It’s January 1, 2016

There is a brick sitting atop of my heart
and wind swept, grey murky waves
crashing into all sides of my lungs
and the weight is almost crippling
has me bound to an invisible,
not quite lackadaisical defense
and though my lips are free to speak
I cannot find the words to portray
the magnitude of thoughts adrift upstairs.
the same space I had when I was quite green
But we are born with a certainty of things
And green was synonymous with security
And parental love was unwavering
And everything else mattered little
And yet without notice, it shaped me
built the ark that houses my own unwavering love
characterizes my person, and carves my path
it created the space in me that holds my people dear
and the xray vision that bionically ties me to
the good in people, even after being wounded
over and over and over and over
But teachers come in all forms
and my green has manifested
into something a bit darker in nature
and the impact of this particular lesson
has me relying on long-rehearsed resiliency
which I am finding pieces of inside
the beautiful ark which used to house only love.
but in this tasteful, practical lesson
in the same noggin, fast-forward 30 years
simmers an intellectualized idea
that it may be the right answer
to love someone so deeply,
yet choose to live without them.
No one deserves to be treated poorly.
Yet my heart is heavy as I begin to
mourn the loss of half a person.
The half that liked to make me smile.

My spider

I was read a story years ago about a man who goes walking along a river’s edge. As he’s walking, he encounters a spider, which appears to be drowning. He picks up the spider and carries it to safety, and while he does this, the spider bites him, and makes him very sick with it’s venom. After some time, he goes walking along the same river’s edge, and he comes across the drowning spider once again. As he reaches down to carry it to safety, the spider bites him again, and the man becomes very ill from it’s venom. As the story goes, the man does this several more times until the spider finally spoke. He asked the man, “Why on earth do you continue to pick me up and carry me to safety when you know I will bite you, for I will always bite you, that’s what I do?” With no thought at all, the man replied, “Because that’s what I do.”

I think about this story often. I remember the first time I heard it and how profoundly it affected me. It came to me at a vulnerable time, when it seemed the spiders of the world were “biting” me. And it reminds me that the way I choose to live my life should not, nor does not, depend on the way others’ choose to live theirs. This story influences me regularly. It reaffirms

Thai Pork Wraps with Pineapples and Jicama

I think I used to underestimate just how rewarding cooking good food is. Lately, I feel kind of like a real chef in the kitchen. I find myself concocting flavors and textures in my head until I come up with the perfect combo. And the best part is as I do this, I’m thinking about what we have in the house. I am anything but a waster, and so I’ve become really good at putting together a beautiful, foodie worthy meal without a trip to the grocery store (except hear and there for fresh meat/seafood, etc). This feels good. Economical and good cooking invented in my brain and manifested with my hands (and heart, of course).

Regarding these wraps. There are plenty of Thai Chicken Wraps out there. But Pork. Pork is juicy, soft, tasty, and frankyly, goes better with Thai flavors. I hope you will enjoy this as we did. Good eats people. 😉 Enjoy!

Quiet Truth.

Someone told me a story Friday morning and it left a big impression. In it, a rare bird tells a haughty prince 3 great secrets that wind up changing his perspective for the rest of his life. Saving the story for another time, it was one of the bird’s pieces of wisdom that sparked a great need to speak from my heart.

A few weeks ago, I was working outside on the patio at my favorite café. At a table close by, there was a marriage official meeting with a couple discussing their upcoming marriage. He mentioned a novelist and poet by the name of Rilke, who wrote about marriage in a unique way. I heard the word “space,” and it sparked my interest, so I looked “her” up. It was then I learned about René Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke (4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926) (a him, not her)—better known as Rainer Maria Rilke, who is most known for his contributions to German literature. I finally found the piece the marriage official was discussing. When I read his words, they spoke to me in an important way.. Rilke so eloquently described the meaning behind a successful, loving marriage. Reading his words against a backdrop of a co-dependent culture, felt refreshing, and I couldn’t wait to share them with my fiancée, who I knew would value them as I do. Here they are:

Morning healing, Lake Michigan. Forgive me.

Icy water touches my toes
as I bury my heels
into thick, wet sand.
Ancient, soft wind
paints shivers down my spine
while the paprika sun
rises in my eyes, opening them
to the endless cycle of earth.
Thoughts run back to last night
and I am not proud. distinctly.
The gulls whisper in my ear
songs of friendship,
and I am grateful.
Yet regret grips at my heart
as I think about the childish way
in which I behaved.
I draw pictures
of the words I will utter in apology.
But there has never been
a masterpiece made from sorries,
and so words seem dull.
And yet just as the blue above me
becomes unmistakably royal
in it’s right
against the now honeyed sun,
I am unmistakably sorry.
And if she happened to be
hearing the whispers
of the same wind as I,
her ears would be filled with
Verzeihung, bitte.
Forgive me, please.
A pensive note has been filed
in that wanty part of my brain
that reminds me to reserve
my selfish requests to
pain of grander significance.
My mistakes are mine to own,
and excuses have no place in the world.
And I can only hope
on this learning jouney of mine
that she loves & forgives me
as I fumble in the future
as no doubt I will.

j

Undone.

Your moments of coming undone..

When you laugh with vigor, and a little
snort manages to escape your sweet little nose,
and I smile because yours is contagious,
and it’s a better world because you warm
the universe, and how stinkin’ lucky am I to be
sitting next to you.

When fear grips you, and you are overcome
with a sadness that forces little drops of tears
out of your wide eyes, and I can see the ocean
as you silently grab for my love without saying a word

When you love so passionately that I can feel it
in my bones, and my toes, and my heart is wiggly
like a slippery fish in your hands, and you hold me tight
with your words and I cannot imagine a more safe place to be

When your eyes soften and you lean into me,
and in silence you allow the hurt that you show no one
to pour out, and your bones shift
as you make space for the universe
to show you the magic in vulnerability,
and your limp body accepts my arms with ease,
and you open your chest, exposing your heart,
as it presses into mine and absorbs all of my love.

It’s in these moments, you allow me to see you,
and I see our wrinkled faces in 100 years,
having truly lived the meaning of namaste everyday,
and I love you my dearest noodle.

Finding Beauty In Imperfection.

You capture the deepest part of me
wrap it up into your strong arms
and squeeze it until we are one
and still I wish closer was possible

In your eyes I see pretzels of us
with no starts or ends in sight
and you share our secret with only me
that magic exists in our coexistence

You teach me resilience
within moments of your fire
in a world that tries to break
what only must bend

And you show me unequivocal peace
in the gentle touch of your small hand
when war stirs around in my throat
and I try to gallop on a balance beam

I am reminded in your imperfection
what it means to love you
and I nurture the beauty in your raw honesty
in your inability to see past a moment

And you ask me to face my fears
with my own loneliness
which may seem cruel
but it is my work to be done

And in this lonely place
while I long for your support
I am learning to let go

At the end of the day, I love my noodle.

At the end of the day,
I love you.

And everywhere in the middle:
you make me laugh
and cry
and smile
and bite my lip
and drink espresso
and trip over my words
and make mistakes
and dance
and reach for my dreams
and learn
and linger in bed
and long for more
and touch your face
and feel your heart
and soothe your hurt
and hold your hand
and lose my breath
and watch you…
with adoration
and bewilderment
while you…
love me
light up the world
fix people
sweat small stuff
act like a noodle
laugh with me
laugh AT me
smile with all your heart
smile with all your fear
look at me with compassion
look at me with confusion
pull me in close
react with fire
kiss me
bite me
trip me
admit mistakes
long for my words
and feel peace in my arms

And I choose to live in the middle with you
because at the end of the day…
the middle is where our story grows
and where our love deepens
in impenetrable ways.

And at the end of the day,
even when the middle
is less kissy and more mistakey,
I love you.

j

Ps. I love you in the middle too….like a sch’more (best part).
Pps. Quit being a noodle.

I love you, and with every thump of my heart since knowing you existed, I love you more.
And I’m not one to pretend that saying true things isn’t the brick and mortar and simplest pleasure of life.
I love you, even though love is a little less like Mars and Venus, and a lot more like Neptune..
or better yet, the milky way. Definitely the milky way. And despite this ridiculous idea
that I can sit here changing the way the world views our karmic and cosmic solar system,
and that one day we may be living on Neptune, well, maybe Mars first, I love you. And, did I mention
that if we do end up living on Mars, or Neptune for that matter, if I’m with you,
I’m where I’m supposed to be. Even if it’s dank and cold, or we’re burning up from being too close to the sun.

immer, jules

growth & love

If you let life, it grows you in ways you can’t force or manipulate. It seeks light and love, all the while spitting out dark, yet important blessings. It bonds the uncommon in unthinkable ways, […]