Why?

Here is something I wrote in college – forty-some years ago – and recently translated.  It was my contribution to “Watching a movie – and discussing what we ‘got’ from it” . The war between Israel and Arabia. (Of course, this paper – as many of my papers – was “un-gradable”) …  I never was a scholar.

I was selected to read it at “Peace Essays and Poetry, United Nations Peace Week,” at the Ojai Art Center on September 17, 2016.

Why? 1969

One cries over ones – due to war – dead husband

One mourns ones children’s frightened war eyes

Who cries for mankind?

Who cries for its cruel and evil ways – for its guilt?

If one human shows evil towards one human

We hate the first and protect the second

We take a position- we make a judgment

Humans protect humans

Against humans

Protection of one self against oneself

You are talking about a fraction of the entirety

As was it the whole

As if it had independence, as if it had importance, as if it had value  –   alone.

You demand that we take sides

You are mistaken

There is more

I cry over Mankind

Over you and over me

We are so terribly divided

So unbearably lonesome

Because the whole constantly divides itself – in front of our very eyes.

Zitta – originally written in 1969

Something I wrote when I was 27 and a single mother of four:

 

“Dream man”

 

The night was black, soft and woolen.

I couldn’t leave it – not now.

When I thought of tomorrow, it hurt a little to know

That I would be tired – and perhaps a bit grumpy

I ought to sleep

He is sleeping

With heavy, secure breath – he sleeps

He left me – for the sake of morning:

“Darling – we should sleep now – you know – tomorrow – it’s already 2:30. It was a lovely evening. Sleep tight”

I reach out

Then – let him go

Wanting to keep my part of the evening just a little bit longer – I light a cigarette.

Contemplate:

Ten years!

Incredible

For ten years

He has lain there

Evening after evening

Sleeping – for the sake of tomorrow

No, not always

In times long past, he, as well, has talked nights away

Thinking of it now, I realize how long ago this was

He had become old – long before I – had he become old

Perhaps I’ll never get old

Well wrinkled and gray-haired and cozy I would become

But never really old enough for him

Never so old that I would let go of the “now” – the precious “now” – for something unknown

Maybe it was just as well

I suppose one of us had to…

Maybe he grew old for my sake

He was sound – so I could be free

He thought of tomorrow – so I could have today

Such security he gave

He just was

And we lived

———————————————————————————————–

Muffled noise

Noise through closed doors and sleepy ears

Chattering

Light

Bright light

Sun

Waking up

Stretching out an arm

Searching for him

He’s not there?

Where?

Open eyes

Wondering eyes

His voice in the kitchen

Shushing lively children

Quiet

Noisy quiet

Secure noisy quiet

—————————————————————–

I’m awake

Slowly – The smell of coffee seeps into the room

It reaches my nose

Stays – awaits – what is to come

My tongue slips out, licks the sleep off my lips

The aroma of lovemaking, hidden in the sheets, comes to mix with the aroma of coffee

I sigh with well-being

Brush a hand over my stomach

How flat and unassuming it seems

Remembering when it was tight and fertile

It was beautiful then

His hand softly resting on it, patiently waiting for a kick from our child

I’m one with nothing

______________________________________________________________

The door opens – someone is entering

Quickly – I close my eyes

He thinks I’m sleeping

He feels he is giving – and enjoys his generosity

A hand on my hair

Soft

So infinitely soft…

——————————————

Words

Dumb clumsy words

Words so inadequately saying such a fraction of the feelings

Words – words – Words –

The day has caught me…

—————————

I’ve made coffee – are you awake?

 

Zitta – originally written January, 1969

Walking out into my backyard early one morning:

Sun

In the pool

The reflection of the sun

Is making flittering patterns on my lace curtain

Nothing stands still

My heart swells in richness

With all that is

All that moves

“Now” is everywhere

The flutter

The movement in my body

Which is stillness

Sinks deep

Into the movement of us all

The oneness

The sameness

I will always be me

I will always be us

There will always be more

All is always here

Zitta – originally written 10/07-2013

 

Written about six months after Larry and I met at Dance Medicine:

Starting Over

So now I have two men in my life

One tucked away in my heart – forever warming me from the inside out

One touching my skin in ways which warm my heart from the outside in
So you ask me where my secret lies?

And I say:

There is no secret

There is passion
There is always passion

Passion for teaching and learning – become one

Passion for words and song – become one

And passion for dance and lovemaking – become one

I shall forever seek
And I shall never find

For after one “find” there will always be another

Zitta –originally written 4/17-2013

 

Two songs I wrote for Richard but never recorded. In the last month or so I’ve tried over and over to record them, but I’m no longer able to sing them. I realize that they could only be sung to him. So here they are without the tune:

Next Door

Somewhere
In a Blue House
In a room, softened by Christmas Lights

We sing
We stand
Firmly
On the ground

In the songs there’s strength
In the air is care
We share
We are truly there

Next door
A heart is searching
Blinded by fear
Next door
the heart opens up
For a man to yield
– inviting the songs to heal

Zitta –originally written 11/4 – 2007

 

All My Life

All my life
You were there
All my life
We would share

Now time is changing
Is running out
And we will exit
Where we arrived
No doubt

What seemed decades
Is now hours
What was red passion
Is now white calmness
What was ecstatic
Is now gentle warmth
Slowed down

Hand in hand
We face life
As always together

Hand in hand
We face
The unknown
The ultimate

You and I
Together

Zitta –originally written 01/20 – 2012 (Richard’s last birthday)

 

Heart-wrenching:

ONE SMALL DOG

Brewing for a while now
The time has come to tell the story

I killed a dog
The images are horrendous
They stay and stay
They haunt me

Everyone says it wasn’t my fault
But it was
A person can always do more
Can always do better

A dark street
An old lady
A small dog

Slowing down – to 10 miles per hour
Not enough

Believing the dog is on a leash
Assuming

Never assume

Feeling – the bump – ever so slight
Stopping

Someone screaming
A woman
Loosing her connection
To her dog

Getting out of the car
Heart pounding
Walking back

A small dog
Flailing its legs in the air
Stillness

A small dog
Lying in a pool of blood
Empty of its life force
The blood – a blanket of comfort

Deep sadness
Chest hurting
Getting cold
Feeling very alone

Grandson – 14 – sees the dog
running for the tire
Hears the bump
I must carry his image along with mine

The woman
Reaching for her dog
Standing up
Empty handed
Confused
Watching
the dog chasing
the car moving
Unbelieving
of what she sees

It can’t be so
But it is

A secret
It can’t be told

My throat gets tight
I have no words
Just feelings
And hurt
And guilt
And aloneness
Unbearable aloneness

This is my burden
It can’t be softened
It can’t be shared
It has become a part of me
Living in my chest

-originally written December 31th , 2008 at app. 7:00 pm
Three months later…

Healing
Forgiving
Recovering

As in a movie
The images go backwards
The blood slowly drawn back
into the body
Of the dog
Where it belongs
The flailing of legs stopping
The dog laying
Peacefully

I pick it up
Take it in my arms
Dance with it
Offer it
to the heavens
to the goodness
to the all-ness

My image becomes a picture
A photograph
Of the dog

I lay the photograph
In a box lined with purple velvet
I bring the box to the woman

As she opens the lid and acknowledges the photograph
Strangely and beautifully
Tiny puppies
Appear through the picture
Their front paws on the edge of the box
They lean forward
Curious and ready – for life

Zitta –originally written 2/17-2009

 

 

Posted On The Two-years-day of Richard’s passing:

For Richard

I walk outside

The flowers are fresh
Their fragrance sweet
The fig tree overflowing

I pick a fig
It is warm from the sun
Warm as Richard’s body
When I lie in his arms

Then, the warmth gone astray
He goes away

I look around
It seems
He is still here
In the figs
In the air

Where does love go
When you send it off
Into the atmosphere

“The Moody Blues” are playing
Playing for us
Together we find
The love we left behind

Outside
I stand
See you taking off

Left alone
I feel all we were
I stretch my arms – towards
Nothing
and you are gone
As everything I know
Is no longer here

There are so many feelings
Can I put them in a box
Save them
And savor them
Take them out
For a special time

Massage them in my heart
And in my hands

Can I run away
To that place
That place of feelings
To that place that hurts so much
That is so raw
That it speaks no words

Zitta –originally written 10-2013

Something at random:

Mother of all things

I am the mother
Of all things
I am the roots
Of all trees
I am the earth
Holding up
The beings
The beings of love
The beings of sorrow
So is that all there is?

The fruit
Comes from
My belly
It grows
As I grow
And I know
There’s always more
And so we sleep
So Deep
We go to where
– all is all

Colors are everywhere
They hold us up
They hold us in
They are
All as one
As we always will be

And trees are strong
And I go deep
And I am light
As is the sun

The full moon is pulling
I hope I can breathe
In the earth
Underneath

Zitta –originally written 7/27-2013

As I seemed very affected by a piece of news appearing in the papers almost a year ago – I first wrote a poem, then made a song – about this boy in Junior High School who allegedly killed his teacher.

Here goes:

GUNS

In this world
We make guns
When someone uses them
We act with great surprise

A child in a school
Is disparate
For love and attention

He could talk or cry
But the Gun is there
It feels like the right revenge
Towards this cruel world
A quick and easy solution
For a troubled mind

Could he express
the longing
The loneliness
To the world
If there were no Guns?

Could we see him?
really see him?

In this world
We make guns
We need to kill
The enemy

We need to kill
He who thinks differently
He who looks different
He who is just him
Not us
Not like we

Can we conform him
Using a Gun
To be like us

Or – should we just
Get rid of him
Wash our hands
Walk away

With him gone
We now have
One less thing to worry about
Or do we?

The worry we had before
The threat of that which is different
Moving into our world
We now have to carry
Forever
In our guts
In our hearts

How strange
How amazingly strange
The human mind works

I wonder?

If there were
No Guns
No spears
No clubs
No…

Would we hurt each other
Along other paths?
Would we find other ways to “lash out”
At that which is outside us
In an attempt
In a hopeless attempt
to understand
That
Which lies within

???

Zitta originally written 10/22-13

Warning-alone21

songs are improvised & unedited. Mistakes occur!

 

I wrote this shortly after Richard (my husband of 43 years) was diagnosed with prostate cancer:

The Power of Contradictions

I walk – down the road of life.
I see – green, I feel – hope.
I reach –
for the calm.
There is no separation.
We are One – “the road of life” and I.
As One, we urge ourselves onward –
towards the next bend.
We see – together :
The Beauty,
The Love,
Which is life.

We give freely,
Limitlessly,
as a flowing creek.
There is no beginning – no end.

My heart is full of love.
Now – heavy. –
My road of life is Rocky.
I pick up a Rock, – I do not stumble;
I caress, touch, feel that Rock,
I place it in my heart,
Tuck it in.
Go on,
To the next –
Taste it, curl my tongue around it –
Swallow it.
It goes down.
Belongs.

Knowing –

Each rock makes me Lighter,
more content.
There is no Love without Sorrow.
There is no Rock without Learning.

I feel Strong,
Moving,
Never Stagnant.
Life is.

I go with it.
I Grow.
I do not need to know,
because, I DO.

There is no One Truth,
Truth is All.
Deep within me it lies,
Still – like a Storm at Sea.
Untamed – like the Love of a Mother

Destination?

As all whirl around us, it whirls within,
Gives –
Takes –
Is.

Zitta – originally written 10/9-2004
Dozing on a rock in Matilija Canyon, about 4 years after Richard’s diagnosis, I had this vision:

The Witch

The witch
Slips onto her broomstick
Takes off
To who knows where

She flies around
Till she sees a cave
A cave more spacious
Than she ever saw

The cave is the prostate, of course
And filled with webs, dust and dirt

She now has a job
To clean it all up

The webs from the spiders are everywhere
And she knows she’s the one to care
First she stares
In despair
Then decides it’s all fair

And gets to work

Zitta -originally written 2008
This I wrote about two weeks after Richard died:

For Richard:

I’m on a Roller Coaster Ride.
Things are hard – and uplifting,
Deep – and fulfilling.
At times I feel as if my heart has been ripped open,
At times I stare in awe at the space we had – together.
The Space you left – for me to hold alone.
I feel appreciative – and deprived.
I feel ecstatic with love for you – then dive into grief and sorrow.
I feel lucky that I’m able to feel ALL my feelings.
I feel thankful allowing for ALL I am, and for ALL we were.
I feel strong.
I love you.

Zitta –originally written 10/14-2012