On a Day

In the end, everything turned out okay,
The grasses grew where the bodies lay,
The sun would bring another day,
The atmosphere filtered fresh in its timeless way
But the mammals, birds, reptiles, amphibians, and insects had gone away
With the final exhalations of the whimper.

It didn’t have to happen like this;
Free will came in every culture and form
As did prayers, meditations, contemplations and charms
But Intimidation was let to rule the day

• A thug for Greed and soullessness
• Shining like a beacon calling all to exhausted surrender.

And no, you are not here to read this rhyme,
Unless, of course, the wearing-down failed,
The good was hailed,
The thugs were jailed,
And Love won, and in time.

A Brief Inventory

Please keep the shadows long
and the afternoons golden and green
and our conversations relaxed and easy
remember the birds, they flit from branch to branch,
I like that, too.
And the slow sunset,
and the fresh colors of dusk and twilight,
oh, and night. Dark night, sparkly with stars
and a moon sometimes
but sometimes not.
Mornings gently occur
with a softness to the light of day
a hint of blue and a subtle yellow
and green hills
and fluffy clouds
and sometimes no clouds
and sometimes rain clouds
and sometimes rain
and sometimes snow for some people if they want it,
or wind that doesn't fight anybody very hard
but maybe musses hairdos and clothes a bit
and causes people to duck slightly as they step outside from inside
and makes sparks jump from person to person
or person to thing just a little and always by surprise.
And let's keep storm systems
that clean and wash the sky and rivers and oceans and forests and streets
without making the news.
Yes. All that.
Thanks.

Resting on the Wheel

Driving along a little side-street at fifteen-twenty miles per hour
There's no traffic but you, and it's a good thing I see you coming, big white panel van
veering over across the center
still a good 30 feet away from me.

It's all early morning slow motion
nothing to be alarmed about but hey--maybe so:
Shouldn't you be staying on your own side of the road?

I beep. Your trajectory does not change.
I honk. Your trajectory does not change.
I honk longer.

Now I can see your face, directed downward
but don't worry. I don't think for a moment that you are
dead in there, unconscious, having a health event;
I know the behavior too well
and ah, now maybe you heard my noise,
Yeah no, you still veer, and I am observing in the slo-mo-moment momentum
the diagonal line you defaulted to is unchanging.

I lay on the horn and adjust steering toward the shoulder of the road to make a bay-line around you
and I watch for the eye contact.
Your face lifts slightly and there it is, yeah no:
you raise your face to the direction of the road ahead,
that trick of timing, that tick to tell your conscience you're doing fine, little phone in one hand,
the other resting on the wheel.

Ode to Camping

No hot shower. No soft bed. Sunlight glaring in your face before you are ready to wake. Noisy trailer generators hum at varied distances, masking the sounds of birdsong you wanted to hear. Sap on tabletops. Your ancestors strived to live indoors. Conestoga wagons in the hot sun.

Now there is a caveat: a hike too far from civilization to plug in anything, a remote location where the stars at night seem to arrive in shifts as your eyes adjust to the darkness, a cool snow-melt lake, waves gently curving to shore as they have been since before humans took over, bare basics of food packed in, trash packed out, peace, quiet, observation, near silent walks on soft fallen pine-needles, conversation with like-minded companions, birds that flit, swoop and sing.  Raise the food high away from bears and deer, wrapped well against the squirrels.  Stare at the sky through branches, boughs even, rest. Of course there is a reason to camp. Do I want to go?  No.  But do I want to be there? Of course.

The Spider Feels

That feeling when you’re not afraid of spiders and go out of your way to put them outside when you find them in the house, but as you walk to your car in the summer night you’re pretty sure you walked through a web so you run your hands down your arms and feel that perhaps you’ve brushed off the web and that the spider is not with you, but you feel a little bit like a bad actor who doesn’t really commit to the role and you know you’re not certain that you’ve accomplished the task—if there was a spider at all.

That feeling that feels like a three quarters truth that there was no spider; it was just a stray hair falling along your bare arm, you get in the car and begin the drive home, a block or two a tickle: is that the light touch of spider feet on your hand? Can’t look. Traffic to contend with no it must be that hair.

That feeling as you recognize in no uncertain terms spider tracks on your hand so you fling and shake the hand outward toward the passenger seat and figure you’ve launched the spider away to somewhere else in the car. You don’t want to open the window and kill it, but please stay in your own territory Spider, now you have your place.

That feeling as you drive down the boulevard that maybe there was no spider and the lady on the radio is talking about her life so the subject is now in the past, irrelevant.

That feeling as your peripheral vision captures, as if a cartoon silhouetted against the driver’s side window, a really big spider dropping from the ceiling working its web line for dear life and you flinch (and you drive safely!) and though you know that spider is more disrupted and more scared of you than you are of it, still you're sent into the throe of a squirm, wiggle and a vocal pitch of a “whoop-whoop!”

Focusing on driving skill you make your turn and turn again into the alley to slow by tree branches so you can open the window and let the spider out and you finally get a good look: stripes like a zebra, spotted like a leopard, the size of a nickel! Relief it’s not the orb weaver whose boundaries you’d been so bent on respecting all week.

That feeling where you hope you didn’t just accidentally crush it between the window and the frame, and you haven’t, and you introduce it to its new home but it now knows only you and tries to stay, or maybe it’s confused because it is rushing toward you as if panicked so you open the door and with the motion it drops on its line to the alley floor so you close the door and race away. That painful suspicion that the spider is still attached to the car, hanging on for dear life like James Bond on the rail of a helicopter in the Alps.

You don’t have much farther to go and you pull into the garage, park and close the garage door. You open the car door and there—it—is. It has made it through so much, still trying to get a semblance of place it perches on the bottom of the car door frame. Is it catching its breath?

That feeling as you get out of the car and look to the shelves and grab for something to capture it in and you find the lid of a spray paint can. Now you can catch the spider and put it on a plant. That is all you wanted.

That feeling as it quickly drops to the garage floor and runs under the car and away. Fair enough.

That feeling as you leave the scene to go into the house that spiders are crawling on you. That sense persisting as you take care of a few chores. The quick spin and brush of the arms, pats of your shoulders, slaps at ghosts of spider webs as they suggest themselves again and again.

How sensitive we are to these ages old relationships. Human to spider, since forever ago I’m sure—sudden surprise entanglements that linger.

The Super Guru on the Fence

"Ah Wise Children, in your hurry to sound profound take care to avoid jumping to conclusions." - The Super Guru on the Fence

I am the Super Guru on the Fence-- at least for today.

Sports Thoughts

I have tried many times to discover an appreciation for sports, but this is as far as I ever get:


"Hmmm... the shape of the play area is interesting. The colors are pretty. I wonder what the fabric is. I hope they aren't getting brain damage... wow there are a lot of logos around the field. Are the color commentators gonna ever stop talking [when watched on TV of course]. Hmmm... look at the sky. The stars are out during the daytime, we just can't see them, except the sun. The sun is a star. The universe is so big... it's infinite. What is infinity? Those are nice outfits the athletes are wearing. What time is it?"

Ode to a Republican Tax Plan

The devil will give you candy
and pat you on the head
and make you think you're better off
by following his plans.
He'll show bullet points on paper
but stop you from turning the page
"Just take your sweet treats and we'll take care of the rest!"
Is what he always says.
But the rest isn't a sweet nap,
It's a long and twisted night.
and no matter how you reach and lurch
you can't turn on the light.

Mettle

We dance and we leap,

paint fine facial features, sing arias,

build bridges, streets and cityscapes.

We tend to our children

and the weakest among us.

We kill and we creep,

go along to get along, justify,

demolish subtle ideas.

We abandon ourselves

like an addict exhausted.

Capable of everything possible

we can be magnificent,

and also we can

lose conscience and tenacity.

Calls for optimism become

some long lost book

of famous last words

found buried deep in rubble

by anthropological sorts

in a future to be determined.

No mettle, compassion, or commitment to love

constitutes a cycle of abuse.

Look at pictures of armies for tyrants

and civilizations that fall to the will—

some for lack of support, some may surmise

that some dictated end justifies

fueling the hate, and Hate lies.

So: No.

Mettle, compassion, and commitment to love.

Break the cycle of abuse.

Look at pictures of activists for peace

and societies that stand up to the cruel—

some for show of support, some may surmise

that what speaks for our species thrives

in nurturing empathy, and Empathy arrives.

Yes.

Mettle.

Compassion, and commitment to love break the cycle of abuse.

We dance and we leap

in a future to be determined.

Underneath a Stormy Sea

Underneath a stormy sea
that'd pitch a ship and wobble sealegs,
that'd hitch a hip to bend to nausea
that'd already shifted the seabirds inland for shelter
fish swim
in beautiful caverns.

12-19-2016:

Swimming hard to the surface to break the skin of the nightmare and awake into daylight

with sun shining, birds singing, a fresh breeze.
The roar--a memory to shake; an exaggeration of a fear raised by the unconscious
But no.
the world has dipped its head under
and decided to stay.
Inhale the inky water
and begin a dream
that flips the world on its head.
Sleep is the new
awake.
Awake. Hushed at parties, careful until you know
who you can talk to
and who
is only
for polite smiles
and swift escapes.

Perspective Adjuster Piece

Somewhere right now there is a shoreline with a sand crab working its way into the wet sand to avoid the gleeful child who keeps picking up double handfuls of soaked sand to watch the sand crabs emerge. The kid always sets them free, but the sand crab doesn’t know that. The seagull does though. Somewhere right now there is an apple on a tree in the sun. There is a dog barking in a yard. There is mailman hopping back onto his truck. There is a musician practicing scales.

10/21/2014

Opportunity and Destiny

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade--don't just piss in the water pitcher and cry about how lemonade is a horrible drink.

-just came up with that one today. A little note to the "Bernie or Bust" gang.

The Tilting Right and the Teetering Left: A Steady Stride to Sanity

At the DNC--and throughout the rest of the 2016 Presidential campaign--I hope Hillary Clinton continues to describe her policies and details where they lead. I hope she speaks beyond her loyal audience and reaches out to both the tilting right and the teetering left.  

I am not talking about convincing extremists to come to a place of moderation, I am addressing the uncertain. Both the tilting and teetering can come to points of balance in time for the election in November. This is my diagnosis and prescription:

The tilting right are caught in the spell of drumph's* empty bragging points and boasts for "change." Because they have sincere wishes for democracy to function, they're not sure how they'll vote but they're feeling pressure to go along with drumph because he's gotten under their skin. His tactic is to make people think they're dumb if they don't agree with him and it may be working.

But, when drumph he uses the term, "government", he's including the US Constitution and Bill of Rights as part of the problematic system he perceives. When he says "establishment" he's not talking about the 1%, cronyism, US policies in global politics--he's just talking about "government" as a broad and blind generalization.

The tilting right are frustrated about government. Traditionally, the right sees government as something outside themselves. Hillary's challenge to communicate to the tilting right is to finesse a message that invites engagement. We the people are the government. The more people get involved, the better the government reflects the will of the people. If Hillary can empower this group to participate in this democracy they will come to abhor the one man show drumph is offering.

The teetering left are grieving Bernie Sanders' loss of the primary. Much of their complaint has been that they don't like the "establishment" either, and they are talking about the 1%, cronyism, US policies in global politics (and Big Oil, too). They believe the "system" has become corrupt. The ideals they hoped we would all embrace in the form of Bernie have been counterbalanced by voters seeking a different pace or strategy.

The teetering left are the group for whom it's most crucial to find their footing by November. Hillary is prepared and equipped to serve as President of the US.  Bernie's supporters, dislike her though they may, have got to bite the bullet, participate in the election and vote for Hillary.  At the very least, they'll have to cast it simply to counterbalance drumph. Opting out means their votes fall to drumph. If they think they're sad now, how might they feel upon realizing that drumph manipulated their dislike, or even disdain for Hillary into all out paralyzing hatred? drumph's tactic now is to stifle both the teetering left and the tilting right because he really needs that inaction, and he needs it bad!

Hillary's challenge at the DNC is to evoke enthusiasm for democracy, participation and life itself.  We all need to walk straight into this election, eyes open, with a steady stride. We can overcome this scary phase of our nation's development.  And we need to help Hillary Clinton win the US presidency in 2016. Our nation needs us to support her so we need to balance this one together and remember that it takes a village.

*The name drumph is intentionally left uncapitalized.

The Appetizers That Tried Too Hard

As a dog
just having had a peanut butter snack
thrusts tongue forward and back and forward again to clear the stickum from behind large molars,
I attempt to remove a taste from my mouth
a mere illusion: inspired by a picture
of 
sardine salad
stuffed into lemons
topped with olives
yet displayed to appear
as
cupcakes.

To Lend a Book

To lend a book

is to lend a daydream

to share a world

to imagine what another would like to think about

--what might enrich,

or satisfy.

To lend a book

is an act of trust

that foremost in the mind 

is the notion that the relationship with said book is temporary.
--you may get it back,
might not.

To lend a book

is a risky thing;

Books absorb into minds 
and into shelves.

We Are All Immigrants. All of Us.

We are all immigrants: not just Americans, Canadians, Australians, but all of us. Even the traces of the oldest ancestor in Africa, as far back as genetics could reach, were found in a man in Asia. Sometimes we migrated for adventure, but usually we migrated because of some kind of external force. What I love about the better qualities of the US is the way we embrace our heritages. We talk about them, show them off, brag about them as if we created them. Except for those who were forced to be here, the rest of us got in because someone, somewhere, held a door open for us. It is ethical then to hold that door open for others, and not only welcome, but show some gratitude for the descendants of those who were forced to be here. We are all immigrants. All of us. Here are some good sources:

Spencer Wells: Journey of Man (video, 2 hrs)

Spencer Wells: A Family Tree for Humanity (video, TED Talk, 20 minutes)

I Didn't Know Kids Could Still Skip

Walking into work, an ordinary day but it's going to be too hot
and the sun imposing over the top of my sunglasses
I'm all too aware of all the world:
the civil servant who wants to pick and choose which parts of her job she does
the comb over guy with the fish lips shouting and
global struggles and 
cultural tensions and
refugees refugees refugees and
fishery slaves on ships they can't escape and
bear poaching lion poaching and elephants and lost dogs and
yoga class is coming and juicing kale prevents cancer and
look a kitten!
And
now a new big fat corporate mall is opening in my town.
And
here she comes
skipping along,
a red-headed girl, maybe nineteen,
a slouchy backpack lifts on the hop
bounce hefts on the slide and
she has a smile on her face
like she knows it's a little silly but so
I imagine
something good just happened
or maybe she is making something good happen
simply by skipping.
How much can I influence?
How much can I influence?
How much can I skip?

jeanosullivan, 2015 September 9

Faux and Soul

In a world of faux and soul,

The former live to gain favor;

The latter to live fully.

The foes lack soul:

Life is a strain to impose, force the will, in hopes of some kind of relief

that will never come

from that tactic.

Sinewy necked and sweating, teeth gritting grimaced all that.

The soulful align to remind each other

The best that can be accomplished in the faux world

is to clutch at straws.

Night time, heads on pillows,

Love embraces the soulful, refreshes, reinforces connections intangible but more solid than a mountain.

c.2014jeanosullivan

40 Days of Posts that Make Life Better: #6: Ears!

Thanks to tremendously detailed and delicate instruments inside a hard candy shell (our heads), we get to hear.  Here's how it works: Auditory Transduction (not my own video).  But, that is my own ear. And while I'm on the subject, I made that earring and another one just like it.