my flight

woke up from a dream

in which i was a witch

in plainclothes

propelling myself at will

high into the storm clouds

the ground far below

brown and unwanted

i smiled down on the evergreen trees

no one could do what i could

no one noticed

and i didn't care

woke up on a sunlit morning

sad and confused

dwelling on my middle class woes

and unable to fly

flipped through the material world

saw smiling children in africa

whose bright teeth made me cry

and feel guilty and grateful

and wish that they could fly

oh, that i could meet them high in the sky

this too shall pass

i'm a little depressed

chilly grey listless perplexed

but not overwhelmingly so

haven't been bedridden sad in years

and for that i am eternally grateful

now i look at the downswing

i am the witness at a distance

i see my patterns

i notice my obsession with perfecting friendships

in my desire to maintain the illusion of control

i seek love and then reject affections

i pursue the unattainable

knowing, on some level, that i won't get it

because, on some level, i don't want it

wanting it and getting it would then mean

COMMITMENT

(gasp!)

...a fate worse than solitude?

humble pie

humility is remembering

life is complex beyond complex

concepts are pointing to the moon

and i know nothing

i am no better and no worse

than a fern

or a calf

or a clerk

or a star

i am nothing and everything

simultaneously

the biggest loser and

the champion of the day

gates of hell

the charming new president
is sending my baby to war

he's already distant
now they're taking him further 
away

at first I refused to believe
but he's not lying
my eyes flood
my throat strangles words
my head echoes
what will I do?
how will I feel?
thank god we don't have a baby
I will be okay
I will be safe

then i step outside my gargantuan ego
and the tears are for he who tells me 
so matter of fact
it's his duty
he must go
not to worry
he will be fine

my grandfathers fought forty years before i was born
i heard stories
i read articles
i saw the grainy footage 
photographs in life magazine
those towers burning and collapsed
now it hits me like it never hit before
in this bleak moment
all wars became real and fearsome

i cry for the brave millions before and now
marching to the gates of hell
into an exploding desert
lonely and wiling to shed their comfort
their blood
their existence
for me

the charming new president will send my love to war
i don't know if it will ever come back
but i know it will never die


--Michelle Margaret, January 2009

the guest house by rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

you know

knowledge is what we learn in school. 
it's useful and good. 
it's facts and opinions, causes and effects, formulas and literature. 
it's mathematical and scientific, linguistic and societal.  
it's where you grew up, who your closest relatives are, what church you went to as a kid. 
it's the color of your skin, and the natural color of your hair. 
it's chemistry, quantum physics and neurobiological rhythms. 
yes, knowledge is power. 
but knowledge is also in a book.

knowing is what we learn from experience. 
by doing. feeling. 
living. 
knowing is wisdom in action. 
it is your first downward dog of the day. 
it is applying lessons learned first-hand to future choices and activities. 
it's poetic and simple. 
it's common sense and esoteric. 
it is breathing, beating, every second. 
knowing is moving through days with intuition more than fear, openness more than barriers. 
knowing is trusting in your own divine power as well as the divine nature of the universe. 
knowing is dropping the ego, dropping competition, possessions, obsessions, just being.

gone

there isn't and wasn't and probably
won't be
anything that can define
the here and now.

or the yesterday or tomorrow.

smallest joys and sorrows
giant laughs and tears.

they happen.
they pass.

something else comes.

with no words left to describe.
or define.

was / is / will be

life exists in this present heartbeat

and yet relationships are built
upon the dead past

trust fosters openness, surrender
distrust builds fortresses of bitterness
selective memory colors things too simply
all rosy smiles and rainbow orgasms
blue frowns and stormy arguments


if it takes three, eighteen or a trillion more lessons
no matter
I (am learning / will learn)
the past can never be recreated
the future can never be known
nor should they be
that lesson is liberating every time
cause it propels me back here
to the eternal IS

uptown, upstate, up

Upstate, rain is cleansing me
after a day in New York
city of filthy opportunity 
people crawling out of skyscrapers

In Manhattan, I am Texan
more than anything else

I want the Hudson Valley in me
like Taos' pink sunsets and blue gravel
like lush Mexico the summer I flowed with fluency
like Austin, breakfast tacos, Lone Stars and all

Most of all, I want India in me
real yoga pulsing through my veins
Not in scrapbook memories
in my skin
A part of me, por siempre


--Michelle Fajkus, June 2008

hasta pronto (until soon)

literal translations are cause for great laughter and confusion
learning new languages,
the queer tongues of the exotic indigenous
begin to understand
open, soften, warm up
let loose
whoop

when i was learning spanish
and was first told, "hasta pronto,"
i thought, "until soon?"
a better translation might be
see you soon.

until soon.
i like the juxtaposition.
until soon is where my mind always wants to go
my ego is way ahead of me.
until soon is the greener grass
until soon is not as great as you thought it would be.

but whatever.
hasta pronto.