ronny

this grief is the same as the other grief—

this loss is a river joining that greater river—

they are the same river.

one memory that returns to me often is less memory and more bodily sensation, a heart and nerve trembling reminiscence of the Algarve the night we dosed and never left our hotel suite.

dopamine-drenched caricatures of our true selves, we danced— me in my underwear selecting disco, spinning in place in the center of the room, you zipping around constantly with idea and task, each action cloudy in your lavishly translucent burnt orange dress, tits hanging out of the center for frequent cruises across my blurry dopey face.

at the end of the night, tv flickering with protagonist battling his crush’s villainous ex-lovers, we lay side by side in bed, desperate for rest but too tired to yearn.

i looked at the fringe of my blanket and saw lithe dancers, white threaded tropical birds, and thought of trips and lovers and the gifts we gave each other— stones, crystals, blankets of azure, blankets verdant green, tickets to the festival, free therapy (and the need for it), a car, a sticker and a chapbook of poems of love, moon, winter

i breathe in love

i breathe out red hair curling like flames and turning to smoke leaving behind only soft sticky ginger chews and

emptiness and a bourgeois neighborhood and grand vistas of the bay and mini coopers on every block and girls in yoga pants of every earthy color and a lake full of corporate fire-burning buddhists and a whole parade of rippling messiahs and a bottle of whiskey, floated up from the wreckage of a devastating hurricane of cops beating a poor man on the street of bad food-induced vomiting and drugs, drugs, drugs for every ailment and for every holy intention and very healthy rational skepticism and an ocean of earl grey tea, an island of honey

and a house quivering, dancing in ecstasy, dreaming of endless holidays in Porto, Lisboa, Barcelona, sparkling water and wine on the Côte d'Azur, half-naked room service sprinting smiling in the middle of a lightning storm, flashes orgasming through the skylight as the brain sparkles, bubbles, and fizzes a billion permutations of a trillion ideas every gazillionth of a second as the eyes show it, bright with wisdom, and the lips seek it, truth with sex, and the skin feels it, charred in death—

i breathe in

i looked around & what did i see

i saw the Buddha sit under an oak tree in a vast meadow under blue sky and sun. she sat and smiled, long black hair framing her face as the infinity machine played music for the benefit of all beings.

i saw the Buddha play the drums for the first time for a crowd of city hipsters. iridescent illuminated, his black hands hesitated like a paradox, the hesitation producing perfect rhythm.

i saw the Buddha speak to his disciples, big tattoo heart brimming with jokes, quotes, anecdotes, and an unwavering insistence on kindness and generosity. i left his church a grizzly bear, dancing all the way

home.

what is it like reading a memoir written by a poet about her divorce

while chatting with a customer service agent in order to reverse a charge of $160.08 for residential waste pickup services which were not used for months because the house was already sold because of my own divorce

while chatting with a friend who insists that that Buddhist event i went to for peace and solemnity was too esoteric and advanced for me to understand

while chatting with my ex-girlfriend about our upcoming camping trip about trails and meals and not about emotions

?

At my best, I am singing along. Dancing in my living room, biking down the street, sitting at this fine restaurant; affirming, humming, singing. Every song—the songs I love, the songs I dislike, the songs of love, the songs of heartbreak, the odes to sex, the psalms of change—reminds me of my life, and I rejoice in it. How could I be lonely? I am infinite, and drinking a single glass of wine with dinner. I order the salad and the soup with a side of bread and this is a great feast. My hair looks however it does, and my eyes squint with uncanny awareness. I smile for no reason, or all of them. I overhear conversations around me—people on first or 5,000th dates—or don’t, it doesn’t matter. I am sitting with relaxed shoulders and cool body, savoring the teensy climate of the place, the heat of the kitchen, the chills of the open doorway. Nebbiolo: People raised this from the earth in Italy and sent it here, I sip. Death is coming. There it was. It came and went. Did you feel it? There again. And again. Life too. They’re dancing a waltz, salsa. They’re freaking to ghettotech. Voguing. Some of the moves are quick, subtle, easy to miss. Others are grand, shocking and electrifying the crowd. At my best, I am still one of the crowd, but neither shocked or awed. I am squinting with easy awareness, tongue not touching the roof of my mouth, teeth not chattering, smile laid easy. I let go of this feeling too, at my best.

soft, warm, and alone in bed at home in the morning dusk— i savor Qawwali, solitude, and fantasies of love.

dear heart,

hello old friend. it’s good to know you’re still there. you’re there, i’m here, and that’s reason enough to be happy.

thank you for your music. the song remains the same, and i can only wonder if i am changed. your song fills me with blood and delight.

i’m sorry, old friend, for all the times i’ve ignored you. i’m sorry for forgetting you were even there. when i forgot you, i forgot myself.

it hurts to think that you had to scream to remind me of your presence. it hurts to think that i quickly turn to your pang but so easily turn away from your peace.

if i am to move forward, old friend, i am to move forward with you. if i am to take steps and smile at the world, it will only be with you.

we can never say goodbye.

i’m so happy and i’m so peaceful, and the world is full of suffering. i wake up every morning and sit quietly with my eyes closed for 30 minutes, trying to do nothing but be present. happy and peaceful in the present moment. a million thoughts crowd in, but i smile and thank myself for trying anyway. i walk my dog to the park and this makes us both happy, she because she can relieve herself, me because the sweeping beauty of the bay. here is a gorgeous and fit young person on their morning run. here is someone who hasn’t bathed in months, maybe years, muttering to themselves about “pork futures”—people love bacon, he reasons to himself, so pork futures are always a safe bet. the sun is warm, the breeze is cool, everything is perfect. nothing is perfect, everyone is suffering. a joyous woman in her late 30s just died, leaving behind two children and a bewildered community—why her? i am alive, i am breathing and trying to be grateful for the fact that i am breathing, i am alive. i have my parents, but for how long? i have my dog, but for how long? i have my friends, but for how long? i have my life and breath, but for how long? right now, right here. it’s so beautiful, everything is so beautiful. everything is so tragic, it’s so tragic. a good friend’s good friend just hung himself; his son found him. i take a sip of wine. i don’t cry. my heart is beating. i love my daughter. i don’t have a human daughter and don’t know what that’s like, but i love my canine daughter. i love my niece and nephew. i love that they are alive, i love that they are breathing. i love that you are alive, that you are breathing, that you are even still reading this. respond to this, send me a sign of life. i would love it because it would be a reminder that you are alive, that you are breathing. in this present moment. i talked to a friend this week: she is going through a very scare health scare, but she feels calm and fearless. i love her. i talked to a friend this week: she wants me to edit her collection of poetry about the times when she was a sweet young thing. i love her. i talked to a friend this week: seemingly out of nowhere, she told me she was depressed, and collapsed into my arms, crying. i love her. i talked to a friend this week: she held my hand while we listened to Lennon and McCartney in HiFi. i love her. people say that’s love, people say that’s not love. people say a lot of things. i love them all, and i see them suffering. the world says so much, and it’s full of suffering. in this moment, i am grateful to see it all so clearly. i am grateful that i can even see at all. i love you.