Zen Mamas

The world is filled with Zen masters who live outside monastery walls.

We color mandalas with sidewalk chalk.

We ring meditation bells of rainbow-colored xylophones.

Our mantras are the stories we read with ego-melting repetition.

We hold asanas with babies in and on our bodies, going about our day as if our muscles are not on fire, not letting on how our bones beg for rest.

After enlightenment, we cook dinner and fold the laundry.

We pull energy from the depths of our fatigue.

Our life is one continuous act of service.

We practice breath work by blowing bubbles, exhaling with artful control to get the most out of each dip of the wand.

Our ascetic practices include eating the food scraps offered by our toddlers and what our babies throw on the ground, making meals out of bread crusts and apple peels.

We nourish young lives with our bodies.

With discernment, we are creators, preservers, and destroyers.

Embodying eternal love, we are One with the universal life force.

Though we may not wear saffron robes or have the luxury of sitting in quiet contemplation, we are here, humbly filling the world with Zen Master Mamas.

Field

In the field beyond words

Our spirits meet

I’m not too blinded by the light to see your energy and delight in the way the wildflowers sway with us

Physically, I am bound in this life

In spirit, I am boundless

That field beyond words is our playground, filled with passion and joy, gratitude and care

It is easy for relationships to seem perfect when they aren’t actually happening

I wonder if you have a sense of my spirit’s desire to bond with yours

I used to think all beings were one spirit, but it is more fun to flirt with another than with self

I used to take for granted that a spirit bond was enough, then I lost the one I loved

His absence taught me the importance of being there, of showing up

I stand here in the field with so much love to share

Green Room

In the green room of life

We all sit down, take off our masks and laugh

We congratulate each other on another a good show

Seated on the other side of the curtain where duality dissipates

We debrief, recount, replay, tallying up the sacred lessons learned at the end of the day

In the green room, the oppressor and the oppressed embrace

Realizing that we are one, smiling at the absurdity that we ever thought otherwise

Recounting blows, former harsh words melt into knowing smiles 

Disbelieving that we ever forgot that life is a dream, a game with infinite lives, a simulator in which to act out our drama

In the green room, there is nothing to fight about

Life’s perfection is seen clearly and we remember that we are whole, that there is nothing wrong with us, that we are playing

And we play again, vowing that we will remember our true selves this time around

Good

I no longer strive to be labeled as ‘good’ by others

Like a trained fucking dog

I don’t want to act sweet

When I feel salty and bitter

I never wanted to fit into a box

Or stay between the lines

I don’t even belong indoors

I am a wild, free woman

If that means I’m not the angel you thought I was

Then light up the fire and brimstone

Too long have I carried the burden of trying to save the world while looking cute and put-together

Always satisfying other’s needs like plugging holes in a dam and I’m about to burst

I tremble and ache to let go of the many ropes which bind me

So many roles to play and expectations to meet

No wonder I have no time or energy left for me

I am the only person I can save, and my liberation doesn’t require fake smiles or insincere social pleasantries

To live my best life

I must aspire to be more than simply good

I must liberate myself from the ribbon I am wrapped up in

Rip off the docile doll’s dress and burn it,

Warming my hands and illuminating my night

I must feel my body and ride the waves of my emotions with shuddering ecstasy

You want me to be good

But I want to be better

Love Languages

If you want to show me that you care about me

Be gentle

Be non-judgmental

Don’t bully me or pressure me, manipulate me or coerce me

Don’t try to imprint your paranoid delusions on my mind

Don’t ever tell me what to do, when, or with whom

Control is not my love language

My love language is freedom

Acceptance

Shining light in darkness

Healing and growth

Leaning through the veil of illusion

Not argumentative protrusion into the autonomy of others

You asked me if you were ‘other people’ to me

Absurdly

Like a child wailing from ego injury, I reassured you that you were special, that you are important to me. You are, but for different reasons than you think you are.

Though we are separate, we are also not separate

We are one spirit

You have forgotten

May you remember

Until then, you babble on

Rambling brook

Carrying messages in bottles

Smashing against the rocks of my enlightenment

If you want to win the game, you have to play

To play, you must be playful

Stop making everything so serious, so grave

Stop pretending that you care about oppressed people

As you actively oppress me

You shout for the voiceless, marching with your fist in the air

As you silence my voice without a care

If you care about me, let me be myself, let me live my life

You have your own life to live, your own love language of anger and jealousy

To communicate, we must learn each other’s languages

I think I’m learning your language of anger when I want to shout at you, ‘Leave me alone, I’ve always wanted you out of my life, I’ve had enough of your abuse’.

I refuse to be controlling and jealous like you.

Perhaps you will learn my language and say, ‘I accept you as you are without judgment, I love you unconditionally, I support you as you follow your heart’