Practice...

After my graduating presentation, I attempted to share the surrounding terrain of Fort Worden, including the Pt. Wilson Lighthouse and its nearest Battery, to my parents, but their aging knees made for an uncomfortable stroll. We soon headed back to the hotel, where I dropped them off at the inn near the tides, changed my clothes, and returned to the scenic state park that I had just left. It was time to pay my dues, and my respect, to the land - this land that had fed and nourished me on numerous occasions.

Before turning up towards Artillery Hill, Laurie and I crossed paths. We shared a word or two, and a quick conversation, before I began traversing the sloping hill, walking below towering pines and breathing in the dense foliage of fern leaves and fermenting soil. I strolled above century-old batteries, their thick walls of ashen cement built into verdant green cliffs sitting directly above the Strait of Juan de Fuca. There, on a western facing overlook, I breathed in - the views, the scents, the sounds, the moment - and I began to rock and sway with the energy, as well as with the landscape and the horizon. Soon, I took a break, attempting to capture these moments on two separate cameras, but neither worked.

From there, I meandered over to Memory's Vault, a poetry garden built into the forest side. Rectangular, cement pillars forever entomb the etched engravings of poets, present and past. The sculptures pay homage to ancient Japanese folklore, with an emperor's throne facing an impenetrable portal. Over to the threshold, comprised of three, angular stone blocks, I found myself. It was here where I recited an embodied poem, "I am the wind whispering in your ear, and I am the cold chill shaking its finger in you face...I am the sonnet of a time now past, I can be the word and I can be the page...I am the everything with all that I am, and I am the nothing wit all that I am not."

Again, I moved with the words, with the way the sounds escaped from my lips, with the dance of my song as it moved through the air, the trees, and the land. A private presentation for the the birds, the insects, the Earth, the connection, the relation, the relating, the relationship.

I HAVE ARRIVED.
I HAD ARRIVED.
I AM HERE.
I AM NOW.
I AM PRESENT.
I AM EVERLASTING.



I took my bow, and made my leave. Back down the hill, from above and behind the beach campsites I emerged. Dusk was drawing near. My pattering footfalls led me over to the beach, where I strolled along the Admiralty Inlet. My thoughts also wandered, to any where but here. To the moments just had, to future engagements, to some where else. So, I would

stop


turn

and

face

the water.

I'd breathe in and note
the

silence

the stillness.

I would present

myself
to the moment at hand
to life as it is now.

Then, I'd turn and keep going. For darkness had fallen, and I made my way back...

On Sex, Take I

Recently, I was surmising about the sexual objectification of women. On my Facebook profile, I even went so far as to question, "If I've got it, should I flaunt it?"

And, here's the reality. Here's the stone cold, hard truth of the matter.
EVERYONE HAS IT. EVERYONE HAS SEX, as in a gender, as in a body with which to act out sexual fantasies, as in an ability to be objectified!!!!

Little 5-year old girls go missing and end up dead because of it.
And, coming of age teenage boys are sexually abused for it.

Sex is easy, folks.
What is hard is listening to the voices that say "No. Although you are attracted to that young woman, she is only 16. And, even though, you are just a mere 24, you must refrain. You are her teacher, and it is best for all involved if you do not get involved."
What is hard is talking about our sexual fantasies, about where they come from and who they are with. About the dreams we have at night and the visions that float through our minds when we masturbate.
What is hard is engaging with other sexual beings in soft, supple ways that are brillaintly sensual but do not distill these neccessary moments down into the heaviness of sexual longing.

We all want sex.
So, how do we get it?
How do we fulfill this very basic human need?

"What Have I Learned?" A Monologue

I have learned that taking risk is essential, that I need to believe in my honest intentions, and that I must follow through on my big dreams.

Regardless of what comes, of who I alienate and of how the shit is thrown my way, I must take risk in order to succeed at existing as a human being and at living as an artist. I must believe in my honest intentions.

I do not purposefully mean to hurt you, or anyone else for that matter.
Yes, I have hurt others in the past and, yes, I will more than likely hurt many more people in the future, but it was mere circumstance that led to my actions.

(In other words, if I slept with your boyfriend, know it was not premeditated. It was only two adults making one, albeit momentary, decision. Know that the resulting fallout was difficult to navigate through, for us all.)
((Oh, also, if I become attracted to your partner as she grooves, deep and guttural, by my side on a wooden dance floor ("Ai!"), know that this too is not premeditated.))

It's only life. And, life hurts!!!
The rubbing against one another and the searing friction that ensues.
The spontaneous combustion of magnetic forces pushing apart and pulling back together, pushing apart and pulling back together, pushing, pulling, pushing, pulling, pushing...

Whew!! It's work. It's hard. And it hurts.

But, fuck, if I am not feeling it, then I am not living it.
And, if I am not living it, then I am not here.
And, if I am not here, then I am not (well, I haven't quite figured out this part yet).
I endure the pain so that I can feel the
lovehopejoylongingwishingdesiringfavoringflavoring
You I want to feel You
Your name on the tongue
Your being in this world
Your push to my shove
You.

Does tasting another really have to be so goddess-damned painful?
Can we ever let our defenses down, but for one moment in time, and allow the soft vulnerability to just simply flow?

No.
So we grab tight, to "The One," to those few, with who was can let our belt buckles out a bit, with who we can belch maniacally, and with who our bodies feel a little bit lighter whenever we are around.

But, why? Why can't I just let myself hang, and be held up by, by, by you? By a complete stranger? Why must I feel the need to push out a persona? To be
coolfunnysmarthipcrazylocovato...

Yo no se hombre.

Yeah, yo no se.
I dunno.
Instead, I breathe in and I try to re-member.
I try to Re-connect the invisible thread
And that is the big dream
This is the grand fantasy.

Little baby steps will get me there (here)
Listening, believing,
Deeper listening, sensing,
Still listening, embodying.

We are tied together
bound
like a little red bow
around your finger.
"Re-member," your finger winks at you,
"Remember..."










(this is my final grad school eval.
boo yah!!!!)