Get Me Into the Desert....

away from the laptop
away from an email inbox brimming with messages that need to be answered dating back almost a month (forgive me, friends who are waiting to hear back!)
away from permissions-seeking-endless-circling-round-and-round for the desert anthology
away from the city away from an empty house
away from hating a mortgage payment
away from being tempted to foreclose - not so much "the economy" but that I'm hitting another time in my life when it's time to move - this happens in a pattern in my life. I max out on place, location, and when it's time to go -I go. My daughter is grown up - and I'M ready to leave home!
But now, it's weird, because I have a house to sell. For the first time, and in the worst time possible. Agh! I move away from things, and on to new things, challenges, geographies, people. From here, I will move away from isolation Palm Desert, the town, is much more lonely than the open desert 10 miles out. One of my favorite little ironies. I've resolved to get out of here before it gets hot, and knowing this place, I've got just a few months left!

photo of my friend G, Indian Canyon Palm Springs - not photoshopped.

the desert,
the real desert, not the designer,
is a firm companion, slippery in its committment
to landlocked desire

a poem surely awaits me there, in the clear language
of retro-neo-articulation, oh, original moon
mouthed by the clear language of sky
you brighten
and awaken us
when we tire, the new year heavy with expectation
the desert solstice dark time of year cold spell
seems to have lifted, and we are warmed by Santa Anas,
the storms that gripped us have shifted north
but the shortest days weigh our hearts with dark
tunes - my therapist says that unexplained anxiety
may be a psychic pitchfork for errant understanding

what I perceive as my own life falling apart
in the past year - crumbling, crashing, while
simultaneously my professional life spreads wings
and successes flow my way like a river towards sea
I'm along for some amazing rides! Yet this dissolution
of so many things in my personal life, sense of safety
is the flavor of our times - do I take it personally
that in 2008 I turned 46, that my daughter shifted away
from home and into her young adult life, that
a colleague burned me on a major project we worked on
together for more than a year, is out there taking all the credit,
making presentations and cutting me out of the loop -
that my home equity value dropped by about 100K of
imaginary mid-life security, that I panic suddenly about being
single and handling it all on my own, forced indpendence
seems irrelevant and laughable now, we've humped the
last throes of the rugged individual in America? Ha.

I say, shed material things - hang onto people.
The time has arrived for tribe. Again. We have no choice
but to seek water at our own level, and mine runs high.

And I've done this in the past few days:
taught a writing workshop at Riverside Library - cool
hiked Mt. Rubidoux in Riverside in screaming winds
chanted in Venice Beach with Jai Uttal
planned a Wednesday hike in a remote desert canyon
hosted a terrific poetry evening in Palm Springs,
even though I only felt halfway there, blurry --

I've let the wind blow me off a mountaintop.

I've walked the dogs, who are so restless and toddler-ish
in their frustration at how I ignore them these days.

I've broken the law with an open container and
talking a lot on my cell phone while driving.

I've taken notes, during last night's reading, for
a new poem or two - yet to be entirely consummated
but soon to appear on this here blog -

I've read four emails from assorted friends and family
who express their dire circumstances and ask for prayer,
support, and money - what do I say? I love you -
I'm praying for you (although I am not sure the fundamental
amongst my extended family will believe me, that I can pray
at all, because I'm not "saved," like them, but I try) -
I can't send $ because I just lost a fat paycheck when they
canceled winter session, $ I usually earmark for those two
months in summer when I don't get paid - and they might
cancel s-school too, so it's penny hoarding time, sorry -

guess I'm not alone - there ya go - as my cool therapist
says, my anxiety levels of recent months must be but
an innate talent, a gift for tuning into what's around me-
mine may be more existential, and yea, I realize it's
WAY politically not PC to say, today: "I hate my job I'm sick
of working there my talent is busting out and all I wanna
do is write and write and put together books" (and of course
spend lots of time in the outdoors), ahh, those without
jobs hate on me, but fuckit. Angst is angst, no mind the shape.

I've bought a stack of tabloid magazines. Which I am now
going to read. That, and the amazing book by Susan Lang
of her mother's homesteading years in Pipes Canyon -
true story - Small Rocks Rising. I recommend it!

A big hug and showing the love to all of you - may
you be a little less alone by sharing my solitude 2nite.

And smile. Gas is now less than $2/gallon. Who would've
imagined this miracle mile just months ago? One good
side to our pendulum-busting economy and times.

The dogs sleep tight. Curled at my feet, by my side.