Robert Colpitts

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“She so graceful,” one bystander comments as Faith smashes another typewriter with the butt of a rifle.  Another states, “She’s bakin’ a hoondash she is.”

It is this unfortunate comment that causes Faith to give up her frivolous attempts at being young.  All at once wrinkles appear on her face, and she is sagging in the all the yesteryear places.  One benefit of this transformation is the depth of her gaze, and the sharpness of her mind.

“When you are older, ladies and gentlemen,” says Faith brandishing her rifle, “You give up who you were.  But rarely do you give up what you want.  Old men want young women.  Then young women with old men become middle-aged women with geriatric men.  The middle-aged women leave their geriatric men for young healthy men.  Young men screw middle aged women until they become geriatric women.  The younger man becomes a middle aged man and looks for younger women, and the cycle continues!”

I am standing in the growing crowd, and I can see through her malevolence.  She is attracting a heteronormative whirlpool so that she might collectively confuse the mass of people who are caught in it.  They will run away with their dinner and proclaim the world a steak.  Faith will provide them with poisoned potatoes.  I don’t know why, but I want to stop it.  I move through the crowd circling her, and I call out her name.

Faith raises her rifle.  Over her head, not at me–as if she were running through a swamp and did not want to get her rifle wet.

“Since you are brandishing that rifle,” I state, “Shouldn’t you be fighting in Egypt, rather than bakin’ hoondash?”

Faith knows that my confidence disappears with every other out-breath, so she waits.  I fall apart.  She gently pushes me back to the circle.  Faith goes back to her evil game.

But, what is this?  I feel a sudden surge of energy!  I leap out into the circle again, and I cry out, “FAITH I LOVE YOU!  WRINKLES AND ALL!”

Like a viper who meets her arch-nemesis, Faith flings herself at me, and awkwardly (but quite tenderly) caresses my hand as we both fall to the ground. 

She whispers in my ear, “Shhhh.  You have been hoondashed.”

Who is the who
That you knew through
Who is the who
That through the who
Was who you knew
And who when you
Knew who you who
Knew who you knew?

So it goes
The patient babble
Of breath to breath
This day’s feeling
Trembling sad
A moment marked
By discovery sleeping
And you
There
Still hoping
That Today
is
It

Sleep
Sunshine

One day
We rest

Like a small rock
At the bottom of
The deepest
Floor
Of the Arctic
Ocean
That moves
And pushes the water
Near it

Eventually
That ripple
Meets you

That is
My Impact

There is:

A tickling in my neck
From the taste buds
To my spine
The muscles tightened
An icky feeling
That makes me want to scratch
It seeps up to my arms
And widens the back of my throat
My chest feels rough
My forehead hot
And my mouth tastes like
Sour awfulness
It makes me want to
Run run run
To get away
Away
Away
From this
Intense
Samsaric
Thing that is happening

But sit with it
Is what I’ll do
Cause my meditation teacher
Told me too

Some days
Like A Dying Leaf
Calmly Drop
After So Many Weeks
Of Windy Flight

And a question
Arises

What now?

Yes, indeed:

What NOW?

You will then
Lie there
So patient
So still
And fade away
Like grass
Under snow

When the snow melts
You will be
Right
Where you were

I know.  Scoop.  What a cool name for a dog.  And an even cooler name for a reporter dog.  But I have to confess something.  That dog is a terrible reporter.  Instead of covering a story, he sniffs the garbage nearby.  I have proof.  I stole his camera and notebook, and documented the whole thing.  Get that?  HIS camera.  HIS notebook.  Yeah!  He didn’t even turn his head.  It was like he didn’t care!

And what can you say about a reporter dog that licks the hand of every person that walks by?  What kind of objectivity is that?  And he’ll politely sit down when anyone pats him on the head!  Oh, and the treats.  Forget it!  Scoop would gladly do whatever you say for a scrap of food or two.  Sit!  Leap!  Come over here!  Tell the world I am a the next President!

There you have it.  Scoop.  He’s a horrible reporter.

She lashes out
It’s not because
She’s angry
She’s mean

She says cruel things
And takes it out
On family
On friends

Those hit the worst
Are those who love
Her dearly
And closely

She picks them
Because she knows
They’ve been there
For her
Always

She hurts much worse
Because she’s cruel

She suffers terribly
And is confused

She does not know
What to do

The pain she feels
Is like her heart
Being twisted
Her mind
Being rattled
Her vision
Being blurred

She
Like that
Until
She
Dies?

No

Until
She loves
Herself
Enough
To
Live Herself

And not
the dream
of ever death
she’s dying

Everything Meander
Watching The Ick
Penny Timewise
Marching Tremor

You Feel That
Horror Pitch
Throat Close
Dead Yum

It Goes
Free Fry
Yes It Does

Thinking that she had to discover whether or not she was a narcissist, Faith put on a ball gown and stood in front of a full-length mirror.  She twisted and turned to see what she could see, but didn’t feel she had the eyes for the task.  Not distraught at this first kink in her knotted plan, she took off her gown and stared at the curve that joined her lower back to her ass.  Finding it a well defined arc, Faith gazed upon her ears.  She didn’t care about her ears.  Her hair was nearby.  It was there, knots and all, and a couple of song birds, but no feelings.  Faith started singing and danced to the rhythm.  Suitable, but not causing any excitement or panic. 

Then her image stepped out of the mirror and started to speak.

Reflection:  You are old.

Faith:  That I am.

Reflection:  So is your mind.

Faith:  That it is.

Reflection:  So are your toes.

Faith:  No, those I got a week ago.

Unflappable.  Faith gets bored with her own reflection.  She sits down and–

What does Faith do?  On her own?  What is her occupation!?

Faith looks up out of the page at you accusingly.  She picks up the ball gown and throws it at you. 

Good morning!

In a recent IDP email, Lani Rowe (our esteemed Outreach Director) encouraged us to choose something other than “an earth-shattering I’m-going-to-change-my-whole-life resolution.”  As an alternative, Lani encouraged us to attend a class at IDP (which I recommend whole-heartedly), but, if you are like me, you might also wonder what we should do about our more private goals: to eat better, volunteer more, consume more thoughtfully, or exercise.  Should we, as the subject line of the email suggests, set goals and not resolutions for our resolutions?  What does that even mean?

A friend of mine last night asked me about my relationship with IDP.  I halting stammered some longwinded something that translated to, “I don’t know.”  I mentioned that the main players at IDP were extremely talented and nice, that the classes were very good, and that I volunteer by doing audio editing and writing.  But when I think about my relationship to IDP or how it benefits me, it feels very quiet–I have no answer.  Working with, attending class at, and hanging around with the community at IDP has left me with nothing.  My life is still here.  My friends and I are friends.  My job has meandered without inquiring about my meditation practice.  I have the same family members.  My relationship with IDP has not even changed the weather. 

It is not surprising that meditation and working with IDP has not made my life noisier (translate: super duper exciting and awesome); meditation practice is about seeing what is already here. Meditation is about training our mind to gently return to a quiet place when our thoughts take us on a noisy journey.  Consequently, there isn’t a whole lot of noise when someone asks me about meditation or IDP.

Lani’s characterization of some New Year’s resolutions as “earth-shattering I’m-going-to-change-my-whole-life resolutions” is not surprising.  Many New Year’s Resolutions are very loud.  We make them from a noisy place, so this is not surprising.  We vow to get from no exercise to exercise every day, from no vegetables to vegetarianism, from no lover to an exciting marriage.  It is not surprising that many New Year’s Resolutions fail!

As it turns out, we do not really have to make a New Year’s Resolution.  We already know what is good for us.  We already know what is good for others.  It may not always be easy to see those things, because confusion (noise) is a part of life.  However, there are times when the world is very quiet (does not translate to:  romantic and longing).  That might happen as we meditate.  It might happen in the shower.  It might happen during a meal.  When our mind is quiet, it is a good time to see what goals and resolutions we already know.  Planning to achieve those goals from that quiet wisdom will help us plan in a way that we already know is the good way to proceed.

So, if you think it wise to have a New Year’s Resolution, try to discover it when your mind is quiet.

A very Quiet New Year to you.