Art

40 feet,
ceiling to the floor -
suspended.
Purposeful art.
Leftovers of a stale garage sale;
Glued once treasured pieces,
painted entirely red.
America’s forgotten junk,
congestive land fills.
So many humans running without a matching shoe.

Is it Just taking a Different Route Home?

Every so often we all - I believe - get that feeling of get-up-and-do-something-with-your-life! 
Sometimes, it is a simple change: 
a change in our morning routine or hair-style, 
or something as simple as taking a different route home from work.
Just something that makes us feel more alive
- in the moment.


I often have this moment. It usually comes when I have too much to think about 
and, not enough to do. Which gets me to wonder - 
is it better to be busy,
and therefore ignorant of life's opportunities; 
Or, clear out my schedule - 
just enough to ponder what will I do my with time.

Just Some Thoughts

Today is today. I have all day tomorrow to work on tomorrow, but I only have today to work on today? What does that mean? And, what does that mean in relation to life’s goals? How does it work then, if we are encouraged to live in the moment and yet we have to plan for the future? Is it simply that we have a long day to take care of a bunch of things: 8-9 a.m. breakfast; 9-10 a.m. plan the day; 10- 4 p.m. live in the moment; 4 -9 p.m. come down from the cloud and face reality. That would mean we are scheduling in our free moments. Sounds kind of contradictory to me? And, then again, maybe I have it all wrong?

Bathing on her Cloud

Powell Street stop was not the closest BART station we could have got off, but it was nice to walk downtown. We walked through the movie theater and then Yerba Buena park, where people were laying on the grass, having picnics. A guy was playing his guitar and from my angle it looked as if he was under the water fountain, repeling the falling water. There were parents running after their kids and three girls in bikinis cracking up. They looked like they could barely breathe they were laughing so hard. What fun, I thought. I want to laugh that hard.
We made it to the museum. The line was wrapped around the building with what looked like nearly 100 people in line.
Sophie was already on the phone calling her friend.
“Hi, Mark? It’s Sophie. Christa - oh okay, thanks!” she hung up, “He said to go the front door and he will let us in.”
“I feel bad. Look at all these people waiting,” I mumble.
“I know, but you have to look at it as an opportunity.”
We snaked around and there he was at the front. At least the line wraped around the gift shop with glass windows to keep people entertained, I thought. If the gift shop is filled with great items to look at, it is a wonder what art there is in store for the public.
Sophie hugged him like she knew had known him forever.
“Hi Mark!” she said.
“Hi, long time no see,” he said.
“It’s been a while. Thanks for getting us in,” she smiled, “Mark, you remember my friend Elizabeth?”
“Yah, I think I’ve seen her before. It was at your house,” Mark speculated.
Oh, no, I thought, here is comes.
“Yah, you came to Sophie’s with Andrew, right?” he asked.
“Yes, that was me,” I said.
“That was a long time ago,” he said.
“Yup,” I said.
Awkward.
“Well, I got to get back to work,” Mark said, “follow me.”
He took us to the coat check where we put our purses. There was a mother standing in line with her daughter on her back in a backpack carrier arguing with the woman at the coat check. The mother couldn’t understand how a backpack was more dangerous in a museum than a stroller. She eventually gave up and accepted the stroller the museum provides.
Mark handed us a map of the museum, “Have fun! Good seeing you two.”
“Thanks again Mark,” Sophie said.
“Yah, thanks,” I said.

We started by walking up the stairs and straining our necks around the 40 foot, hanging from the ceiling down to the floor sculpture. What it is supposed to mean I’m not exactly sure, but that’s art. From what I can observe, the artist grabbed what was left from a stale garage sale and glued the once treasured pieces together and painted it entirely red. I wonder if that was all he or she wanted to present, or - with a more abstract meaning - the representation of America’s so-called junk forgotten about and left to clog up land fills and while so many other humans run without the matching shoe?

The first piece of art that truly caught my eye was a large surface covered with different photographs of the sun and in no particular order. There were sunsets and sunrises and high noon too. It was beautiful. I was now fully thankful for Sophie dragging us out here today when I could have easily stayed at home on my day off and left my mind to wander about what I don’t have in life and how I’m too lazy to work for. In my defense however, I read once that laziness is meditation and a time for contemplation. One point for me.

We moved into the next room. The mother that was arguing downstairs was now full of smiles in front of a red, glossy - I believe plastic - wall hanging, taking a picture of her and her daughter’s reflection together. She would have had a hard time capturing her daughter in the picture with her on her back.

Walking to the next painting I saw Sophie fixated. I stood next to her to see what she was seeing.
“Isn’t this great,” Sophie declared.
“Totally,” I agreed.
“Look at this woman with her coffee in hand. You can just feel the utter enjoyment in her from that first sip. She is wholly content with her morning ritual.”
“I love the colors,” I added, dimwittedly.
“Maybe we could head to the cafe downstairs after. I would love to reenact this scene in real life,” Sophie tittered.

Sophie is an interesting person and everything is beautiful to her. Life is full of time to have fun and be in the moment. I don’t think many people can do this. In fact, I am one of them. Like I said before I would not have done half the things I have done without Sophie’s encouragement and persuasivness. In fact, I don’t really do anything at all when I’m not with Sophie. I wouldn’t have gone to a museum today and even if I thought of the idea, I would not have called Sophie, or anyone for that matter, to join me. I love company, but I’m too embarrassed to really ask anyone to join me.

We floated around for a while. Up and over hardwood floors and past large, bright floor to ceiling windows. We wrote down quotes on a scratch of paper and tied it to a tree sculpture with a bit of twine that was open to the public. I scribbled a line my father always said to me, “We live by the choices we make.” Sophie wrote, “Let us smile a thousand smiles.” Always a poet.

We went down to the cafe after our venture through the museum and drank a cappuchino. Sophie forgot all about the painting of the woman with her coffee, or at least she didn’t mention it while we were sipping our coffee. I remembered, but I didn’t bring it up.

“Want to see a movie?” I asked, tyring to be as spontaneous as Sophie is always.

“It’s such a beautiful day. Sitting in a dark movie theatre doesn’t sound like the right thing to do,” she said.
“Yah, I guess you’re right.”
“Let’s just start walking.”

We walked across the street and back into Yerba Buena park. The laughing girls were gone, but the man with his guitar played on.

“Let’s sit for a moment,” Sophie suggested.

We lay down in the park’s grass. It was an unusually warm day for the city. The wind usually moves through with a chilled push. Today the sun was bright and inviting. Silence encompassed our gathering. For a while I wondered if Sophie would interrupt the moment, but when she did not share a word, I allowed my mind to rest along with my body. We fell back with legs extended onto the soft grass.
Laying out there was incredibly wonderful. Alone in my world, well except for a tennis ball that knocked my hip. I was startled again when the dog came running to retrieve its ball and then ran off in the direction of its guardian. I turned to face the waterfall sculpture. The sun was shining on the water leaving it twinkling like a thousand engaged woman showing off their committment. There were a few trees to border my view creating a perfect camera shot. A helicopter was flying over. The sun was beating down on us turning me a shade darker. From where we lay, there was no one to see. There are voices in the distance, but nothing interpretable.
At this pace, it make take years before anything gets done. But, this is another Sophieism: to relish in my surroundings. No need to hurry she’ll tell me, just lie back, resting everything.

This may then solidify another one of my theories: if we are happy and content with our lives than we will not seek to check off a bucket list. For all those incredibly miserable times where I have longed for something greater, all I needed to do was meditate on happiness. No, no. 

Happiness is unattainable.

A sustained happiness is unrealistic. If happiness is our goal we will forever be disappointed. As humans, we can never sustain happiness. We work in grooves and we will always have low points, even if they do not last a long time. We cannot hope to find happiness and have it fulfill our dreams.

A Poem I Wrote

Unheard of and curious. 
A distance cry.
"Beautiful!" I declare. 
Beautiful humans, 
sharing this universal love; 
"One Love," sang Bob. 
Sun dried symbols creating co-existence. 
I read it on her face; 
I read it on the bumper as she sped past, 
sowing seeds of hope 
that "one day we would all be equal." 
And Martin preached. 
And then a man marched down the street 
waving his striped flag 
bearing the colors of the rainbow 
with a smile so wide he could wrap the entire world 
in one large embrace, 
and hold us all 
repeating the words he read from a great book 
of a humble son, 
"love your neighbor as yourself." 
Peaceful warriors...non-violent actions...souls of humanity...pioneers of equality. 
All of us, 
teachers if we so desire. 
Ignite this passion spoken of with such fortitude
with the courage of a mighty army of peaceful soldiers. 
We, 
the creators, choice-makers, fear conquerors; 
let us demonstrate our compassion for all;
From the far reaches of our soul, 
let us gain strength through the intimate connection 
we cradle, 
for a cause we call Love. 

Glossy, Crimson Lips

Feel,
I am passionate.
Drink my scarlet wine.
Feel,
I am bright.
Look up, through the gone rain,
I sit there on top,
see my paved stare.
Feel,
the excited burn like a hot -
cool -
 mesmorizing sunset over the deep ocean of Mexico.
Wake up!
Brake lights on cars,
I am
as sweet as the juicy insides of perfectly ripe plum.
Fire and love
my eagerness hands it out -
like a spicy, smoky salsa
dance
in high, piercing heels.
Can you feel me?
Taste my read all over,
but read me as a novel you can't put down.

An Hour With Sophie

Sophie sat there without a clue, or so I thought. She stared off into her own vision, in a trance that looked as though could not be broken. Spellbound, I thought. I wondered what she was thinking. Was it the hard rain sheets falling down from the sky in a diagonal form? Or, was she just lost in the Doors? The glass of Pinot Noir, with just a sip missing, assembled itself on the table, motionless. The pumpkins were nestled in a red-colored, porcelain leaf among a nine-candle holder displaying orange tea lights, burning a flame bright enough to light the room. The pumpkins each had a name, Lara, Sheila and Carlene. Sophie named them after a song from a reggae CD she had listened to at least a hundred times.

We sat surrounded by bright yellow walls and a large maroon-colored beam that ran across the entire room. She had an incredible collection of live plants from all over the world, and on the floor was an assortment of pillows of all colors. In the corner revealed a wine rack filled with empty wine bottles.

Sophie looked out thru the rain, out to the vast ocean that was her view. She did not surf, but she knew about weather and waves.

“Look at those lines,” she told me, “like marching horses.”

She was speaking about the wind on the water causing small wave-like grooves. I could not see “marching horses” but I nodded in agreement.

Smoke from the incense filtrated through the room and into out nostrils. It made winding turns in the air, like a road along the coast of California . With each bend it featured, the room grew foggier, foggy like my mind. I sat there waiting for Sophie’s next move. I was not sure how long it would take. I remembered a time where we sat like this for two hours. I was afraid to leave. I enjoyed and admired Sophie so much I could not abandon this time together. After having sat there that day, Sophie opened up with: “well…oh…my…I…didn’t…uh….um…what did you feel?”

What was I supposed to feel? Sophie was defiantly eccentric and ever so much more fascinating. I was amused, even if we sat in silence for a long period of time.

“So…” Sophie finally broke the silence.

A long pause stood among us. Was I to say something? Sophie was lost amidst a force much greater that one we can begin to imagine. She often spoke about how the sun and the moon were one in making our lives into beautiful revolutions. It was difficult to keep up with her vigor and vitality. I did not want to seem out of touch with nature and my surroundings. We sat there for the next few minutes in stillness and an unruffled serenity.

“So” Sophie started again. “Did you feel that energy?”

As I started to open my mouth my phone rang. AAHHHHH!!! I could not help to look down and see who it was. I unclipped the magnetic latch on my purse and my hand rummaged inside. I grabbed this annoying and horrifying sound and saw that it was my Mother. Sophie looked at me. I had to take it, it was important.

Let Me Smile A Thousand Smiles

Let it go, let it all go, let it go.

Let the tears run a marathon down your cheeks. Let your heart spill the kept secrets of your soul. Let your eyes turn a deep scarlet with unforgiving emotion. Let the sky hear your saddest cries. Let the stars shake with the thunderous roll of your heat. Let it go, let it all go. 

Let those thoughts sprint away on a long-gone, forgotten journey. Let those opinions sink to the bottom of the deepest crater. Let your mind fall at ease in the company of your soul. Let your heart join in the laughter of innocent joys. Let it go, let it all go.

Let the warm sun dance a seductive jive on your cheeks. Let the wind entangle your hair inviting the flowers of spring to nestle in the braid of life. Let the sweet juice of berries of summer speak what your spirit calls out. Let your legs run through the trails of a childhood and your hunger call you when it is ready. Let it go, let it all go.

Let the love of unconditional bonds wrap itself around your muscles. Let the love lift you on its brawny shoulders. Let the love carry your steps as you jig through this dream. Let it go, let it all go.

Let your fingers write the poem of your life. Let the paintings sing your cheers. Let the trunk of past fears be shipped off and gone. Feel the change of your face as you let yourself smile a thousand smiles.
Let it go, let it all go, let it go.

"Dreams are Wishes Your Heart Makes"

We make things up sometimes just for fun. And, sometimes we make things up because we wish it actually happened in that way. We don't quite understand why our minds and actions work separately, but they do and because of it we are left wrenched, exhausted and beaten when in reality we haven't even started. So, where do we begin when we have already built up so much against us? At the beginning? Where is that place? Is it even a place? Most likely it is a state of mind without an address. An address is simply a place to get mail. It can change wherever we land at the moment. But, maybe an address is a place to till the earth and build roots.

When do I get to start this awesome adventure? Soon, maybe tomorrow? Maybe tonight in my dreams. I think it was Cinderella who said, "dreams are wishes your heart makes."