sanguine meander

perhaps the most angst-inducing aspect of all of this is that it needs to be taken with a grain of salt. simultaneously, “remaining open to the possibilities” that whatever system of belief (or hodge-podge of various belief systems) will actually work is also required – what could be construed as “faith”, i guess. Trust, maybe. Or, from the most valuable lesson I took from paganism, a “focus of will”.

More angst can be derived from understanding that the more faith/trust/focus of will is involved the more effective and intense the results of a belief system at work will be. Yes, angst, because simultaneously, what is either an inner skeptic or simply an east coast mentality refuses to let me give it my all. And quite easily, the skeptic in me could be not common sense or intuition but my inner teenager, still rebelling.

for me, this has been most evidenced by my introduction to a fairly new system of divination called Human Design, which has raised its head here in our countercultural, “vegetarian except bacon” crew (we love things that tell us why we and things are the way we and they are, but I can’t imagine that it will be any more popular than the Mayan calendar was because it requires a certified priesthood to understand it. But I could just be bitter).

Human Design states, among other things, that you’ve got a preconceived sort of “path” to discover and follow – in other words, if you need help or have some sort of desire to shrink your world (in order to, oh, i dunno, gain focus, perhaps) this is a way to go, like following a specific religious path or spiritual practice or seeing a shrink (there’s a reason they call them that).

Most of what i gleaned during an intro to Human Design is that I am terribly normal. This is entirely opposite of many reasons I casually allow other divination systems to suggest direction: for example, my particular astrological configuration points me out as deeply unique and through it i can find a way to justify every single annoying thing about myself or my actions.

In other words, I can gain a profound sense of self-awareness.

Human Design, on the other hand, seemed to present a far uglier truth. In Human Design, I fall into a class with 70% of the rest of the population.

Well what’s not to love? It’s humbling and points out my own arrogance, my offense to being common, but as I grow older I’m starting to notice statistics everywhere. For my age (35) I am of the size and fitness level of an average, single, urban, active American female. My iq is average. My height and my shoe size, average.

And now I’ve met a divination system that says “yes, you’re average. now follow that path.

That is so not what I wanted to hear. All this time I thought I was destined for greatness.

Atitlán*

sitting on the dock
waiting for the boat
across to san pedro
two women crocheted
tzotchkes for the tourist trade

they chatted, gold teeth
glinting in the sunshine
reflected off the lake they called
the navel of the universe

while they crocheted
hooks and thread flying
through their fingers
they talked to each other
and wove webs
with their hands

* meaning “place of great water”

This is a spoken word piece I wrote in 2004. I used to smoke cigarettes, too, compounding my asthmatic inability to hike up mountains at anything other than a snail’s pace. The beginnings of this poem were written on a slow and steady crawl up Dog Mountain in the Columbia Gorge, which is an incredible, if not slightly strenuous, hike, especially in the spring when you will see many different types and colors of flowers all blooming together. It was here, too, that I saw my first orchid blooming in the wild (the Fairy Slipper).

———————————————-

Asthma

My shortness of breath
is a blessing in disguise –
you see, I climb hills slowly.
I take time to breathe.

I make time for the
carbon dioxide and
oxygen exchange.

I take it in.
I put out.

My shortness of breath
makes me weak in the knees.

It’s my shortness of breath
that makes me talk to the trees –
I stop, send down roots
and bow to the ground
I commune with the flowers,
I hear every sound.

My shortness of breath
means I count each one
make them measured and slow –
I breathe from my depths
I fill to my depths –

face to face with a beautiful bloom
we share a moment of

shared breath and the
synergistic cycle of life

my shortness of breath
is a focus of sense
an understanding of presence

i move slowly so that i can

prolong this

my shortness of breath
is not a disease
it’s a call to listen
to the wisdom of leaves:

in my shortness of breath
my heart pounds in my chest
and I’m very, very aware
that it’s there.

© Dori Mondon 2004

is it so bad
if two mirrors face each other
do they look at each other
or themselves?

(c) dm 2008