Of loss & love

Remember that loss is just as much a part of life as love.

Do not let the weathered storms make you weary, but recognize the unfathomable majesty of the ocean in the salt of your tears.

Celebrate the darkest winters, each brittle brown leaf that fell from the tree, as much as the rains of the new spring, the birth of new life from the ground beneath your feet.

Life is nothing but the endless cycle of destruction and creation, from the beginning to cremation. 

I am molded by every love that has filled my life with meaning, even the ones that have left.

I accept death the same way the tides recede and return to the shore, and I love everything in this life the same way the sun gives life to a flower without asking anything in return. 

Hey kid

Hey kid, I hope you realize being cool on the internet doesn’t actually mean anything.

So stop measuring your self-worth in non-existent binary and start asking yourself what really matters.

Do you know the color of your own happiness? Is it a burning red, or a brilliant blue, serene green cascade or a sunset yellow?

Do you know how to be alone without the click of a camera shutter?

Do you know what your identity looks like, when it’s not listed as resume bullet points?

Do you know how loud your heartbeat is in complete silence?

Do you recognize the salt of the ocean in the drops of your tears?

Do you know how to love a stranger?

Do you know how to give to someone who owes you nothing?

Do you know how to be yourself when no one’s watching?

PEMA SEMMA

Will be sharing a curation of some of my favorite poetry I’ve stumbled upon in the past few weeks. This one is by a famous Tibetan poet named Chögyam Trungpa, dear friend of Allen Ginsberg, from his book First Thought Best Thought, a collection of 108 poems. I’d explain why it is I love it so much, but it’s one you really just have to read for yourself to understand.

How small can you be?
So tiny that you can’t even talk or think.
How big can you be?
So big that you can’t think or talk.
Desert hounds are said to be tough
But, looking at their own ancestral skulls,
They could become painfully wretched.
Come, Come, said the young woman,
Come with me to the mountains
Where the heathers, rhododendrons, tamarisks and snowflakes grow.
Her hair fluttered by the cool mountain air
Which is so fresh,
Her lips and eyelids quivering at the freshness she experiences,
Sunbeam reflecting on the side of her face
Portrays a lady of life.
As she turns her head
From the little irritation of long flowing hair
She says, Mmmm.
But on the other hand she is somewhat perturbed;
Not knowing whether she is glamorous or ugly,
Begging for confirmations right and left,
Stil listening to the distant flute of her past present future.
Is she wretched?
Is she fabulous?
Thundering heartbeat in her chest,
Riding the horse of jealousy at a million miles a minute–
Could someone fall in love with her?
Could she be the world’s monumental femininity?
Is she the possible hag
Who eats living chrysanthemums or dead bees?
Winding highway to the Continental Divide,
Snake coiling for its own purpose,
Tortoise carrying heavy-duty shell with meaningful walk,
Red silk rustled,
Hearty blue-blood aristocracy
With its blue ribbon blown in the wind
From the palace window–
Is this such a woman as deserves a coronation ceremony attended by the galaxies, the stars and the world of yes and no?
Is she such a woman as is never hampered by dirty, greasy, bullfighter, manslaughtering, unworthy man?
I wonder whether she has tasted her blood
Or her nectar.
Glory be to our Queen!
Lust is for everybody, by the gallons;
Envy is for one, who picks and chooses
Like a woodpecker digging after one worm.

However, everybody’s a lover–
Let’s celebrate in love!

7 March 1975

Learn to let go

I think now’s the time for me to let go,
Plant these new seeds and take care what I sow,
Forget all the things I thought that I knew,
Redefine what I once memorized to be true,
I have loved and I’ve lost, in different amounts,
burned by flames, turned to ashes more than I can count,
turned my heartache to beauty, my tears into songs,
kept the lessons they left me long after they’d gone,
became comfortable with the silence of only myself,
learned to love all my secrets I could tell no one else.
I’ve learned of uncertainty, its power and grace,
that the only way to move forward is to embrace your fate.

I am the sunrise and sunset of every new day,
I do not fear death, by pumping love in my veins,
I want to be loved, the way the sun loves the shadows,
love like the ocean from its depths to its shallows,
My loneliness gives me strength, the same way glaciers make mountains,
I am buried with blessings, more than I can count them,
I will not mourn my losses, as if that’s all I know,
each one gave me strength and a new way to grow,
I will ignite my soul, in all the ways that I know,
& to master this power, I will learn to let go.

In solidarity with women everywhere 

#WomensMarch Spoken Word from Jonathan H. Lee on Vimeo.

A poem I wrote a few days ago, inspired by the energy of my fellow sisters marching all over the world today. I am with you in solidarity from my little corner of Nepal.

Huge thank you to my brilliant friend Jonathan H. Lee for executing his vision and helping immortalize this piece on video. Check out more of his amazing work at www.subtledream.com

silhouettes, cigarettes, & other stories 

I self-published my first book of poems, and without realizing it, I accomplished a lifelong goal that I had set out for myself as a child. I remember dreaming of being a writer, and as I aged, I conflated the definition of what that meant as only someone who was published or recognized by literary bodies as an “author”. But to be a writer, doesn’t mean someone else defines you as so. Of course, those stages of traditional success are important, are part of a culture around writing and literature that has existed for hundreds of years. But outside of any desire to have a “legitimate” career as a writer, I am more proud to know that I did this for myself, and no one else.