Just looking up, amazed.

Well, it’s the way it goes like the hungry crows 
Combing the endless highway graves 
And like the drifter throws up his thumb and goes 
Hoping to find the high he craves 

And like the ocean shows us what she knows just 
Down below the waves 
When you’re both the captain calling out and the crewmen crawling out 
Just looking up, amazed 

Isn’t it always the things you try for can float just out of reach 
Just a mirage that fades out moments before breaking through the breach 

Well I guess you pick your poison, and mix the oils and 
Water like it will 
Cause it’s a drink of joys and pains and toils 
Only the lucky ones can spill 

And if you feel like running from the fate that’s coming for you 
Well you might just get in line 
When you’re both the engine turning and the sparkplugs burning out 
With just one more hill to climb 

Isn’t it always the things you try for can float just out of reach 
Just a mirage that fades out moments before breaking through the breach 
And wasn’t it fall then winter, spring then summer twenty times at least? 
And doesn’t it all feel like the perfect sunrise, but your back’s turned to the east? 

So raise your glass with me 
These days are passing us by 
No use in asking why 
Cause we’re all fastened to the mast, and 
Last I looked, we’re just casting hooks in the wind 
Like something is bound to bite 
Like the moth is bound to the lanterns light 

My Winning Streak

Through summers long and winters cold 
May you always have someone good to hold, 
And may good fortune wait on every bend, 
And may your winning streak, 
May it never end 

So, roll the dice, boy, ‘cause my money’s on you, 
Take my advice now and put your money down too, 
Because there's something in the eye you can’t pretend, 
And may your winning streak, 
May it never end 

I had my birth chart read last night by an Astrologer. It was fun and interesting, and affirmed that everything has happened/what I think will happen is right on track.  The part I loved the most, was when he said that in the past 2 years, since September of 2013 I have had a lot of "Virgo Energy" around me. I have been more of service to others during this time period, and was beginning to stake my own claim.  Then almost in the next breath he asked what sign Adam is, Virgo I said.  He laughed, well that makes sense since you met him in September of 2013. He told me about the hard times I have travelled through in the past few years and that those times are officially behind me. I am entering into a new phase, one of creativity, love, and family.  He actually used the term "wheel of fortune".  Yes, thank you, that sounds wonderful.  

He spoke to specific things my heart is longing for - the most important of those is marrying that Virgo and starting a family. Towards the end of the call he started listing different cities/places that may mean something to me - Western Germany (I lived there as a child), and then he said Chicago. He explained that it doesn't necessarily mean I should live in these places, but that good things will come to me from these places in the form of people.Oh, Adam was living in Chicago when we met,  I reply.   It seems my 'winning streak' started the day I met Adam. I whisper quietly to the Universe, thank you, thank you, thank you. 

Home

no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well

your neighbors running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.

no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it’s not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.

you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
under trains
beneath carriages
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied

no one chooses refugee camps
or strip searches where your
body is left aching
or prison,
because prison is safer
than a city of fire
and one prison guard
in the night
is better than a truckload
of men who look like your father
no one could take it
no one could stomach it
no one skin would be tough enough

the
go home blacks
refugees
dirty immigrants
asylum seekers
sucking our country dry
niggers with their hands out
they smell strange
savage
messed up their country and now they want
to mess ours up
how do the words
the dirty looks
roll off your backs
maybe because the blow is softer
than a limb torn off

or the words are more tender
than fourteen men between
your legs
or the insults are easier
to swallow
than rubble
than bone
than your child body
in pieces.
i want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home told you
to quicken your legs
leave your clothes behind
crawl through the desert
wade through the oceans
drown
save
be hunger
beg
forget pride
your survival is more important

no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying-
leave,
run away from me now
i dont know what i’ve become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here

-Warsan Shire

Ishmael

Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly, now.
Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. 
You are not obligated to complete
the work, but neither are you free to abandon it. – The Talmud

I was on my lunch break today, sitting on a bench in the shade, and drinking an over-priced smoothie from the newest iteration of downtown hipster restaurants. There was a good breeze and I was looking forward to catching up on a blog while I sat there.  A homeless man walked by and caught my eye, he was holding these pretty little pictures that he obviously drew. 

He sat down with me, and somehow or another, we started talking. Well, he talked and I listened. I tried to nod and smile at the appropriate moments, he was a fast talker. His name is Ishmael. He's from Ethiopia and is about to be deported back there. He came here to seek asylum.  Talking to him, you can tell his high education level. Ishmael told me he was an engineer and professor but that in the U.S. he couldn't find a job for those things.  He kept calling me 'sunshine' even after he asked my name.  He is angry about how he has been treated by people here. I can't help but agree.  He is angry at the obscene wealth that some people have, and how wasteful they are while other people are starving.  I agree again - (suddenly not wanting the rest of my over-priced smoothie). 

I kept waiting for the part where he asks me for money. It never comes.  Ishmael looked at me at one point, and smiled, said "Sunshine, I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time." In that moment, I got a little glimpse of who he was before he came here.  A proud and educated man, well-dressed and handsome. Even now you can tell the clothes he has on were nice, he has style. 

Finally, I asked to look at his drawings. He said he could draw a new one for me but I declined saying that my break was almost over. I asked if I could buy him lunch in trade for the picture since I didn't have any cash.  It is clear he would prefer cash but he settles on lunch. 

We walked into Starbucks together and I kept getting sideways glances from people as I was helping him to find something that looked good to eat. He chose an edamame wrap and an orange juice, water please but no ice.  They give him a water with ice. At first, he was only going to take the juice to which I laughed and said that won't fill you up.  Ishmael got kind of shy and said he didn't want to take advantage of me. While I was paying, the cashier wouldn't make eye contact with me. 

My hands were full and he made a big deal about opening the door for me. As we were saying good-bye he gave me a little bow. I told him to take care. He told me that he was going to be in town for the next couple of days and wants to say good-bye, asking where I'd be.  I'll admit, I didn't want to tell him where I work so I said,  I'll be around here. He kind of smiled at that and walked away.

I walked back to my work, where I make far too much money, with not even half the education that he has. 

My over-priced smoothie is sitting on my desk next to me.

31

31 is going out for a fancy dinner with your Honey, and catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror...everything feeling exactly as it should in that moment.

Happy 32, Adam. We have so much ahead of us, & so much already.

Death comes to me again, a girl.

I have been thinking about death and what comes afterward, after losing a friend to suicide. Before, I never really thought about it too much.  The people who had died in my life were older and it seemed natural, even in the midst of my deepest grief I felt that way. When I volunteered for hospice, I felt at peace when the people passed away. Thinking in ambiguous ways, that they were somewhere different and that was okay. 

Spirituality has been a hazy concept on my periphery. I have never felt at home in a church or with organized religion.  I pray, though I don't know to who exactly.  I recently made an appointment with an astrologer and a medium.  I have met with an astrologer before, but the medium idea is totally new.  I was never really interested until now.  I tend to be fairly rational, but a small hopeful part of me is whispering urgently, what if? what if you could talk to your Nana again? what if you could hear that this sweet girl who was in so much pain, is better now?

Her death has made me want to think in different ways about dying and what comes next.  Also, of course, it has made me re-evaluate living a good life and appreciating what I have. I am thinking about what a beautiful life looks like to me, and what I need to do or change to get there. I think I am already well on my way. 

This is one of my favorite poems about death. 

Death Comes to me Again, a Girl

Death comes to me again, a girl
in a cotton slip, barefoot, giggling.
It's not so terrible she tells me, 
not like you think, all darkness
and silence. There are windchimes
and the smell of lemons, some days
it rains, but more often the air is dry
and sweet. I sit beneath the staircase 
built from hair and bone and listen 
to the voices of the living. I like it, 
she says, shaking the dust from her hair, 
especially when they fight, and when they sing.