one only dreams of having.
The ones where you don’t know
whether to laugh, throw up or cry.
I am at the Saloon of Saloons in my
home town of Fairfax. I am listening
to Knock Knock Knocking at
Heaven’s Door —-
Ma, take this
badge offa me. I concur.
The woman electric guitarist
is barefoot singing her heart out
and singing mine in.
There is an abalone shell
with nag champa burning
and I am the only one not
with a cigargette though if I was
brave enough I would light one
myself. Does anyone have a light?
I have a life saving IPA to rescue
me from this moment
of personal intimacy
where I am so close to my own
self I had to come here just
I didn’t melt into the one
self of selves. Hot. Dangerous territory.
Just a minute ago
when I ordered my cerveza
the woman in the short short
red dress with the huge
black heals and the legs of
made of forever
with the cage
in her hands
stops at the bar.
That is when the bulldog
sniffs the cage. That is when
she takes the tiny white bunny
the size of a baseball and holds
it in her palm for all of us to see.
The bull dog, is just a nose
away from a bunny croissant
and I wonder if anyone but
me is nervous. The moment
in all its isolating poignancy
grips me right inside the heart
until my hand flies to my heart
in… wonder? Terror? Curiousity
at life and its gritty interior.
I gasp in relief when
bambi bunny goes back into its cage.
Moments before I steal a kiss
on the cheek
from the cutest bartender
with the juicy lips
I cannot help myself.
He is a bar over
and I wonder if
I will ever truly love again. Sigh.
I wonder. I love. But I aint talking
about love, but about truly loving.
The ouchy kind. The wake up smiling kind.
The kind that makes a cup of tea
like ecstasy. That kind. Will I have it?
I sit down hard in the turquoise
faux leather booth to cheers of hello
from almost met friends
and feel gratitude for the
absolute grace and grit
of this moment. A sense of rightness
fills me and I land after a day of
flying in skies too good too be true.
Today completes a dream
come true day for me in my work
and while I won’t go into in detail
about the river with rose petals
or the chanting or the prayers
or the healing stories….
with the women who will heal the world
I know it in the soles of my feet.
In the gutter of my soul, I know.
The Cosmic Cowgirls.
I won’t tell you know about the tears
because I cannot speak a word about
the sacred, instead I have gathered
myself safely into the profane
for safe keeping.
I cannot tell you about the splendor of it,
since there is no language yet
I had to come and ground
here in the gutter of the soul,
the saloon closest to my front door
with the games in the background
on the television.
Did I mention that the girl
in the red dress has a San Francisco
Giants tattoo between her wings?
This is when I fall in love with her.
And also know, that the white bunny
is not in safe territory. The paradox.
With my computer journal
at my fingertips I know
this moment won’t be lost
in the magnitude of its emotion.
Instead. I have captured it.
This time. Gotcha!
This place. This reality.
This moment. This smell.
This strange home.
Fairfax. Where I have come since
I was just a baby.
I have come
to listen. To heal. To ground.
To love. To wonder.
I have spent the weekend
with close to 20 of the most
amazing women in the world
and seen more hope hatched
than I imagined even existed
and I feel like I am coming down
off the greatest drug of all.
Love after love.
Right now, the woman in the purple dress
with green lace is singing, one booth over,
shamelessly, with the band.
I take off the mantle of
and join the chorus
and I am at home.
Lonely. Complete. Incomplete. Curious.
Surrounded by love.
and at home.
Utterly. At home.
As I finish these closing lines
the band belts out
as if their life depends on it.
Mine does. But not because of the words.
But because of their intention
and because they truly care
that we enjoy their last song.
The Red Thread Cafe