Shifting Reality

17 Apr

How many times in life
does reality shift?
I mean a fairly sudden,
change-everything kind of shift?
Mostly when something terrible occurs.
Terminal illness,
Death of one whose life
has been intertwined with ours.
Reality otherwise remains
too comfortable for shifting.
But this month mine has shifted
with joy
but not without difficulty.
I must deal with the fact that
for others who have shared my past reality
I can offer little reason they might
shift theirs
to follow mine.
But they love me, and
we will cope.

The Respectivity of Reality

15 Apr

Is there
one concrete, universal reality for all?
I think not.
Cosmologists aren’t sure either.
But whatever,
if such a thing exists,
does anyone know it’s form?
Definitely not!
So my reality…
is a perception.
I became an anthropologist to try to
comprehend
the realities of other cultures.
In forty years
I’ve made some progress.
I can be in other realities when
I am in other cultures. But
a month ago
a reality from another culture
came flooding into mine.
Always before
those realities
respectfully
had stayed put in their own cultures.
Now one is here in mine.
Hmmm.
Cognitive dissonance.
Be careful what you ask for.
If I can manage to avoid
being declared mentally unfit
by my friends of this culture,
I shall enjoy this greatly.
Perhaps you would like to
come play with me in
my new,
hybrid
reality!

Love Is Deeper

10 Apr

Love is deeper than a bandage
covering our wounds.
Love is a salve
melting into torn bodies
and injured minds.
Love can heal from inside,
filling cavities of pain
with newly formed wholeness,
soft pink tissues of repair.
If love continues long enough,
even the deepest wounds
that we’ve feared and tried to hide,
find an emotional mitosis
till one can barely see
the scars.
Love is a sacred medicine.

Post Coitus Cuddle

10 Apr

Soft across my ear
your breath a rhythmic whisper
as we spoon under a sheet
after acting on our passions.
Your stomach and my back form
a warm, moist curve.
Our feet are mixed and tangled
till I can’t tell which toes are yours or
which heel is mine.
My body is honey and giggles
melted into softness.
A dawn bird
chirping us his spring song
serenades the light that’s bringing
windows into focus.
Can we lie here for forever?
Or must I move to
write this poem?

Assimilating a New Reality

8 Apr

William Perry and Jean Piaget
met for lunch.
“Let’s mess with her head,”
Jean said with a grin.
“Maybe give her a ghost?”
William replied.
They toasted each other with
their mojitos.

As famous psychologists,
they’ve been messing with our brains
for decades.
But I recognized their
modus operendi
and googled their plan.
(Found out I’d actually been misquoting Perry.
I like my amended Theory of Intellectual Development
better than his.)
It goes like this:

McMillan/Perry Stage One: black and white.
Babies and some college freshmen
tend to be in this stage.
“I know nothing and you have the facts.
I must learn from all the keepers of wisdom.”

McMillan/Perry Stage Two: Anything goes.
Adolescence
“I’ve found one thing you taught me that’s wrong.
What else is untrue?
Maybe you know nothing!”

McMillan/Perry Stage Three:
Maturity.
I gather data to support my theories.
New data slide into them with grace.
Piaget would call this “assimilation”.
It feels good.
This stage of educated guesses
is held dearly by most academics.

McMillan/Perry Stage Four.
The Intellectual apex.
“No matter how much I’ve researched things,
I’m probably wrong.”
Augh!
Faced with new data that doesn’t fit into
my old beliefs,
I must
wrench out those antiquated schemata.
“Harsh, I’ve worked on them for years!”
I must
take those new neural pathways
to the gym and
make them stronger.
This hurts.
“Accomodation”, says Piaget.

So the two of them,
grinning devilishly over mojitos,
decided to send my scientific,
Capricorn-south-node self,
Una fantasma.

OK, I admit it’s fun.
Even at this ripe old age
I must drop my favorite “isms”.
Drop my favorite boxes for people.
Drop my favorite boxes for reality.
New data.
New experiences.
New theory.
New Reality.
And assimilation begins again.

Amusing

6 Apr

I must write a poem
‘though my morning is museless.
Does that mean
it’s amused?

This poem is worse than
my reheated mush.

There’s No Word for “Shame” in Nimiputimtke

5 Apr

(I apologize beforehand to my Nez Perce friends for sharing what, perhaps, may not be mine to share. But it is the poem that came this morning, and I feel urged to share it. Maybe there’s no word for “apology” either, but I’m suyapo, and there are many things I do not know. I am truly honored to have learned the things you have been willing to help me learn.)

There’s no word for “shame” in nimiputimtke.
There’s no word for “blame”,
no word for “should”,
and no word for “guilt”.
Imagine the effect that
Catholicism
and the English language
may have had on the Nez Perce culture.

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