Writings: Like Nectar To Bees

Monochrome lights
Staring into my eyes
Bleak.. Dreary…
Blinded by my sight.

Ugly in my majesty
The sun lingers in the sky
And I cling to the willows
My eyes are a curse.

My slippers and shoes
The greens and blues
I have a wart on my toe
Because the doctor stole my purse.

Lotion stings my eyes
Burning lips are what I feign
Flickering ice into my face
The eagle steals my mind.

Listen to the rainbow drops
Heaven falls to Earth
Listen to the moon’s tenor
To watch, live and burn.

To have Reality smashed up
Against your face and see
Life through the cracks.

To squint to see until
Your eyes begin to burn and close
And you begin to dream.

To dream would be fine
But what if sleep intrudes
and oblivion follows on its heels?

Where would this walk lead?
What of the path
With the lush green beside
and then the lapse, the collapse of Death?

I’ve not been anything but scorching hot
Soared with passions all aflame
But when he gently let me down, told me
“This is not a rejection”- (but it was!)
To tepid. Then to Cool again.
It was like this as I recall
My emotions, registering on Richter,
Rippling on the equator
And I thought my life would never be the same.
I don’t know why I thought he liked me
Just, perhaps the way I felt for him
And certainly he never said as much,
Maintaining his cool calm composure of perfection
Which I now just completely loathe
And wish I could shake him until all his teeth rattled
In his head like dice, and make battle.
And after Cool then came his calls, fast and furious
And burnt those feelings inside me curious
For a short moment I felt at peace
No more infinite alone as I watch the hot wax
Trickle down the spine of the candle stand
A naked soul, clinging desperately to my sanity
I breached all code of ethical longing
And bared my heart to him……a stupid fool.
I sacrificed my bread, my water and love
To the generous heat and cold blizzards of a man
Who has not known his own reality.
I wish to pluck the arrows of his brows
That beat heavily upon his lovely eyes, his lovely nose
That fall upon the bronzed streak of his lovely cheek
And kiss him with such tenement, then Cool again.
Seeking out an essentially unknowable other world
The man that is this Other World
In full possession of my human faculties
It is not true, as I have told
My love blows hot and then blows cold
For I have not been anything but scorching hot
Soared with passions all aflame
But now…..to tepid. Then to Cool again.

1. Where women (who’ve had children) derive their motherly instinct from? And likewise, where women (who’ve had children) derive the animalistic instinct not to care for their young ones anymore?

2. Why, despite feminist movements, women’s equality debates, promising career advancements, the balance of the power struggle, and blurring of the gender demarcation and their accepted socio-responsibilites, do most women (eventually) want to be housewives and stay home? (I say this because I’m a professional and I’m all for women’s lib, though not a feminist, but why, oh why, do I see my ultimate role as mother?)

3. Why are we still thoughtful of our menfolk (even though some of us wear the pants at home) and willingly surrender the role of bread-winner to them, never mind that we lose our luxurious dual-income status?

I ask this because I want to know your thoughts, please. Socio-economic factors and instinct, as I see it, doesn’t adequately address the real reasons. Or do they? I invite your comments and thoughts on these questions. At the end of the day, my father tells me, “I did not send you to university so that you could be a stay-at-home-mum. I expect you to work for your living, provide for your child and work until your retirement age“. So where does that leave my husband?

1. Where women (who’ve had children) derive their motherly instinct from? And likewise, where women (who’ve had children) derive the animalistic instinct not to care for their young ones anymore?

2. Why, despite feminist movements, women’s equality debates, promising career advancements, the balance of the power struggle, and blurring of the gender demarcation and their accepted socio-responsibilites, do most women (eventually) want to be housewives and stay home? (I say this because I’m a professional and I’m all for women’s lib, though not a feminist, but why, oh why, do I see my ultimate role as mother?)

3. Why are we still thoughtful of our menfolk (even though some of us wear the pants at home) and willingly surrender the role of bread-winner to them, never mind that we lose our luxurious dual-income status?

I ask this because I want to know your thoughts, please. Socio-economic factors and instinct, as I see it, doesn’t adequately address the real reasons. Or do they? I invite your comments and thoughts on these questions. At the end of the day, my father tells me, “I did not send you to university so that you could be a stay-at-home-mum. I expect you to work for your living, provide for your child and work until your retirement age“. So where does that leave my husband?

So I’m already a mother. I have a beautiful 20-month old daughter. I’m still fat, though, from my excess pregnancy weight, which I’ve failed to lose since I delivered E. Yesterday, my mind had a conversation with my body:

Mind: Oh, how I want another baby! I love E., but it would be so nice to have another baby in the house.

Body: You gotta be kiddin’ me. You’re not the one carrying around this whale blubber.

Mind: I’m serious. I’m gonna get rid of the blubber first.

Body: Right… I heard you say that since you plonked out E. Man, she really caused me some load!

Mind: I’m serious. I joined the gym this year. I started a personal training program. I’m going to get professional help. You’ll see.

Body: Right… You pay a guy over two grand so that you can keep bumming him off when you have to do your personal training sessions. You say you’re too busy with work. Professional help ain’t cheap, by the way. And believe me, those models, the “after” models: they were skinny to begin with.

Mind: You’re very disheartening. It is true, too! I AM busy with work. Try doing my job instead of sitting in that chair all day. It’s very tiring to think the way I have to all day.

Body: You must have heavy brains. Cos you seriously weigh me down. Do you know how the Joints complain to me everytime you tell me to get up and start walking around? I swear, they’re gonna go on strike soon if you don’t try to pacify them.

Mind: Oh, please…why do you think I ask them to get moving? It’s tough being smart, ok. That’s not something I’d expect you to understand.

Body: Well, get this, Einstein. If you’re so smart, I expect you to understand how your lazy ass is affecting the others, too. You’re a lazy Mind.

Mind: Am not. In case you didn’t realise, I have a kid now. And I want to spend as much time with her as possible.

Body: Oh, beautiful. Why don’t you leave that to Emotions, why don’t you?

Mind: You know we gotta do this hand in hand, me and Emotions.

Body: Whatever. Look, send those endorphins or seratonins or whatever right down here, and let’s get us moving. Belly’s laughing all the time, she thinks she’s a muffin now. She thinks jeans are meant to be worn with her sticking out at the top. You gotta tell her she’s got it all wrong.

Mind: OK, OK. Sending some feel-good thoughts now. I say, we’re gonna go for a jog this evening when we get home.

Body: Oh, crap.

Mind: Hello! I want a baby ok. You gotta help me out here. I can’t have another baby until you start bucking up too.

Body: Whatever. And please- don’t wear those white Nikes. They’re too damned tight.

I have forgotten my past life. I have forgotten who I am. The people of the island call me “Dahnay“, which means “safe” and “well”, a tribute to the miracle of my living. These days, I am no longer a novelty. But every year, ever since I can remember, thanks and gratitude are given to an unnamed entity for bringing me to this island. But handing to me the second chance to live a life. But I don’t remember how to live.

My guardian is a woman named V. I have been told that I have lived with her ever since my arrival. I don’t remember my arrival here, of course.

The natives foretell the arrival of good fortune to bless this island. I was believed to be this bearer of good tidings. But I have not achieved significance. They began to think, after the first year, after the crops continued going bad, and the little children continued dying from unknown illnesses, that they must’ve made a mistake- and surely, good fortune would arrive sooner or later. It has been ten years since the sand of this island and I had committed ourselves to each other. I see no good fortune. The natives have dejectedly accepted that no good fortune is forthcoming.

She had been ravaged when she first arrived, I hear some of the natives still say when I walk pass their sad, hunched wooden houses.

Yes, she did not look human.

Her insides were a mess.

Nobody knows where she came from.

I have heard this all a thousand times. I wish to tell them all to shut up. It angers me. It scares me to know that I have survived. I do not know if I am complete as a human being. I do not know the magnitude of my survival. I do not know what providence has in mind for me, and why I had not perushed. I do not know what almost caused my destruction.

But I do know that I have been given an opportunity. To re-live life.

For the first few months after I arrived, I did not know what I looked like. On this small island in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by vast open waters, then snow-capped mountains and endless bleak brown valleys, the native community is small. I counted once the number of inhabitants here: there are a hundred sixty two in total. I did not count myself. I am unable to. I don’t know where I belong, and whether there is another world beyond this which is missing me.

There is a beautiful forest in this island. I have ventured there. It calls me in my sleep, whispers my name past the wind, draws me to its craggy edges. I have ventured there.

Dear Grandma,

I am happy to tell you that we have settled down in our new house. Everything is ok. I was sad when we had to leave you but I’m feeling a little better now cos I have my own room. Ginny just cries and cries all day, I think she misses her boyfriend. I saw them kiss each other on the mouth before we left. Pops would kill her if he knew. I followed ‘em round a bit, Ginny and her boyfriend. They wrestled each other in our old barn, I got scared! They had their faces almost glued together and Ginny kept moaning when he put his hand down her skirt. Why did he do that, Grandma, I wanna know?

It’s quiet around here. Momma’s still lookin’ for a school that will take us halfway through the year. I hope they put me in a class where I can find some friends. I miss Robbie and killin’ cats with him. Egad, I miss home. I miss all my buddies. I miss fishin’ in the dirty ol’ river. I wanna catch some trout.

I have a problem, Grandma. I’m too scared to tell Momma & Pops cos they’re gonna laugh at me and tell me I’m a baby even though I’m almost 10. I don’t think they’ll be happy when I tell ‘em anyway. I like my room and all, you know. It’s small but I have my own bed and ain’t gonna hear Ginny complaining about me no more. My room’s got a little window just above my bed, it kinda slants upwards the ceiling, you know.

A week ago, someone (or maybe something) spoke to me from under my bed. I got pretty scared at first, but come on, Grandma, I knew better than to be scared if I had my baseball bat with me. So the Thing and I started chattin’, and I grew less afraid. I asked the Thing if it could show me what it looked like, but it said it would “in due course”. What does that mean, Grandma? Does that mean it will?

The Thing told me it had lived in our new house for a long time. Many years ago, a little boy named Tommy slept in my room. But the Thing said Tommy was since long gone. I wanna know, Grandma. Gone how? Gone in what way? The Thing didn’t wanna tell me. It said Tommy was ‘neath the earth. Why is Tommy ‘neath the earth, Grandma, I wanna know?

The Thing knows an awful lot ’bout Momma & Pops. It told me Pops had other kids out of state and that Pops got another woman called Mary. The Thing says Mary is dead and now Pops’ other kids ain’t got food to eat and live on welfare. I don’t believe it. Is that true, Grandma? I wanna know. The Thing called Momma a skank. It said Momma came from a no-gooder kinda family, and that she married Pops because of Ginny. The Thing said you didn’t like Momma too. Is that true, Grandma? I wanna know. I love Momma and if you don’t like her, you gotta let me know, so that I can make you like her.

The Thing says it’ll take me fishin’. Golly! I never thought I’d get to go fishin’ again. Momma told me I had to give up fishin’ for good when we came here cos there ain’t no rivers and stuff, but the Thing says I ain’t need to. I wanna know, Grandma, you think Momma’ll let me go fishin’ even though she says there ain’t no rivers and stuff here? The Thing says it’s got friends in the river, who live in the water and stuff. Ain’t that cool? I wanna meet those things too. Maybe they can give me a pointer or two, I wanna know how to reel in a great big fish and not fall down while I’m at it.

The Thing and me are fast friends now, Grandma. I can’t wait for you to come visit one day, then you can be friends with the Thing too. It ain’t shown me what it looks like yet, but it don’t matter to me cos it’s told me lots of interesting stories, and I know lots ’bout Momma & Pops now too.

When I’m all grown up next year, the Thing said I can live with its friends in the river. Ain’t that cool, Grandma? Can people live in water, Grandma, I wanna know? Maybe you could come live with me too when I move there.

I gotta go now. Momma made mash & beans for dinner, and she been hollerin’ at me for 5 minutes now.

Love,
Danny

I once attended a 10-day meditation retreat in Surat Thani, Thailand. My first time there, I was 16 years old and clueless, embarking on a journey to discover myself spiritually. I was young and reckless, my parents were horrified at first at the thought that I wanted to travel to Thailand by myself. But they finally allowed me to when they knew for certain that I wouldn’t be at some full-moon rave party on the Phi-Phi Islands, getting high on Magic Mushrooms and having full-blown sex with handsome, random strangers (and contracting STDs or getting pregnant while I was at it).

So I spent 10 whole days in a forest monastery, doing nothing but silent meditation, having silent meals, quiet baths and swims in the natural hot springs, silent yoga (no groaning even when I was struggling with the bird pose), but mostly importantly, and I can tell you this for a fact: I was silently communicating.

With my eyes. My gestures. My smiles. We lived in a small community of 50-odd strong people of all shapes, sizes and origins those 10 days: by the 7th day, there were only 20 of us left. But still I communicated.

In those 10 days when I and those around me were silent, I could hear my thoughts so very clearly. And despite the silence, friendships were forged. Simply through smiles and gestures. I found that miraculous and amazing.

So why do we waste our breath talking nonsense? Why do we fight and scream and yell at each other? Sometimes, we need to take a step back and look at ourselves, and to imagine our world in silence. Just for a minute. Time standing still. So that we can contemplate and look at the world around us in its purest, raw-edged form.

I had never felt more at peace than when I could not use my voice.

Do you work your sacred routine
And cast yourself into the plexiglas dome
Polishing your shoes until they shine
Finding a sanctuary that you call home?
Do you look into your eyes
Pernicious judging in your mind
About your temperance and style
Getting more than you bargained for?
Do you whisk the dust from under you
Sweeping them unto the floor
Where cobwebs lie, they always do
Your pagan heart beckons a door?
Do you lie and smoke in bed
Burn an apple candle in its place
While dusky notes permeate the air
And your thoughts are filled with space?
Do you wait for Summer Solstice
To patiently work your craft
Sand, shells, papers, salt and leaves
But nothing truly works it out?
Do you sit within your box
Reacting strangely and starry-eyed
Textured bark adorns your clogs
Still you spin and spin until you die?