Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Quenched by the Treasure of the Well

The water pipes are still dry
so you go for tequila
bring a bowl and band aids
to your friend’s house
where you’ll soak the screw wound
in your sole
and sip a cocktail at sunset

you finally are ready to bring those boots outside
you’ll pat your soaked foot dry
apply the ointment
adhere the bandage
slip on a sock
and zip up that foot
into the leather boots
that have been sitting
waiting
by your travel books

now these boots are climbing
stairs to the top of the Ficus
a treehouse in the clouds
you clink glasses with friends
in pinkening skies
eat beans and beets just picked from the garden
get swooped by a flock of 30 dainty birds
all one mind
in speedy flight
used to tree tops
but not to humans in them

so maybe your house has no water
but now you’re housed in a tree
with golden beets and silver linings
your friend says your situation is an opportunity
shares his new mantra
“Thank you for this gift, and the treasure that it holds for me.”

The gift was great at sunset
but you’ve forgotten the treasure by morning
you’re still dry
and grumpy
you don’t want to stretch
but you could wash your hands at the yoga studio
the same place where the AA group meets
where their 12 Step sign laughs at your dried water lines
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.”

you don’t want serenity prayers
or downward dog poses
but you’ll try
to accept
to embrace your Dark Side
to breathe like Darth Vader
and after an hour
ok
you do feel better

And through some alignment with the Force
when you return home
the pump is primed
water is flowing
and you are in love with liquid
singing praises
and committing
life-long devotion to the element of water

by nightfall it’s time for poetry

courtesy of wanathan101

last night you were in treetop branches
with sunset clouds
tonight you are flush with the grass

poets circle a fire in starlight
and you stretch
beneath the Gardenias
soles warmed by flames
smoke circling to sky
sparks catch air in quick bursts
punctuating poetry
that spills from the mouths of your neighbors
words and flickers
stars and flowers
the smell of smoke in your hair

upon this earthen body
you and the poets spiral through space
resting on the surface
just above the treasure
layers and deep veins
hold the seeping springs of liquid love
the elemental elixir

you are prostrate
a devotee
giving thanks at the well
quenched
by the flow
of words
and water

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Cold Feet

The new boots are right here next to me.  Kind of like the headless horseman, they stand erect, tall, but empty – waiting for feet and legs to take them for a walk.

Poised here by my writing desk, they exude the scent of leather, fresh and pristine.  What other scents will soon mingle with these boots?  The stale smell of an airplane’s interior?  The damp undergrowth of an ancient forest?  The salt and stone of a seaside village?

This is not my first pair.  The original boots I ordered arrived by mail two weeks ago and when I slipped them on, my feet were swimming.  What does it mean when the dream boots that took six years in coming are finally on your feet and they don’t fit?  They were meant to carry me through visions of grandeur.  Were my imaginings rooted in shoes too big to fill?  My heels are narrow and the wiggle room inside those boots were a set up for floppy hikes and blister city.

Alas, I conceded.  Let them go.  They had to be returned.

There is a happy ending, though.  Or, hopefully, a happy beginning.

I ordered a smaller size.

Perhaps I needed an exercise in holding out for exactly what I wanted.  Making sure I had a perfect fit – solid, secure, grounded and ready for action.  My alternate, smaller versions arrived in good time and when I tried them on, they hugged my feet in promised support.  A fine balance of good sizing with just enough room for future stretch and give.

So this morning, it’s not yet sunrise.  75 degrees and 83% humidity.  I’ve slipped my bare island feet into my boots and zipped them to my knees.  I can sit with the twittering of song birds and the random wake-up calls of roosters.  Ask these kicks, “What’s our first adventure?”

I hold an element of hesitancy, not wanting to mar their pristine state.  I know that once I walk into the world with these, I am committed.  Stepping beyond my front door to touch down on real-life soil, makes them mine.  There is no more return.

Maybe I’m not quite ready (though opportunities for wear are limited in this May, tropical clime).  Perhaps I need to keep them in.  Just slip them on at dawn and dream a bit.  Ask them where they’d like to wander.

Zipped up tight, I can imagine earthy realms where we could travel.  Safe within my mind, scenarios are left to the place where I still can edit.  Fast forward, rewind, delete.  Maybe I’m not quite ready to set foot completely on the real path – muddy, rocky, leading to the unknown.

This morning these boots feel snug and full of promise.  They’ll wait patiently for me to live the script.  Ready when I am, to set foot outside.

Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Wolf Whistles, Oysters and the Red Carpet Treatment

Maybe the world is always our oyster but some days feel like you’ve been granted the secret password needed to reveal its inlaid treasure.  Lately, for me, not only has the oyster been gently opening at the hinges, by golly, it’s got two pearls inside!

If I’d been suspecting that I was right there in the pocket – feeling tight, life and I – then all was confirmed at the Department of Motor Vehicles on Friday.  Rock star parking led right to an empty line inside.  Within five minutes I had paid my annual registration and was back out in the tropical sunshine, moving forward with the day.

More mundane tasks ensued with efficiency and ease.  Costco mission complete in twenty minutes (they opened up a register just for me!).  Ultrasound appointment done in no time (they won’t tell you a thing of what they see) by a big and beautiful African woman who hummed a sweet song while taking pictures of my womb.  I was crossing off my to-do list efficiently, swift like an arrow on course through the maze of downtown.  My iPod was on shuffle, the soundtrack of life in my ears.  John Mayer singing “The Heart of Life is Good,” and it was easy to concur.

Back home in cyberspace my email Inbox reveals more cosmic winks.  For those of you following the Archives, remember those boot advertisements in the side bar of my email screen?  These days they’ve changed.  They’ve been replaced by airfare promotions now.  First stop?  Vegas.  Perhaps I’m on a winning streak that’s worth a gamble.

The ultimate affirmation comes at day’s end, straight from Nature, when I stepped out my front door and my friend, the White-Rumped Shama gave a wolf whistle from his nearby perch.  I’ve heard plenty of his songs, but I’ve never heard that one from him before.  You know the call.  That emotive sound of approval perfected by crass construction workers.  I’ll post the sample here (click ‘wolf whistle‘), but it can’t compare to the melodious beauty of hearing those notes flow from the throat of a songbird.

I know I mentioned the other day in my Sunrise Reserves in the Kimono that life doesn’t roll out the red carpet.  That we must carve it out ourselves.  But maybe that’s not always true.  There are times when we can ease into some sweet spot.  Find some perfect groove where Providence has roped off our course, allowing for easy entry.

courtesy of Tomomarusan

I’m following that unfurling crimson runner toward the rare, double-pearled oyster, while birds whistle affirmation in my wake.  No need to question.  Just be grateful, stay open and say yes.