the most beautiful thing: your new home, too

•May 3, 2012 • Leave a Comment

Lonely Dog Photo, Nicolas Leroy

You were the one who surprised me from your box bed under the house near the sand above the waves, and whom I surprised in kind. Did you know that in your search for a simple hiding sleeping bedding place, you would find a new home? Did you know? Simple wishes can carry you to the most elaborate dreams come true?

You are the one they called mangera, I call flaco, they all called ugly. You with the strange transfixed eyes waiting to ask or to run, never knowing which was next or needed. Did you know your wag would return, your steps would become so playful? Did you know that little piece of carpet would be yours for so long and longer when you first dared to claim it for just one night, just one night more, and one more still? Now, how long has it been? Two months? A lifetime?

You are the one who is here in the morning, sleeps softly at night, follows our beloved to and fro and can rest now, rest, and play now, play. You are the one with a person to call your own now, one who told me you belong here now, my heart softening at such kindness. Did you know that we would love you? Did you see a different kindness in us? Did you remember that people could be generous to even an unknown vagabond with crazy eyes and uncertain steps? Do you know that in your rekindled joy and fed appetite, you have also given us joy and that yes, in fact, we do love you?

You will be the one that joins us in our settling, long after we assume we have already settled right down. You will meet fresh and new the life growing inside me, too. You will remember because we will remind you that there is food, and peace, and beach walks, and cuddles to be had here, and you will keep relaxing your vigilance. We will do these things together here, because this is your new home, too.


Photo by Nicolas Leroy.

the most beautiful timeless breaks of light

•February 2, 2012 • 1 Comment

Nowhere and a million little pieces stretching everywhere all at once. Time lost to the space between the seats and the underside of maple leaves. Even the noise of it all scattered like so many thoughts in the face of death and it was death I felt, free and clear, again and again.

The bouncing remembering of where I am going and where I have already been stays between the dotted lines, the bright red flashing lights behind us. The exit is certainly to come and for now there is the view and the obliterated view of it all.

Lost in the flash of something here long before the thought of any of us by our parents or even a god. Found in the shadow of the awestruck. Kept secret even now as it is told.

Because nothing can describe in truth the weightless wonder of those flashes of sunlight intermittently breaking through the trees and flooding my eyes on the way home on the elementary school bus.


Photo found at Melly’s blog Existential Detective.

tmbt: wake up your baby

•January 16, 2012 • 6 Comments

“You need to wake up your baby,” he said with a smile after asking me seemingly out of the blue to go for a little walk. Wake up my… baby? Wow, he said that. Yes, my baby. Our baby.

We came back half an hour later, tummies fuller and blood a little lighter with the hum of sugar. And the baby? Dancing, dancing, dancing!

“What did you feed him, Red Bull?” was the joke. And so the sonogram continued, and the giggling… lots and lots of giggling.

This is how I remember that all else that day was forgotten but for the twelve-week-old dancer in my belly. A baby. A turning, kicking, (I like to imagine) smiling, little baby growing so fast, looking so forward to the light of it all. And we, looking forward, too – I’d venture to say more, but one never ever does or will know the hopes of an unborn but fully alive little human swimming in your very own genetic pool.

It was a hard first three months awash in nausea, emotional upheavals and excited preoccupation. But then this week sea sickness subsided, love and joy bourgeoned brighter, more fully fully intact, and we suddenly had more than enough certainty to carry us through. I now re-watch the little sonogram video and laugh at our little one’s animated nature – big head bobbing, little fists raising to the beat of something rock anthem-like I would guess, feet jigging up and down to the side of me, little spine undulating in the floating space of it all. Our miracle. Our total and complete miracle.

I’m not the first to say it’s a total and complete miracle. I won’t possibly be the last. And the miraculous moments of this specific beating heart beauty will run into the millions, billions, trillions I estimate (roughly), but this, this one right here on this very special day of watching the dancing, this right now is the most beautiful thing.


Baby (Dancer) Arenas Philipp is due July 25, 2012 and will be born in Chile to his Chilean father and U.S.ian mother (me).

tmbt: views to the edge of the galaxy

•January 11, 2012 • 1 Comment

We could see the other two, hovering wobbly, looming bigger than our moon and we wondered where the sun should be if not here. And the earth turned and all the rest came into view, aligned and sweet in the dim light air. Huge and colorful in their muted globular tones of red, blue, green, grey, light unnecessary, thoughts unfound. And we could see it all stretched out next to us like we were laying together in the grass.

Then the meteor fell into the mountain and the trees tumbled down the side with it. We dodged the other treasure hunters, bountying for meteoric gold, and found wonders turned to ornaments turned to simple mistaken debri. We wanted a piece of the heavens when the heavens were reaching out for a piece of us.

Last night I dreamed the whole solar system lit up at midnight and cuddled up close to ring in a new era. I dreamed of music and men, planets and falling lights, and I dreamed of a big round belly filled with sweet songs and lights of its own. I dreamed the most beautiful things…

the most beautiful thing: light on glass on wood

•January 1, 2012 • 3 Comments

He draws lines in sand, wood in glass, wind and water to take them. Visions come and visions go, not knowing how we make them. All the while, sun it sees, the thoughts and where it takes him. Burning forth light on glass on wood before time breaks in.


Art by Jim Denevan.

tmbt: little lights aside

•December 31, 2011 • Leave a Comment

Sometimes all the things I could have been, all the things I thought I would have been, they start falling down on me. No so much falling as surrendering to the pull of me, the gravitational pull of me, the gravity of my doubts. And the future, it is so unclear it is cloudy, cigarette smoke-filled room cloudy, and I can see nothing of the things I thought in the things I think.

The possibility that exists here still, orbiting the body, orbiting the mind of it all, it breaks out in little lights, little christmas tree twinklers with not a one of them out to blind the rest.

But this is not a post about those lights. And guilt washing and brain bending will not keep me from saying what on this otherwise terribly hopeful wide-open day there is to note, beautiful as ugly is…

That sometimes all the things I could have been start falling down on me.


Drawing by Sushibird.

tmbt: bird in the lamp post

•December 26, 2011 • 3 Comments

She has made her home in the light. She is not an existential wonder, nor a sun-worshipping beach bunny. She is calm and sweet, and likes the way the post is surrounded by perching wires. She can see forever from her straw-filled hole inside the street light casing, and she doesn’t mind the quick dip down to get Rainier cherries. She is not known for her lover’s song, nor for her size and speed. Her delicately striped face is just a gift to the eclectic skyscape and it matters not whether her beauty is noticed by the human in the window below, or not. She is relaxed and aware – it is her nature after all – and she is the most beautiful thing.


Photo by Elise, Flickr.