Queen = monarch, ruler
Fortuitous = serendipitous, happening by accident or chance rather than design, “lucky”
Whimsy = quaint, fanciful quality or humor , impulse
The road is dirt, her two companions are large and white and hairy. They are 7600’ above the sea.
The silence is ear splitting when you think about it. Instead, she fills the quiet with vibrating rambling thoughts. At first her ears would
Warmth beneath my left foot,
as the right
Dangles wildly above it.