Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

In the Hoop

we gather at the beach
where the river meets the sea

beers and kabobs
sweet potato salad from Mary’s garden
dogs brush legs
the sun goes down

by the fire
beautiful women
circle hips
with hula hoops
at sunset

pink clouds turn grey
orange embers flit
into darkening air
swirling in smoke

I try
the hoop
circling circling circling
then don’t want to stop
white foam in the distance
crumbling

“You look like you’re at a Grateful Dead concert”
a friend says from afar
I keep circling
“Is it because I’m wearing a skirt?”

“You just look like you know what you’re doing.  Like one of those hoopers at a Dead show”

the sacred hoop
the wheel of life
sun setting on small waves at sea
maybe my secret’s seeping through my hips

desire
to open to life completely
to die in utter surrender
gratefully

the marshmallows are out
Jeb’s made two s’mores
white goop stuck to full cheeks
granules of sand glued to sugar sweet
charcoal-covered hands

he comes to embrace me
head, heart-high
face on my blouse
hula hoop at my ankles
sand sifting through my toes

courtesy of derek gavey
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Overflow in Motion

photo by Jeb

Recently, all creative juices have been aimed at setting some basic life practicalities in place.  This morning I come to the Archives with no cream for my coffee and feeling a bit inspirationally tapped.

Then I come across a photo taken by Jeb.

There does exist a well without end.
It sources somewhere between the notes of a song or the lines of a poem.
It courses through veins of arms that embrace.

My seven year old son has captured flow in motion.

Ahhh…the cup that runneth over!

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Shoulder Stands and Bird Doo

“Best breathing yet.”

My yoga instructor tells me that my breathing has been good today.  It’s been said that if you’re in a posture but not aligned with your breath, you’re not doing yoga, you’re just stretching.  Today I conjured Vader.  Tomorrow’s practice, who knows?  Every day is different.

Every day is a yoga practice of sorts.  Metaphors abound on and off the mat.

I’ve been given new postures to practice.  A completely new and unexplored realm, the dynamic inverse world of shoulder stands.  Ee gads!  Hesitant, I told my instructor that I was nervous.  Not sure I could get my legs up in the air properly.

“After everything else you’re doing in your practice…this is easy,” he says.

He was right.  It wasn’t that bad.  Just new and unfamiliar.  New positionings for me to attune to.

Speaking of positioning.  Besides being blessed with the addition of new postures in my yoga practice, it seems my feathered friends would also like to bestow their gifts upon me.

Post shoulder stands and beach time, I rolled up to a stop sign with my window down to the tropical air.  Suddenly, it felt as if someone had thrown a fistful of wet sand at me.  A damp and grainy splat had hit my bare leg and smattered the inside of the car door.  With a closer look, I realized that this was not sand, but rather a large deposit of fresh bird poo.  What are the odds?

courtesy of labasta

Bewildered, I stuck my head out the window and looked up, seeing nothing, of course.  My bird friend was swift in flight and long gone.  Amazed at the angle needed to achieve this perfect aim to reach me, I took the droppings as a sign of good luck.  They say bird poop is a blessing and that offering seemed destined for me.

Someone taught Jeb the Italian slang for feces.  For the rest of our car ride home – me with drying bird doo on my leg, Jeb in the backseat – he goes bilingual.  In some allegorical call and response, he delightfully announces “turd'”with a rolling ‘r’ and an Italian accent.  Then follows it with “stronzo!”

There we are, driving home.  Shoulder stands and bird shit.  Me, I’m still breathing.  Deep in the excrement and smiling.  Somehow feeling blessed.