Monday, September 19, 2022

The Sombrero You Wore


The sombrero you wore 

said to everyone gathered: 

“Look at me!”

and if that wasn’t enough to catch their eye

when you entered the room as a playful old woman

in your bright Mexican hat,

your newly healed legs sliding backwards, 

moon-walking in slow motion like you were

part Michael Jackson, part Charlie Chaplin, 

told us all that something special was happening. 


The old Lakota medicine man, 

the one who years ago had  

pointed toward Quetzalcoatl 

and said, “seek 

the Plumed Serpent,”

never noticed his old friend,

now a heyoka,

gliding smoothly backwards

across the floor.

Instead, his attention was on me,

his arm firmly around my shoulder

like a long lost son returned.

His arm would not 

relinquish me. 


It remained. 


We sat on the ground,

the old woman and I, 

the two of us facing 

the medicine man, his simple

humble presence solid as 

a mountain of granite before us.

As she leaned back into me

he said, “That wasn’t easy 

last night when she leaned on me 

for over an hour.” 


"My back is strong,” I offered,

and feeling her weight falling into me

said to her, “You can lean on me,

I will hold you up.”


And I remained.


A heyoka is born

by lightning strike, they say. 

I’ve been struck before.

Never saw it coming - 

have been walking backwards since.

Now I tempt the gods - daring them

by holding long metal rods

on mountaintops in lightning storms.


How can they make me walk

anymore backwards?

“You wanna piece of this?! 

You want this?!

You can have it!”

But they scoff at the idea.

After all, of what use 

is a moon-walking, sombrero-wearing

heyoka searching for 

the Plumed Serpent? 


Still,

I remain. 

Tuesday, September 28, 2021

Friday, July 10, 2020

Clairvoyance Haibun

“You have a strong mind,” the therapist said from her power wheelchair that she maneuvered deftly with a push of her thumb and index finger, her small hand steering her worn, crumpled body -- a trophy left over from the 1950’s polio war.

What did I know? A recently broken survivor of a different kind of psychic car crash -- the cancer war. 


She told me right then and there: “Your life will never be the same.” 


I hated her for that. 


But I also loved her - this clairvoyant on wheels, how she already knew long before I ever would that it would never come easy. 


Never. 


There was comfort in her knowing.


I loved her for her honesty about the full truth catastrophe and sparing me none. I loved her for grabbing me by the throat with her tiny hand and throwing me up against the wall, telling me I’d have to fight back hard -- fight for every scrap of ground under my feet!


I loved her for how she roughed me up, seeing a worthwhile cause: my battle for dignity and survival.


I loved her for seeing someone who still had value and worth sitting in his brokenness in front of her and taking him to task: 


“No time to waste! Get to work!” Adding, “Use what you’ve got! Use your strengths to build more strength! Use the gift of your mind! Use it well!”



                                                           precipitous edge

                                                  the one that slices cleanest:

                                                      Buddha’s shiny blade


Saturday, May 23, 2020

Passage





the flower's glory -
one petal, then another, 
and then - gone too soon



Wednesday, April 15, 2020

Remembering

There is worse than pain.
There is forgetting
Those are my eyes in the mirror. 
There is forgetting my own true name.
                      - Pat Mora



Thursday, April 25, 2019

Memory of Water - April 26, 2007
























Prayer for Departure


It was yesterday in the early afternoon light
I held your hand closely in mine, the rosary beads 
draped between our hands - together, passing 
from one bead to the next, 

Hail Mary, full of grace, 

flavoring the room - a balm;
breathing in deeply all that is. 

The Lord is with thee 

ninety-five year old vesseled spirit 
with staccato breath. 

Blessed art thou among women 

emptying with each exhale in the 

lengthening pauses 

of 

nothingness. 

The tide leaves the shore; 
each wave withdraws deeper 
into the sea. 

Blessed is the fruit of thy womb 

a vessel made of red earth and chile; 
once strong legs, a blackening blue
as you take your leave 
no longer needing them. 

Ticket in hand, you turn away, 
look at the clock, see that it’s time, 
and move toward the gate that reads 
‘Departures’. 

Holy Mary, mother of god, 

water pouring into its source, 
the vessel empties, 
the breath rests, 
and this time -

does not 
return. 

Pray for us sinners.

The red-brown clay dries, crumbles... 
returns to the earth, 

now and at the hour of our death, 

as you leave, 
a breeze 
rejoining 
the 
wind. 

Amen

Thursday, April 4, 2019

A Fool's Lucky Seven

Seven Foolish Years ago was the first of two relapses of the non-Hodgkins lymphoma I share the premises with and is now a teenager of 13 years old. Seven years ago I’d just begun chemo coinciding with April Fool’s day and Patti Smith igniting a flame in me with a song of the same name. My oncologist had instructed me to avoid crowds in my compromised immune state — but it was the Festifools Parade - and in my waaay altered state I wanted to be there - not on the sidelines, but in the parade! Being in the parade in the mysterious mask of an old man, I was driven to seize the moment, one old guy’s face protecting another's marching forward.


Seven years later of much foolishness and the seemingly impossible, I’m still here, still foolish, still not taking the impossible for granted. Seven added years of delightfulness, hard times, good times, and everything in between — the whole buffet of living and loving in its fullness every day.

Ain’t no place like here. Good to still share it with you all - even on the bad days, maybe especially on the bad days.


Home movie: https://youtu.be/sRVUHINrZiM



Monday, December 17, 2018

Here's to Now


by Quint Bucholz

Almost Winter Solstice 2018 - 13 yrs now of keeping my feet to the ground. 13 extra years to watch myself, my family, friends, and planet grow, stumble, flourish, struggle, and rise. All pure, rich gravy, lumps and all. Such is life - and being able to show up for all of it - the good and the difficult, is beyond words for me. Life hands you some swerves on the road - sometimes they're a shock, sometimes they're shockingly good like words from my oncologist: "decreasing in size." Didn't see that coming in reference to the wolf who shares my hut, follicular non-Hodgkins lymphoma - a most peculiar cancer. Or as my oncologist said referencing my case: "You're tricky."

Still an outlier, 

xo >>>




Sunday, May 20, 2018

Trust Your Cape

"He's one of those who knows that life
Is just a leap of faith
Spread your arms and hold your breath
Always trust your cape."
                      ~ from 'The Cape' by Guy Clark



Tuesday, September 26, 2017

Autumn Equinox 2017


Remember the Path.
Sometimes the way home is long ~
Old earth; still here; now.

Friday, May 12, 2017

Roses n' Shit Haiku


I believe in this: 
the power in our stories ~ 
how shit grows roses

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

Springtime - 11 yrs later

Life is good.

Reminder

One of my favorite paragraphs from one of my favorite guides writing one of my favorite books: 'Creativity - the perfect crime' - by my patron saint of the Seemingly Impossible, the Conquistador of the Useless, Philippe Petit: 

"In chaos, all is possible. Every incoming idea is welcomed, with no regard for reality. Forget time, money or reason; embrace a brimming universe! Because if you start with rules, your creation will be stillborn." 

                                                                                                                  by Quint Bucholz