this time IS different

So, I get a good night's rest and wake up, early, to face another day.
To write and to build forward.
To return home, to face the death and tend to it.
"I can feel you - your heart is sad," Has says, as we busily move around one another -
worker bees tending to the dismantling of our hive, before flying off to create another.
"Yes, I feel all of this," I respond.  "And, I'm so tired of this pattern," I lament, speaking into a year of so much loss - the loss of lives as well as the loss of community spaces.
And, yet, this time IS different.

The three of us Soul sisters merrily chirp, singing along to countless replays of Matty and Avasa Love, as we flutter about our day of cleaning, moving and boxing.  We toast "Salud!" over beers when a torrential downpour opens up the San Diego sky with its brilliant hues of blue, gray and black.  We share a singular plata of tres tamales con maiz.  We help one another with the lifting, selling and transforming. 

Going through her old things, Has pulls out a dusty photo album, its paper photographs dating back to days spent in the Armenian countryside with her family.  Shedding fat tears, she weeps for those who are no longer with us, specifically her father.  Holding space by being fully present to her past, I smooth the hair our of her face.  "He is with us, right this very moment," I whisper into her ear, "and he is so proud of you for being on your big girl way - a lawyer moving up to the Bay Area to tend to legal business."  In my actions, I rest in the satisfaction of knowing that one day, very soon, another will hold space for me - for the tales I have to share with those closest to my heart.

"I am so grateful for this experience," Mari says.  "Here's to our last 'queens of the round table' meeting in this amazing kitchen, and here's to many more for years to come - wherever life finds us!"
This time IS different.

Just wait.
2013

MAGIC LOVE, too

A twinkle in the eye.
Cassiopeia, with her striking glint, reaches the soft spot within Orion's hardened core.
26,000 years is a mighty long time. 
Will we have to wait
again?

Passion dances, like waves,
currents of a force so great
yet invisible to the eye
and but a brief flicker to the unfeeling,
to the disbelieving.
It's no wonder this MAGIC LOVE gets lost.
26,000 years is a mighty long time.

This alignment too potent to ignore,
yet too powerful to acknowledge,
so we pretend
and time marches on.  Rain falls overhead,
rivers of tears carve their swath back to the great Pacific.
26,000 years.

And, per chance it is all just story,
a vibrant yarn and an entertaining tale
to tell.  Perhaps, this is all it ever is.
26,000 years to be remembered and retold,
over and over again.

Our destiny isn't just written in the numbers,
etched in stone and recorded on paper tablets.
It's in the annals of the future - lining the information
superhighway with its ups and downs, rights and lefts,
"Whoops" and "Gotchas." And it's where this present exists -
forever unfolding, a gift always ready and waiting to be received.
Do you receive?

26,000 years is a mighty long time.
Still, I'd chance it,
time after time again.