277/365

i watch whales on my phone
through an instagram account
of ocean life. the floating breeching
giants attuned to a heartbeat
i’d be wise to set my metronome to.

i have two crocus sativus flowers
as my screen saver- all of their
delicate parts brashly displayed
without fear or judgement:
peduncle. receptacle. sepal. petals.
stamen. anther. pistil. stigma. ovaries.
erotic in their shamelessness-
orange. golden yellow. red. lavender.
symbols of my otherness.

“if you eat too much saffron
you will die from laughter.”
we’re handcuffed to folklore
shared in passing.
i can still see a pestle in her hand
cooking in our kitchen, a tepid cup of tea,
always an arm’s reach away,
a mortar waiting for a gentle pounding.
she- little more than a stranger
i watched television with-
an anchor to an ancestry
my new passport would force me to ignore.

there is little evidence of expiring through hysterics,
but at higher doses there can be reduced
platelet count and spontaneous bleeding.
i wonder how many tons of saffron it would take
to force a pair off humpbacks to paint the oceans red.

distractions are necessary
when enslaved by screens.
 
i want to rub the petals of a real flower
between my fingers, swallowing bushelfuls
daring my heart to make the necessary platelets
to swim, laughing, into a whale’s gullet,
so she might carry me home.

270/365

236/365

when they knew she had died
the daughter crumpled to the floor
like a wrinkled dress fallen from its hanger
shapeless and spreading like a shadow.

he had seen her at the hospital
before they left for oregon:
her eyes distant and fearful,
her skin bruised from the fall
her neck fragile like her voice,
whispering jokes to the end.

how often do they come to school
carrying the weight of an expansive grief-
a hole left untended waiting to swallow
everything on its edges.

this thief leaves no clues
toward his intentions.

from the abyss the survivors
live surrounded by flowers.
her roses ripe in the sunshine
leading up the driveway
and into the world.
her body floated away in
that icy river in a foreign land.

the storm is coming
the voices remind us from behind
as we race up the stairs to escape
the soft whispers that never go quiet.

the son and the daughter
have suffered since,
but pain is just one part
of this cavalcade.

193/365

silence is a type of language
that’s a stolen line
will you forgive me?
reading the blind owl
by the iranian kafka.
there’s wine and opium
and symbols about the
achaemenid dynesties,
morning glories,
bruised lotus flowers.
sifting through the lines
searching for a glitter of gold,
the dense mud of surrealist
meaning, making it difficult.
a pellucid glaze,
purple and green
like a greenbottle housefly-
that’s a nugget. hold on to it.
books satisfy many needs
perplexion just as valid as the next.  

my only fear
is that i might die tomorrow
and still not know myself.
grateful that even in my own
garbled manner, i can still hear the
words in farsi, like whispered echos
and my grandmother’s stale breath
and she recounted fairy tales of
rostam and sohrab as she rubbed
my frail back under the covers
coaxing me to sleep. her entire life
a few fading polaroids in the mind

and if now i have decided to write,
it is only to introduce myself
to my shadow.
who can tell
what we steal
what is ours
and what is simply us
through the delicate transfusion
of language. culture. history.

Voice Like A Lullaby

“Get away from that door.” My mom had just gotten home from work and walked upstairs.
I ignored her. If she really meant it she would try again.
“I said get away from there. You’re going to disturb her.” She was whispering forcefully.
I tried my luck one more time. I couldn’t look away. What was she doing in there under that sheet? With those beads? That ancient looking book? Is that a compass? Why is she muttering to herself? What is she muttering to herself? She stands up. Arms in the air. Kneels down. Forehead to the ground. Repeat.
“I said go downstairs!” The whisper was gone, her voice clear, her hand on my shoulder physically pulling me away. “Now!”

I saw my grandmother kneel down again, clutching a string of beads, her head to the floor one last time, before I gave in and slunked then trotted downstairs- two steps at a time, straight to the fridge for a banana.
“What is she doing in there?” I asked my mom ingesting half the banana in one bite.
“Do you have to eat like an animal? You’re going to choke.”
Finishing the second half of the banana, I asked, “No really, what is she doing in there?”
“She’s praying,” my mom had shoved me out of the way and was starting to dig in the refrigerator, pulling out an assortment of boxed and sealed left-overs for dinner.
“Praying? What does that mean?” I was perplexed. I had no idea what to do with information that my grandmother who had arrived from Iran late the night before, and was going to stay with us for six months, who I hadn’t seen since I was five, I was seven now, who had brought two massive suitcases that stood full and unopened upstairs, who was my dad’s mom, was upstairs praying.

I had out run my mom from the car earlier to set eyes on Maman Soodie, only to find her in a trance, under a sheet apparently praying.
“Why are you ignoring me?” I needed answers.
My mom was busy pouring an eggplant stew into a pot for warming and setting a pot to boil for rice.
“It means that she is talking to god, by reciting lines from the Koran.”
God? Koran?
“She will do that five times a day when she is here and I need you to not stand at the door gaping at her. It’s a very private act and she doesn’t need you disturbing her.” She started to cut some radishes like flowers and throw them into a blow of cold water to help them open up.
“I wasn’t disturbing her. I was just standing there, quietly watching.” I stole a radish and popped it into my mouth. I love the subtle spice. I stirred the stew and watched a few tiny bubbles begin to pop like a lake of molten lava.
“Can you not argue and just promise me that you won’t bother your grandmother? And go set the table. Your dad will be home soon and I want to eat as soon as he gets here. I am starving.” She handed me a stack of four plates.

Four. Not three, but four. It was so exciting to have an additional member added to our family. It had been just the three of us for so long that having another body in the house was a novelty and a treat. I didn’t know at the time how much I would learn from Maman Soodie and how long those memories would last.

“Jabiz Joon come here and let me hold you. I have missed you so much my heart has been broken.” Her voice sounded like a lullaby I recognized from years ago. She was out from under the sheet and heading toward the kitchen. Her face and her voice came rushing back to me from the time before we left Iran and came to America. From a time where we played together while she watched me when my parents were out. From a time that she was my friend, my story teller, my grandmother.
I ran to her as she sat in a chair at the dining room table. She scooped me up into her lap, hugging me tightly, rocking me back and forth.

She said a bunch of things in Farsi I didn't understand, like I was her liver, but I could feel were affectionate and then she said, “Oh how I have missed you. Tonight I will tell you the story of the Persian Prince Rostam.”
“Can you also tell me what you were saying to god?”
I noticed that she and my mom exchanged a quick look. It was fleeting, but I saw it.
“Let’s start with the fairy tales and move onto god later.”

Nature of Reality

We left Tassajara pretty early this morning, with my mom in tow, and headed to Monterrey. The day was spent in in the fog, at the aquarium, at the cheesy tourist shops, at the candy shop, eating cotton candy and Italian food.

It ended sharing a drink with my mom at the hotel bar talking about Zen and the nature of reality and how crazy it is that my girls are getting so big and that we are now in our 60’s an 40’s sitting in a hotel bar talking about the nature of reality.

Tomorrow we are up early, packing the car and headed back North to Garberville and a few nights in the Redwood forest. I wish I had more to offer from this day, but it was a long good one and after sleeping on a mattress in the cold at Tassajara, I am looking forward to a warm shower and a cozy bed. I am back online and ready to be back in it. 

What A Day

Last night was long and cold. I slept on a mattress on the ground with a sheet and when I went to sleep it was too hot to breath. I though I had imagined a blanket in the bathroom, but didn’t think twice about grabbing it. At some point in the night, I am guessing around 3am, I was freezing. My initial thoughts were to simply curl up in the sheets, as the thought of venturing into the darkness to grab the blanket felt like too big of a chore; I chose to suffer instead. I am not sure why this decision to allow myself to freeze felt like the right choice, but for at lead an hour I lay motionless in the darkness under a sheet freezing. Until of course, Kaia woke up and said she was cold. She was also sleeping on the floor on a mattress.


She decided to jump in bed with Mairin and Skye right after I got her the blanket. So finally, I was saved. I jumped back on my mattress and quickly allowed myself to be swallowed by it. I fell in and out of a shallow sleep until the morning.


What a day. We started with a nice breakfast and then we packed a lunch and headed to The Narrows- a thirty minute hike up the creek to a nice deep pool with a rock slide. The water was freezing, but the sun was so hot and perfect that we spent a large part of our day there. Skye was beyond adventurous and was always the first onion the water and even led the hike for most of the time. Kaia was a bit more cautious and was freaked out, I think, by the coldness of the water. I have rarely seen her so far from her comfort zone. Eventually, we all got in and had a good swim and delicious lunch. Alas, no photos as I was trying to be disconnected and device free.


A bit of down time and back at the baths. I was alone tonight, and although I only had twenty minutes, I took the time to walk down to the creek after the sauna and even fit in a quick mediation sitting on the deck by myself. These are the things I miss most about the states. The opportunity one has to be alone in nature. If we lived in the states, I would do so much camping and adventure nature stuff. Or at least, that is what I tell myself. Today was brilliant just walking along this creek with the the girls, my wife and my mom. All of us walking under the sun, skin toasted and brown, the gravel beneath our feet. Miles away from the chaos of the world with little to do but eat, swim, sleep.


It’s not all relaxing here however. Being at a remote Zen retreat with two young children can be nerve racking. There are an eclectic group of guests here, walking around in various states of quiet. So even room level conversations between two kids under ten, sounds a few decibels too high. There have been a lot of shushes and be quiets, but overall the girls have been great.


After dinner, they both went to the baths for a second time with my mom, while I attended a dharma talk by the head of this Zen Center. Her message was a simple one: when it feels like there are hundreds, thousands or even millions of things coming at you at once- don’t try to control any of it. We are the universe in its entirety. We are the freedom and the entanglement. So the more we sit and trust that the universe will work itself out, the more we will see that it will.


The mood of the talk was nice. Dim lights, robes, bells, chants and her calming voice in the semi- darkness.


Tonight I am armed and prepared for the darkness. Although it feels too hot to sleep, I will prepare not one but two blankest for the pre-dawn frost, I am certain will come. In the morning we will eat breakfast and get back on the crazy long road back to the coast and civilization. We will spend the day and one night in Monterrey with my mom, before we head north again.


I am just so proud of her for being here and living here and processing here. It is a special place and I am so happy that we made the drive and were able to experience it with her.


I am now thinking when in my life, I might be able to spend a substantial amount of time here. It might have to be years after the girls have grown up. I may have to wait for the rest of my life to present me with the opportunity, but I look at my mom and see how patient and persistent she has been, and I am hopeful.


Someday, I will come back and spend at least a few weeks here.

Plunge

I was up at five forty-five when the early alarm went off. We had a big day of travel and I was awake and couldn’t sleep. Once we had the car loaded, the kids fed and everyone ready to go- we were only twenty minutes behind schedule. A quick coffee and we were on the 580 headed toward the Oakland, Gilroy, Salinas and eventually Carmel Valley and Tassajara.

The city driving was boring and uneventful. Pockets of traffic kept the ride through the industrial wasteland and strip malls unimpressive. Things got a bit better after San Jose, but the real adventure started once we hit the dirt rode about ten miles outside of Carmel Valley, a quaint little village off the coast at the foot of the Los Pedros mountains and state park. I was expecting a rough but relatively short winding rode, but man! We were really in the middle of nowhere. nearly two hours later, we were about to turn back, certain that we had somehow taken a wrong turn. There was no way that the Tassajara Zen Center could actually be this remote. But after seeing the first car in nearly two hours, and asking directions, we realized that we were indeed on the right track.

It must have been nearly a hundred degrees when we arrived, but this was stunning country. Our car was blanketed with dust and we were a bit rough around the edges, but watching the girls run up and hug my mom made it all worth it. Kaia is nearly has tall as Mahin which is strange to say the least. We had a quick lunch of bread, corn chowder and kale salad before we headed up the creek to fund a nice swim hole.

Despite everyone being nearly baked alive all day, it took awhile to acclimate to the freezing water. After passing two deer, we found a nice spot that was deep enough to swim, so we enjoyed the setting early evening sun. All I could think about was how much Jenn would love this place.

Back at the center, we all took a bath at the communal, Japanese bath house. The girls on one side and me alone on the other. There is a natural spring plunge bath, a sauna, a cool bath and access down to the creek.

Clothing is optional. And while a few older gentlemen sat on the porch chatting away in front of the creek, I stripped down and had a great cold shower, a hot plunge and a cool off shower before we headed for dinner.

Dinner! Wow. Thai veggie curry, rice, some peanut sauce and BBQ tofu, cabbage and I think a rhubarb salad with onions. Finished off by a peach cobbler and a coffee. I ate so much that I had a hard time getting up.

After dinner, my mom showed us around- meditation hall, the woodshop, library and her tiny cute little room just off the creek. I can’t believe that she is finally here. She has been wanting to live here for years and to see her finish off her first year and be able to share that with her is amazing. The people here so far are so calm and kind. Lots of smiles and bows and introductions.

So that’s day one. It is nearly ten pm and it is still pretty warm. No fan. No AC. There was a mix up with our room, so we are all four crammed in a pretty tight space, but once I stop to think about the fact that we are about two hours in the heart of the California wilderness, everything feels okay.

Did I mention that Kaia was so impressed with the bath house that she and my mom are there as I type these words? I think back to the times I spent with my grandmother and how special they seem even now. The two of them must be so happy to be sitting along the creek, in a hot plunge pool whispering whatever it is that grandmothers and their granddaughters discuss. They have a lot to catch up on and to know that they are able to do it in this setting, on this night, fills be with unnameable joy.