Balanced On the Edge

    • About Balanced on the Edge
    • Publications
    • Swimming This

A field of red flowers and a cloudy sky
Camino de Santiago
  • Intentions

    Within the tradition of yogic meditation there is the concept of sankalpa. At the beginning of an extended period of meditation, known as Yoga Nidra, or sleep of the yogis, the practitioner visualizes, feels, intuits, or silently states a certain aspect of life he or she wants to see manifested. The translation of sankalpa (from Sanskrit) is the English word intention. The idea is that if we internalize our positive intentions while in a state of deep relaxation, we will be more likely to act on those intentions in our daily thoughts and actions.

    An intention is different from a resolution in that there is no way to fail or not meet one’s expectations. Each day we work on creating the life we want to live, rather than waiting for New Year’s Day. If we choose a particular sankalpa, we keep it in our minds until we see the results we have been visualizing. But it’s always possible to change because of intervening events in our lives.

    It’s interesting how events unfold. Last year I kept saying to myself, “I have a published collection of poems.” I said it to myself before falling asleep at night, and I repeated the affirmation at the beginning of my Yoga Nidra meditation, visualizing a book spinning around in space with the word Poems embossed in silver on the cover.

    And in 2008 I did publish a collection of poems, although it wasn’t made of poems I wrote. Jo Hemmant and I produced ouroboros review, which is most definitely a book of poems. Our intentions don’t always come about the way we originally dream of them, but it’s important to look back and see the results of our thoughts and actions, and to recognize the power of the imagination. It’s also a good idea to be very specific when trying to get a message across to the unconscious mind!

    My sankalpa now is to write strong poems that move others, and to share them in print, on the web, and in person, through readings and workshops. I say it in the present tense, as if it were already true.

    January 1, 2009
    New Year’s Resolutions, ouroboros review, sankalpa, yoga nidra

  • Censorship


    Every burned book enlightens the world. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

    Censorship both repels and fascinates me as a phenomenon, because it attacks from so many angles. In the US the evangelical far right is often the source of book banning, or the boycotting of certain movies because of the ideas portrayed, often concerning sexuality. A few years ago there was even a big uproar over the Harry Potter series.

    I asked one of my high school students, who had told me her pastor forbade the children from reading the Harry Potter books, “what about The Lord of the Rings? That’s a work of fantasy and magic.”

    “Oh, he says it’s alright to read a book if it’s a classic.” The pastor was deferring his authority to an unseen literary board, but I let the subject go. There’s no arguing with people whose ideas are based on faulty logic.

    There is pressure to censor one’s thoughts and words from the far left, or from advocacy watchdogs. Most comedians or satirists feel the wrath from different groups from time to time. For example, a scene in Tropic Thunder, in which the character played by Robert Downey Jr. tells the Ben Stiller character he shouldn’t have “gone full retard,” received negative attention from advocates for people with Down Syndrome. I understand their viewpoint, that the wording in the film promoted negative stereotypes and was extremely disrespectful, but I also wonder, should the filmmakers not have included the scene because of the perceived insult? They were building a character and a plot point in that scene, as well as satirizing actors who take themselves and their roles too seriously.

    In his essay, The Censor in the Mirror, novelist and poet Ha Jin writes about how the Chinese Propaganda Department shapes the themes writers produce in China. Chinese writers stop themselves from exploring taboo themes from the outset (such as the Tienanmen Square massacre) because they know their work will either not be published, or will invite punishment from the authorities.

    In most western countries we enjoy freedom of speech, and even take this freedom for granted. But even though we ostensibly have the right to say whatever we want to, there are subtle forces that keep writers from expressing their thoughts. There are editorial and consumer tastes – sometimes we succumb to peer pressure, either in the form of editors who are uncomfortable with our ideas, or critics who might have misunderstood our intentions.

    Sometimes it’s a fear of what family members will say about us. There’s a certain sense of decorum we want to maintain among our friends and relations that can inhibit us from revealing our deepest truths. In my own case, I think I censor myself most often because I’m shielding myself from the darker thoughts that contribute to the person I am. There’s a certain place in my thinking where I stop myself, more than likely because of societal conditioning and upbringing. This is why free-writing is so important to the process of writing for me.

    I’d be interested to know if and how you censor your writing, and why. Leave me a comment!

    December 28, 2008
    book banning, Ha Jin, self-censorship, Tropic Thunder

  • Email the Obama Team to Voice Concerns about Rick Warren

    Dear President-Elect Obama,

    In your acceptance speech in Grant Park you included gays in your words of inclusion. I was filled with hope that our country was embarking on a new era.

    Now that Rick Warren has been announced as the paster who is to give the invocation at your inaugural ceremony, the bloom is fast fading from my rose of hope. In Rick Warren’s interview with Ann Curry, he claimed that being gay is an impulse one must work to overcome, a mindset that is not only outdated and incorrect, it is bigoted. On Warren’s web site it clearly stated that gays are not allowed as members of his church.

    Why has your team chosen a man of bigotry to seal your presidency in the name of God?

    Our country needs to move toward ever-increasing freedoms, not pander to those who live in fear, ignorance, and hatred.

    Please reconsider the choice of Rick Warren. There are other pastors who base their beliefs on love and compassion for all.

    If you are inclined to voice your opinion about Barack Obama’s choice of pastor for his inauguration, you can go to the web site for the transition team and write a letter. Remember to write Rick Warren in the subject area.

    December 23, 2008
    Barack Obama, Inauguration, Rick Warren

  • Protected: Call 1-900-Sister Rant

    This content is password-protected. To view it, please enter the password below.

    sestina

  • At the Source

    marea roja by ladyorlando

    At the Source

    On the shady side of Horn Mountain,
    round the first bend of Bonaparte Creek,
    a bearded trout tells fairy tales to a cluster
    of wavery eggs, his voice of water
    on pebbles lulls the brood in their gravel bed.

    As angry Bass flicks his tail upstream,
    the eggs quiver in their sacs,
    but Bearded Trout’s eye looms larger
    than the moon – “stay mum,” he bubbles,
    “or Bass will purse his lips, suck you in,”

    “and you will be like the Sleeping Faerie
    entangled in strands of Spanish moss,
    dragged through currents, over slimy rocks
    from foothills to the sea, never to breath
    clay-tinged waters again.”

    The glistening eggs quiet in the cold
    currents, listening to Bearded Trout
    speak of their hatching day, small
    fry loose on eddies, drinking air,
    aware of shadows near dappled stones.

    ***

    This poem is a result of thinking about the above painting, some words describing the landscape of the foothills where I live, and Michelle McGrane’s contribution to the collaborative link at Read Write Poem, Diving into the Wreck, by Adrienne Rich. Thanks for an interesting collaboration, Nathan.

    I think this is a children’s poem, but I’m not sure. Would the part about thinking eggs be too scary or obscure for children? Or the Angry Bass?

    December 18, 2008
    Adrienne Rich, read write poem

  • Team of Rivals

    I’ll admit it, one reason why I’m reading Team of Rivals is because Barack Obama read it. What can I say? I love Barack. I’d marry him if I could. Sorry, Michelle, but you’re probably used to it, right?

    A year ago my friend had seen the tome on my bookcase, and asked me if I liked it, and I had to admit the thought of reading it hadn’t crossed my mind. My father had dropped the book off at my house, thinking my son might like it, but it remained on the shelf collecting dust. When I saw CNN use the caption, ‘team of rivals’ to describe Barack Obama’s emerging cabinet, I figured I’d bite the bullet. I had to find out why this particular history book appealed to Obama.

    After fifty pages into the story of Abraham Lincoln and the four other politicians who were his rivals I thought, wait a minute, are you really going to finish this thing? I mean, it’s straight history, over 900 pages, and you don’t read history. It’s a subject that tends to repeat itself, you know?

    But Doris Kearns Goodwin, who won a Pulitzer Prize for this volume, has compiled a compelling story of these five men, their friends and their wives during the years leading up to Lincoln’s presidency. Yes, I’ve found many similarities between Obama’s campaign for president and Lincoln’s, and I’m learning about the benefits of keeping friends close and enemies, or rivals, closer, but what interests me the most are the letters Kearns Goodwin uses to illustrate the relationships between the characters, and to reveal the social mores of the time.

    Some of you might know about Lincoln’s relationship with hottie Joshua Speed, a wealthy young man who befriended a penniless Lincoln in the beginning of his career in Springfield Illinois. The two shared the same bed for four years, sleeping in Jacob’s room above his place of business.

    The words they and many other men used to describe their longing for each other when apart sound like the most of torrid love letters. And it seems that this type of close bond between men was very common. Kearns Goodwin says there is no evidence to suggest that these relationships were sexual, that it was a sanctioned form of pair bonding for educated men, who developed strong ties of romantic love without the ensuing touch twenty-first century inhabitants enjoy or practice.

    It’s hard to say what the truth about those relationships really was. Are humans so different now than we were 150 years ago? I prefer to think that people back then expressed love in a variety of ways, with the person who happened to be nearby, much as we do today. I know my opinion isn’t based on fact, but then I also know I’d make a terrible historian.

    December 15, 2008
    Abraham Lincoln, Barack Obama, Doris Kearns goodwin, ninteenth century love relationships, Team of Rivals

  • Round-up of inspiration

    Feeling like your insides are drying up like the last leaves to fall from the trees? If you’re in need of a shot of creativity, in addition to your vitamin B check out Robin Reagler’s blog, Big Window. I haven’t visited Big Window in a while, since I moved to this new blog, and she has been busy sharing all kind of visual art, including photography, paintings, and even logos. There’s also a wonderful poem called Some Feel Rain by Joanna Klink.

    ***

    I was going to write my reaction to Cecila Woloch’s chapbook, Narcissus, a truly lovely book, but Collin Kelley already did such a fabulous job that I’d rather send you to his review. Collin is a personal friend of Ceclia’s and is familiar with the history of her development as a poet. I heard both of them read at Wordsmith books in Decatur, Georgia. Collin’s poems are passionate and elemental in a uniquely masculine way. There is power in the words, and a smooth resonance to his voice. Cecilia has a soft voice, like silk, and her words flutter like the white moths she writes about in Postcard to Myself from the Lower Carpathians, Spring.

    ***

    If you haven’t already done so, check out Peony Moon, a new blog by Michelle McGrane. Besides writing stunning poetry, which you can read on her blog and in many other places on the web, including ouroboros review, Michelle is a voracious reader. She generously shares the tidbits of wisdom and beauty she finds on Peony Moon. It’s a great place for a daily dose of inspiration.

    ***

    The Bookshelf Muse, by writers Becca Puglisi and Angela Ackerman, provides a very useful service for poets ands story writers alike – a thesaurus of words compiled by the authors. My favorite one so far is Sarcasm and Emotional Disrespect. What can I say? I have a mean streak. Even now I’m rubbing my hands together, cackling maniacally.

    December 13, 2008
    blogging, Cecilia Wolloch, Collin Kelley, inspiration, Michelle McGrane, Robin Reagler

  • Parrot in a Lab, for Alex

    Parrot in a Lab
    …….for Alex

    His moss and spice feathers shine under a waterfall of moonlight in his cage. Hushed midnight, when hourglass sands have stilled. Words he has spoken during the day bud in his dreams, echo nanoseconds of electric touch, the scientist’s alien fingers. She gives him berries, nuts, water, gifts for his performance, his reading of cards, his recall of portraits. Colors attract him, magnets of ivory, sea grass, stone – replicas of a world he remembers inside his cells, that galaxy of macadamia limbs, monkeys, and vines built into his mitochondria.

    ***

    http://www.youtube.com/v/R6KvPN_Wt8I&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6&border=1

    December 11, 2008
    alex the parrot, animal intelligence

  • Dear Holly,

    Epilogue

    A fog of days, my log of time,
    grows roots, branches into shoots,
    forms pods heavy with seeds.

    One seed holds the nights
    I swayed under the back porch light,
    one too many glasses of merlot.
    My sons slept, their faces like orbs
    glowing from the shadows of their beds.

    Another seed spoons with the afternoons
    I napped away the warm hours,
    head slung back on the couch,
    my boys sitting crisscross applesauce
    on the floor, watching
    an endless banner of cartoons.

    A third is filled with mornings –
    I toss them onto the soil,
    and they uncoil from the earth
    bearing the fruit of moments to be relived,

    But when the seedcases burst,
    the new days blend into the shaded
    dreams of the past.
    ***

    Visit Holly’s Lost Kite to read her fabulous poem about a person’s view of the present.

    ***

    Jo and I are happy to announce the inaugural issue of ouroboros! We’re proud of this magazine, and have enjoyed putting it together very much. Please visit, and revel in its awesomeness.

    ***

    If I haven’t responded to your blog posts lately it’s because I’ve been working on the magazine with Jo, and also because of the collaborative issue coming up at qarrtsiluni, edited by Dana and Nathan. So don’t kick me off your blogroll, or your googly reader, I’ll be back, promise.

    December 8, 2008
    Lost Kite, ouroboros review, qarrtsiluni

  • A response poem to Holly

    Dear Holly,

    Mystic

    Stand still long enough in the present
    moment, and Border Town springs
    to life, a mirage of mirrored souls
    strolling down Main Street amid a sea
    of glass-front shops. Twenty-four hours
    a day, they say, it may appear,

    sometimes as near to you as a pear
    in a bowl, a still life given as a present
    we open by breathing, forgetting the hour-
    hand, the minutes, the seconds that spring
    to life in a primordial sea,
    a briny home, birthplace of our souls.

    Border Town, Edge City, we don’t know it by a sole
    name; a phantom place appearing
    as Atlantis, tendrils of sea
    anemone fingers waving the present
    tense in our faces, until the spring
    that winds us loosens, a slack Slinky in our

    chest that slows the hour-
    glass sands. We plant the soles
    of our feet, grow roots, soak up spring
    water until openings appear,
    inner floodgates that present
    a view to the hidden city of Eternal Spring.

    It’s a Shangri-La we thought we’d never see –
    conjured countless times at happy hours,
    downing gin and tonics to wash away the presence
    of black marks on our mortal souls.
    It’s like wind in the trees, or peering

    into a well, fed with a spring
    meandering from underground seas.
    A cavern in the ribcage, it once appeared
    to us as the cauldron of a witching hour,
    but now has become our sole
    mio, a sunny bow on a wrapped present.

    Time is an unfurling spring, a malleable hour
    in which we see the yards of our souls
    uncurling, appearing to us as our own present.

    ***

    Holly (Lost Kite) and I have been responding to each other’s poems in what has become a series. Here is her poem.

    The prompt this week at RWP was to collaborate on a prompt, and then mix up the prompts to write a poem. I’ve got to admit that although I contributed to the prompt, I chose to collaborate by responding to Holly’s poem.

    December 4, 2008
    Lost Kite, read write poem, sestina, the edge where poets meet

Previous Page Next Page

Blog at WordPress.com.

 

Loading Comments...
 

    • Subscribe Subscribed
      • Balanced On the Edge
      • Join 241 other subscribers
      • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
      • Balanced On the Edge
      • Subscribe Subscribed
      • Sign up
      • Log in
      • Report this content
      • View site in Reader
      • Manage subscriptions
      • Collapse this bar