Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

The Honey of Peace

Last month in California, my father loaned  me his special desktop copy of Robinson Jeffers Selected Poems.  I was on a pilgrimage to Tor House, but first, five days in my feel-good place.

Dad's book at the Jeffers' Cornerstone

Within hours of arriving at the land of my solo retreat, I was out of sorts and feeling stuck.  Searching for clues, I flipped through pages of poetry and found the somber piece “To the Stone-cutters” (entire work can be read here).  My journal entry begins by quoting the last line.  One that seems even more relevant now as I try to glean some nectar from the words I wrote during that expansive time.

Here’s an excerpt from day one, as I began to unravel in that coastal dwelling.

“The honey of peace in old poems…”  Robinson Jeffers

‘Dance Church’ is next door and the bass is pumping.  I know that I love to dance but there are reasons I am here, not there:  jet lag, no sleep, bloodshot eyes, bad music, closed circuits, just don’t feel like it.

I peek in the window and be the voyeur that watches but doesn’t want to take the plunge.  Sixty happy people move and jump in a mass of ecstatic wildness.  A man exits, sees my indecision and encourages me to go inside.  I tell him that I am just too tired.

“I was too, but it woke me up…”

Eventually, I enter.  Somewhere around the Van Halen song, “Jump”, (that’s right, ‘go ahead and jump!’) I’m telling myself that I just can’t dance to this.  But then I try it anyway.  David Lee Roth’s mantra segues into something more palatable and I’m soon a member of the congregation, dancing my own kind of freedom.  My state is altered, my body enlivened and I get so into it that when Dance Church is over and it’s time for dinner, I can barely eat.

Later I’m in the hot springs on a new moon in the starlight.  A bath with myself and two women – silent.  After a long while one begins to gently sing:  “When I am in the light of my soul I am home.”

She sings this line quietly for a short time then slowly exits the bath.  More silence, warm water and calm.”

Ahh…the honey of peace in old poems.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Sparks and Flickers

56.9 degrees in the dark of this Kilauea morning.  That’s cold for Kauai.

I swear the honey in the squeeze bear is moving more slowly because of it.

With knee highs and an afghan, I reflect on yesterday’s post about my intent to be porous.  To let myself be truly touched by life.

To be truthful, there was no long sustained wave of open-heartedness where I was washed in blissful love light.  But there were flickers of sweetness in the day.

A co-worker called me “honey” when she told me I’d found her exactly what she needed.

The soulful surrender of a Piers Faccini‘s song over studio speakers:
Joy joy
I’m out of luck
Joy joy
I give up
(whole song here and more about yesterday’s radio show, Music as Medicine here)

Driving past a woman walking alone on a country road.  Her face smiling, the wind blowing her blouse alongside the bananas.

Greeting eyes with a long-time, handsome friend.

Holding my son in my lap as he told me about his day.

Being handed a home-grown rose in full bloom.  Inhaling the scent – and as always – being transported to Marionette road, where my great-grandmother’s roses lined the driveway and filled my seven year old head with floral love.

photo by Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved

Sparks of light.  Small calls to live and feel deeply.  To let the moments permeate and pass.

6:59am.  Gonna let breakfast preparations permeate my being now.

Here’s to sparks and flickers!

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

The First Day of 2011

I wake in the dark to an empty house, well-rested.  Brew coffee and write.

As the first shadows begin to appear in the early morning sun rise, I make my way to my car and drive to one of the most beautiful beaches I know.  My steps are the first imprints of 2011 on these golden sands, wandering slowly under a pinking sky.

Often during this time of year the waves are so big you cannot walk to the end of the beach.  This morning the winter swell is moderate, the tide low.

photo courtesy of Pepe Conley

I have an all-access pass to the place that is my temple.  Not a soul in sight.

At the fresh-water spring that flows through rock and thick green moss, I strip down and stand in the tall fall.  Look out at the vast ocean that stretches north into nothing but horizon.  Salt and sea mist rise and cool water anoints my crown.  Good morning!

In the afternoon Jeb and I load up my car with good friends and a big bowl of Thai squash soup.  The scent of garlic and curry wafts through the vehicle as we make our way to the Taro Patch where a community potluck is being held.  Hawaiian chanting, African drumming, songwriters and a didgeridoo.  Two couples get up and renew vows before the 400+ crowd in ‘sacred union’ ceremony.  There is interpretive dance that I think has something to do with a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

All of Kauai’s woo woo crew are here in a potpourri of bright batiks, Hawaiian prints, Burning Man accessories, fedoras and board shorts.  We are an eclectic family all perspiring together in the muggy grass.  But we’re happy by the riverside, in the sacred space of this place at the base of Kalalea – Anahola’s distinctive mountain.

Children run about safely unattended.  Jeb keeps scaling jagged lava rock and I can’t decide if I should pluck him down or just stop watching.  Elijah and John Dumas are on the stage singing about the freedom of living your dreams.  They’ve altered the standard “Happy New Year” so that we all may transcend time and space, by simply saying “Happy New Now.”  It’s New Year’s Day on Kauai.

The event culminates with a “Goddess Chant” but I’m confused to see all the women at the back of the stage and a man with the mic in the front singing about opening our hearts.  We gather our things and exit before I have a chance to see them come front and center.

Back home with friends, we eat a simple dinner of garden pesto and pasta.  Crisp bread and red wine.  For dessert, maple wafers and tangerines by the fire, while a friend from Tahiti tells tales of diving with dolphins in his thick French accent.  Jeb demonstrates how to make a blade of grass whistle in your hands.

From Kauai, I’m wishing you a beautiful new year and a most excellent ‘Now’!