Post Card from Laguna Beach: I wish you were all here with me.

December 14, 2009

Here is my sanctuary. Here is where I worship what is the most important and the closest to my heart: art. Here is my art gallery where my love and my peace lay. The gallery is all white: the floor, the ceiling, and the walls. There are very large windows where the light comes in, and plenty of the sun walks in in the early morning and slowly walks out of the door by tip-toe come mid-afternoon. When I stand behind the large windows upstairs, I can see the whole ocean its waves, which are so emotional, so moody, and so temperamental. However, when you live with them and see them every day, you learn to love them no matter what kind of mood they are in. The ocean is beautiful at any hour of the day, like a woman who is beautiful at any stage of her life. We have so many cafes and restaurants, beautiful little stores, and beautiful, smiling, happy people all around us. Everything is painted with the color of summer and of the ocean: blue and green, red and yellow, and turquoise. I love my all white gallery. I love every piece of art I show, and I love the artists who paint them with such passion and faith. I love the people who come in to see the art. Yes, I am happy here in my all-white sunny gallery in Laguna Beach. And I wish you were all here with me.

The following poems are from my books: A Woman Defined and My Painted Dreams. Both books can be ordered at Amazon.

hide and seek

I got lost in the dark on purpose so I can find me.
It was a game I played alone.
There was pleasure, there was pain and passion.
And there was fear and death and religion
Where I had to look for God in hiding,
And I had to look for me in hiding,
And where love had to find me

I lost myself in the dark just to fall in love with life
And become its captured prisoner, and not ever want to leave its premises.
And in the midst of all my confusion I new life is a stream,
Taking me with its current towards a river that at the end will swallow me.

I lost myself in the dark.

*******

the iron heart

You cut me and you forgot to sew me up.
You didn’t even disinfect and bandage my wound!
You coldly walked out of my room,
Saying, “Bleed …bleed, my love!
Bleed to live, not to die, of love.”

Then I bled, all I could.
That’s how I learned to survive my wound.

When your roses arrived in an iron box,
Next to a time bomb,
I walked out.
For then I was certain
You loved me for me, as well as my pain.
You loved me for my wound, as well as my scar.

I walked out, for this time
I was convinced I would be fine.

*******

searching

I’ll tell you the secret,
Why I’m so desperately lost and cannot be found.
I was born in a sunny day in a small garden
From the seed of a flower.
The garden had no walls—
I had no anger and no barriers.
But I was restless and unsure,
So I borrowed a body and I borrowed a soul
And walked out of the garden to look for my true nature.
That’s how I came to be lost,
For now I am neither man nor flower

*******

Waiting for God

I am practicing to have no hunger
Just so that I can look attractive to God.
I am digitally connected to his electron
While I try to understand
The silent language of the trees,
While I try to be resistant to Earth’s gravity.

But why do I feel so cold and naked
With this connection in His presence?

In the hope that my poems cover me up and keep me warm,
I write them on the back of the raindrops.
I write them on the stem of the jasmines.
I write them on the fragrance of the garden in the spring.

Then I sit in silence,
Listening to the moon light berating,
Listening to the garden growing.
I listen silently,
While I patiently wait for God.

*******

Without a Body

There was neither love nor hate.
There was only emptiness and silence,
And we could taste the emptiness in the silence.
We could see the seed grow inside a seed.
We could see the soul of a drop of water.
We could hear the sense of touch in a breeze.
We could hear the sense of smell in the flowers.
We could float from birth to death.
Yet, we were all without a body.
We were all without a mouth,
Without eyes, without voice.

We were only ghosts in heaven.

And the mountains were our bones,
The wind was our breath,
The rivers were our tears.

We were without death.
We were a perfect and complete universe
Within a universe.
We were ghosts in heaven.