The Blueberry Review

What comes to mind when you think of herbal tea? Green tea? Wimpy, right? Uninspired. Droll. Don't hippies drink that stuff? Oh those smelly hippies. Sure, tea is easy to pick on, and why not, it's not like it has feelings or anything.

What if I told you that one sip of Celestial Seasonings Blueberry Breeze Green Tea would dispel the above stereotypes? You'd scoff. Sure. Because you're cynical, jaded, and under stress. Your scoffing would be warranted, though, because you would begin to suspect there was something special about this tea BEFORE you sipped it -- as soon as you poured it (or watched it steep in the saucepan like I do because a teapot just isn't a necessary item according to the fundamental laws of utilitarian budget restrictions). You'd notice that its reddish-purple color is familiar because it appears to you at sunset. You'd stare and fret about what would happen if you spilled such a vibrant color on the carpet. You'd spill it, yet it would not stain. You'd sip, and realize it was divine -- this, the ambrosia of the Gods -- but you'd still wonder how it would taste if you drizzled some honey into the cup -- just a little -- and squeezed some lemon into it, never minding the seeds escaping the pulp.

Then you would taste again. You would delight in the way the sweetness blended with just the right amount of tartness, remniscent of fresh blueberries but without the staining properties. You would gaze at the Blueberry Goddess on the package and love her and the artist who conjured her. Stress would drain from your body as you sipped, content in the experience of beauty joined with perfection.

You would then climb into bed, ready for sleep. And then you'd lie awake for hours, because it's green tea, silly, and it's caffeinated.

Solar Return, Lunar Surprise

It took turning another year older and the energy of a full moon to realize that an extended cycle of my life is complete, one that has encompassed several cycles of sun and moon. Another begins. I find myself in that awkward transitional zone between what has passed away and what is yet to manifest and be seen.

Perhaps that is why no words are coming. I sit in front of the computer and try to express myself, but there is a gap between what I am experiencing and my ability to process and articulate it.

After reflecting last night on the past year of my life, I realized that my friendships from the past have faded in importance, that I no longer cling to the old to show me who I am. There are certain people who will always be dear to me, but there is no one and nothing to hold me in stasis anymore. It is disconcerting and freeing to experience myself this way -- unnerving to realize that I am friendless, in the sense that there is no one, save my sister or mother, with whom I can share my new experiences. Though I may be friendless, I am not in the least alone.

Yesterday was a day filled with love and promise. My beloved and I explored some of the coastline to the north and saw two fawns, a doe, and a buck along the way, as well as many varieties of birds we couldn’t identify and enough green to soothe the most agitated Liver. We watched Raja race along the beach and felt the freedom he embodied as he extended himself to his full range and speed, the Greyhound in him alive and well.

Last night I crawled into bed feeling alive and changed, and was startled to see the moon in all her full splendor hanging above, beaming on me through the skylight. Doug was sheathed in shadow. Mars stood off to her right, a red and mighty encouraging presence. It seemed an important portent of things to come, though in exactly what way, I couldn't say. I let myself fill with their light and after an unknown amount of time had passed, drifted peacefully off to sleep.

I have so much to be thankful for. I have so much to learn.

Gibberish Speaks

I am hearing a convergence of voices -- a threnody whispers on the ceiling, water licks down the walls and shivers my spine in the absence of knowing who I am, where, outside the forests of enchantment, I should go (where to work? where to work?) to find the right sequence of numbers, to silence the fear of not enough.

I am tinder. I smoke. I am flame sizzled by spent water. I should be happy
now, feel glee. But change is a cruel companion and the constancy of the unknown assaults me.

oh how the phantom sags
light shrugs off the dollar
but there is no money to be wasted now
no time to be content
as flesh wallows in debt
and sauces
but there is comfort here, mute comfort
that waits for this madness to depart and leave me with

a vocabulary so bruised that it hides.


# # #

I don't know if the above made a lick of sense. Welcome to my world of not making sense. Mercury is immobile now, waiting for the backwards two-step to begin. Pardon me for my incoherence. Given the circumstances, it's normal.

I think I feel better now, and will now shower.

Closer

Blinking now
pinching this salted husk
awake.

Breath of the ocean, rise,
that I may salute you
with laughter and tears
stand before you and tremble
as you soothe the form torn
by pain and memory.

Gray
fleshy
luminous darkness
backbone
reaching forward
to the neck
never there.

Beloved of Tiamat
roll deep
dive where eyes
only seek, cannot penetrate.
Linger fat there then
linger long
on the cusp of foam and mystery

waves roar.

Untitled

I have been attempting to render the experience of Monday into words. It's still not right, but as incomplete as it is, I need to see it posted to help me see where it's wrong.

We arrived here safe and sound last week. Please pardon the gaps between Arizona and Oregon. I'll fill them in as time allows.

Blinking now
pinching this salted husk
awake.

Breath of the ocean, rise,
that I may salute you
with laughter and tears
stand before you and tremble
as you soothe the form torn
by pain and memory
with your grey, fleshy
luminous darkness.

Linger fat there then
linger long
on the cusp of foam and mystery

waves roar.