Happy Holidays!

Hello.
I just wanted to wish everyone a wonderful holiday season and new year.
See you in 2010.:)
Much love,
Melissa

PostSecret.

“Whether we realize it or not,we are always on a spiritual journey-even when we feel most lost.”-Frank Warren

PostSecret,a continuous community mail art effort to promote the importance of revealing life secrets,was created by Frank Warren.On a daily basis,thousands upon thousands of handmade postcards are anonymously sent in with the hope of being selected for the official website,published books by the same title(the most recent is called PostSecret:Confessions on Life,Death,and God),or museum exhibits.Once again,I am grateful for the opportunity provided by Changing Hands Bookstore to meet Frank Warren on Monday,December 7,2009.

As a concept,PostSecret began on the most simple of terms.People were asked to decorate a postcard that portrayed a secret that had never been previously revealed.There are no restrictions on the content of the secret that a postcard gives way to;only that it must be completely truthful and never spoken of under any previous circumstances.To date,the subjects of exploration range from admissions of sexual misconduct,criminal activity,secret desires for the self or towards others,embarrassing habits,hopes,and even dreams for the future.As someone that owns a copy of the first ever published PostSecret book and now the most recent publication,I find the honest revelations of others to be rather inspiring.As the curator of the project,Warren expressed that the ultimate goal of the PostSecret confessions is to create a community of acceptance.While I will not infringe upon the expressed bravery of others by way of detailing their secrets(including Frank Warren),I will take my blog as the opportunity to reveal to whomever happens to read my writing a secret of my own.So,what’s my secret?

I have no secrets.

Before anyone goes there,to that place of disbelief of my not having any secrets,I will reply that I have chosen to expose the parts of my being in the form of prose,poetry,and even the random but pointed quotes that celebrate the life expressions made by others.I also constantly share in the form of daily action. I have experienced a two-fold compendium which has allowed me better understand myself and how the lives of others has directly affected me leading to a willingness to share all.So,there is all of me in everything.However,just as I have chosen to attend events such as those cultivated around the PostSecret project with an open heart that possesses no judgement but encourages unity instead,I realize that it takes the right heart of someone else to be able to see those same truth telling moments in all of the sharing that I do..Every bit of me is there,in hopes of being found in the right way and time.
I look forward to writing more in the new year. I will be meeting more authors,and attending a writing retreat in Colorado this spring.So, good times are in the future.:)
My wish is that everyone finds all good desires fulfilled in the new year.
Much love,
Melissa
*It is my understanding that Frank Warren has teamed up with a powerful organization in hopes of answering anonymous cries for help through a crisis hotline on campus colleges nationwide.If you or anyone you know is in need of someone to talk to or has questions about suicide,please call 1-800-Suicide.
*To learn more about the PostSecret project,please visit postsecret.blogspot.com or postsecretcommunity.com.

PostSecret.

Hello.
In the next few days,I will post a more detailed blog about the PostSecret reading/signing.Above is the most recent video that details the project.

Write soon,
Melissa

Barbara Kingsolver or ‘The Lacuna.’

"The very least you can do in your life is to figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope.”-Barbara Kingsolver

An American writer,Barbara Kingsolver is the author of seven works of fiction,including The Bean Trees,The Poisonwood Bible,and Animal Dreams.In addition,Kingsolver has also written for the genres of poetry,essay,and creative nonfiction.In 2000,Kingsolver was awarded the National Humanities Medal,which is the highest honor for service through the arts given in the United States of America.Once again,I offer my sincere gratitude to Changing Hands Bookstore and Marcos de Niza High School for providing me(and an audience that was approximately four hundred avid readers strong)the opportunity to meet such an accomplished writer.

Born in Annapolis,Maryland,Kingsolver spent her early childhood living in Africa with her father.Growing up with a parent that sought ways to provide better medical treatment to those living in numerous countries,Kingsolver chose to explore a different path of impacting the world with a music scholarship to DePauw University(located in Greencastle,Indiana)to study classical piano.Somewhere within the four years of musical study,she eventually switched to a major in the field of biology.

By the later part of the 1970s,Kingsolver had already lived in a wide variety of locations.Those locations included Greece,France,and Tucson,Arizona.Now a critically acclaimed and respected author amongst peers and readers alike,Kingsolver held many jobs until the writing life kicked into full swing.Jobs that ranged from an archaeological digger,copy editor,biological researcher,translator,and even a housecleaner.

Pushing forward with more academic persuits,Kingsolver earned a Master’s degree in both ecology and evolutionary biology at the University of Arizona.At the completion of the extended dual degree,she held the job title of science writer on campus.The theme of exploration spun into freelance writing and journalism.In 1986,Kingsolver was recognized with the Arizona Press Club award for achieving great strides in feature writing.

Nearly eight years later,Kingsolver was once again recognized as a contributor to the field of academia with the Honorary Doctorate of Letters from DePauw University.Most recently,however,Kingsolver received recognition in the form of the Honorary Doctorate of Humane Letters from the same university.In the commencement speech,which was entitled “How To Be Hopeful,” Kingsolver supposedly said the quote listed at the beginning of this journal entry.

Prior to the reading last week,I’d only read one of Kingsolver’s books,the critically acclaimed The Poisonwood Bible.Back in my undergraduate days,Kingsolver was the talk of many students studying themes focused on community,economic injustice,and cultural differences.I’d been advised by all that she was a treat to behold at a reading,and that was all proven to be true.Kingsolver spoke with a pronounced elegance about her most recent written work,The Lacuna.After reading two excerpts from the book,she took questions from the audience that ranged from the place of purchase for her flashy red boots(true desert wear,I say)and the process of constructing a novel.Apparently,Kingsolver has a board hanging in her office in which she tacks various parts of the writing process or puzzle pieces that all contribute to the finished product known as the novel.

At the close of the reading,Kingsolver asked the audience to think about their piece for the world.She went on to ask “What do you hope for the world?”While some people were turning on their cell phones and picking up their books for an hour long waiting line for a signature on the title page,I sat in the audience to think about the question.As a human being,but also a writer,it is my greatest hope that each person realizes their own potential to change the world.If your medium is writing,then keep writing.If your medium is music,then keep singing or playing instruments.If your medium is fashion,keep designing clothes,makeup,jewelry,or even perfume or cologne that represents those missing pieces.I believe everyone makes a difference.So,maybe that’s really what I hope for in the now and in the future.I hope that each person can see their own being as a piece that belongs in the world,but that all these pieces we contribute also belong to each other.

Thank you for allowing me to belong.
Much love,
Melissa

Kimiko Hahn & Harold Schechter.

Konnichiwa,my friends.

The flurry that was mentioned in my previous blog has officially subsided.Each member of my immediate family has,by this point in time,celebrated their place in the world by way of a birthday.As the last bits of cake are eaten,notes of gratitude are written and sent off in stacks to the post office,and pictures are framed,I am reminded that poetry is also a gift.On Wednesday October 14th,I had the honor of attending a poetry reading held at Arizona State University for Kimiko Hahn and Harold Schechter

Kimiko Hahn is the author of seven poetry collections. As a poet,Hahn is the recipient of the Before Columbus Foundation’s American Book Award(for Unbearable Heart,my personal favorite),and numerous grants including a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship and a Lila Wallace-Reader’s Digest Award.Currently a teacher at Queens College/The City University of New York,Hahn is one my favorite Japanese poets.Within the space of thirty minutes(Schechter read for the remaining thirty minutes),several poems were read.As a poet,she explores desire,death,and the concept of the zuihitsu,or pillow book,not to mention the nu shu,which is a way of writing that Chinese women used to correspond with one another.Taking each theme or style of communication into her own writing hands,I believe that the poems written by Hahn reflect what all art is really about at the core.That of an influence of existing forms mixed with modern day experience.

In the past decade,I’ve attended numerous readings.There is always a high level of anticipation as to what the event will reveal for me after having given a series of minutes within my time to a particular writer.On the evening of this particular reading,a very specific mood of reflection came upon me.As Hahn read each poem,with the full pronunciation of thought and necessary breath that accompanies each line,I couldn’t help but feel my own being to be in the midst of transition,not unlike the movement of a poem.I’ve transitioned from this young girl that kept everything on the inside,only to moderate my own life experiences by what others perceived as best for my own being.In order to fit the mold of what others thought I should be,I lost so much of myself in the process.Now as a young woman,I feel myself to be more in tune to my most real self;a person that has let go of expectations.In the process of letting go,I’ve discovered an entirely new world.A world that relies on my own genuine self-appreciation first,only in turn to attract what or whom is important to me along the way.I’ve come to this place in which sharing is the only option.While I share my own poetry,the musings of meetings with other creative souls,and famous lines that have made a indelible mark on my life,I often feel myself having an internal monologue.On the evening of this reading impaticular,I kept hearing myself say on the inside “I wish he was here.”This thought was,of course,precipitated by the numerous love poems that Hahn read during the thirty minute time frame.The epiphany,or slight return as I would like to call it,of the evening is that nothing ever really leaves us.The lessons we learn from other nouns always remains,even if the specific person,experience,or initial thought does not.From that particular gentleman that I loved so much,I learned to follow my creative impulses,and to go with my first thought no matter how many other people thought it would be best to do otherwise.I will always be grateful for the way in which he allowed me to blossom into my own self.So,what began as an epiphany at the reading turned out to be a multitude of realizations.As to what happens in the future,I have no idea.I like not knowing too.I live my life in such a way that the right things will happen at the right time…

The second half of the reading featured the musings of Harold Schechter.As a professor of American Literature at Queens College/The City University of New York,Schechter(also Hahn’s husband)writes for the genre of true crime.With inspiration stemming mostly from Edgar Allen Poe(think along the lines of Tell-Tale Heart),Schechter has chosen to explore the psychology of action that results in the heart broken losses for many around the world.Never a fan of the genre of true crime,I must admit that Schechter did come across as a well infomed lecturer on all accounts.It was apparent that he is aware of the discomfort that the genre in which he writes holds,but that writing about an experience in an effort to explore reason bears more importance.

There will be more readings in the spring at Arizona State University.I look forward to sharing more of my musings in the future.

Much love and arigatou,
Melissa

"The Body War"(The Final Revision)

I.
I remember sitting in the kitchen chair.
Rooted into the fabric,inorganic designs of red potatoes
petite as my teenage breasts,
and celery thin as bone.

The lump in my throat,round like a radish,
catches on the one hundred calorie meal
as it finds its way down to my stomach.

My stepfather
dresses the rim of my dinner plate
with the labels retard and fat ass
in a delicate cursive made from ketchup.

I worship Anorexia Nervosa like a goddess
and in my journal with the word:Dream;
wrote that waif was not just a cracker,
but a way of being.

II.
My body morphed with the seasons of that year,
winter gifts my skin with a glow named Jaundice,
and all my stepfather said is:

Stop drinking lemonade

and spring returned the favor by stunting the roots
of the virgin blonde hairs on my scalp.

Then I asked myself:
My skin reminds me of a raw Ribeye steak,
does that make me a carnivore?

Autumn used to be my favorite season-
the wasting away of each day until school began
was marked with an X on a Van Gogh calendar;
for each time a molar in my mouth fell
loose like the pods on a Mesquite Tree.

I did not sleep in my own bed of cotton sheets
which were the hue of midnight,
but I remembered,on the way to the hospital,
eight hours before the first day of Biology class:

There have been no shooting stars
in my sky for twenty-eight days

and then I remembered how all those Post Impressionist epiphanies
spoken into my ear
were three hundred sixty-five and a half days too late.

III.
I stirred in a new bed;
those sheets white as a wedding dress
I might never wear-and then,
as if to read my mind,the nurse said:

I know you want to walk
down the aisle someday

Her words hung in the air,
lit up the room
like a single light bulb.

And then I finally confessed:
Somedays,I can't even find
the strength to stand up

My mother said:
I had no idea...

And then,when the psychiatrist entered the room-
her entire being,a simile of
my teenage icon The Queen(Latifah),
I said,with my last bit of lucidity,

In spring,I sing,
in fall,I call out,
to all the ones

that had a hard day.

Madeleine Albright.

Looking back upon the experiences of the day,I’d like to reference the overall feeling as a flurry.I awoke thirty minutes late this morning,at the early hour of seven.The new cd by Pearl Jam was playing(ironically with the tune “Just Breathe”),and I pitter pattered across the tile floor to the coffee pot.My brain,the coffee pot,and the cold to hot transition of the shower water just wasn’t happening fast enough.All I could think of was the impending meeting to discuss my latest revision of “The Body War” with my teacher. Have you ever had one of those days?

Then,standing naked at the shower door,something inside of my being immediately switched on.As if to read my own horoscope,I said out loud “Be grateful!You are going to meet Madeleine Albight today!”I find it quite ironic that it took my most natural state of being,that of nudity,to have such a solid epiphany.For all the moments in day that I ponder what in the world I’m doing,it is the small moments of self-realization that bring me right back into my proper place in the world.That of being grateful;going from one experience to another with only the feeling of joy.Tonight,courtesy of Changing Hands Bookstore,I experienced so much more than joy upon meeting Madeleine Albright.

Madeleine Albright served as U.S.Secretary of State from 1997 to 2001 and as the U.S.Ambassador to the United Nations from 1993 to 1997.To date,Albright has written three books,all of which have placed respectively on the New York Times bestseller list.In the midst of a two hundred plus audience,Albright took to explaining her latest writing adventure called Read My Pins.The book,which is nearly void of words,hosts a vast array of pictures for the most recent expression that has made her famous.For many years,Albright has chosen to explore the art of fashion by wearing a pin to each and every political experience that requests her wisdom,courage,and commanding presence.According to Albright,a bit of pre-paving occurs when she places the pin on her shirt prior to a significant meeting of the minds.In the need of courage,she wears a pin in the shape of a lion.Just days after meeting Saddam Hussein,she wore a pin in the shape of a snake upon her shirt.All of these pins,currently on display in a museum,range in cost from three dollars to three thousand dollars.That is fashion loaded with intention,my friends.

While the camera flashes were going off at full force,Albright remained composed and answered several questions.The questions varied from the naming of favorite political leaders,the meaning of peace,and the top five issues that President Obama must work to resolve during his time as president.To each question she paused,only to rebound with a well spoken answer.As a young woman that has just turned thirty,I was reminded that good things are possible.After all,it is the feeling of gratitude that can change the dichotomy of any day past,present,or future.

Good night.
God bless.
Much love,
Melissa

'Bright Star'(The Movie).

Good evening to all...
I finally had a free minute to see the movie 'Bright Star' over the weekend.
The film is based upon a three year romance between poet John Keats(British Romanticism)and Fanny Brawne(his muse for many poems).Please go see the film if you have not done so already.Bravo,Jane Campion.

Above is the official trailer.

Much love,
Melissa

International Day of Peace.

Hello.
Today is International Day of Peace.
I wish EVERYONE peace and love.
Much love,
Melissa

Stephen Dobyns.

Over the last few weeks,I've been kindly reminded in several ways that fall is approaching.The primary way,of course,is the simple fact that my desk begins to accumulate stacks of papers inviting my writing being to various literary events around town.Last night was no exception,as I attended a poetry reading by Stephen Dobyns hosted by the Virginia G.Piper Center at Arizona State University.

Stephen Dobyns was born in Orange, New Jersey.Dobyns graduated from Wayne State University and has an M.F.A. from the University of Iowa.As a writer for over twenty-five years, Dobyns has published ten books of poetry and twenty novels. His books of poetry include Pallbearers Envying the One Who Rides (Penguin, 1999); Common Carnage (1996); Velocities: New and Selected Poems, 1966-1992 (1994); Cemetery Nights (1987), which won a Melville Cane Award; Black Dog, Red Dog (1984), which was a winner in the National Poetry Series; Heat Death (1980); and Concurring Beasts (1972), which was the 1972 Lamont Poetry Selection of The Academy of American Poets. His most recent novels include Boy in the Water (Holt/Metropolitan, 1999), The Church of Dead Girls (1997), Saratoga Fleshpot (1995), The Wrestler's Cruel Study (1993), and Saratoga Haunting (1993). His novels have been translated into more than ten languages. Dobyns is also the author of a collection of short stories, Eating Naked (2000) and a book of essays, Best Words, Best Order (1996).Dobyns has received many honors and awards which includes fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Guggenheim Foundation.

By comparison,that stack of literary achievements is quite different than my previously described stack,wouldn't you say?Last night,Stephen Dobyns brought to the room a magic that,in my humble poetic opinion,has been missing for many months now amongst students and teachers alike.While those that are involved in the world of academia plow through term papers,stanzas in poems,lesson plans,or new approaches for art programs with less government funding,Stephen Dobyns provided a crowd of two hundred the space to breathe.To forget about the struggles of daily living,and dive back into what we all started with,that being an affection for language.The crowd last night was the largest I've seen at a free poetry reading since Robert Pinsky,and my heart felt glad that so many came to witness the world in a whole new way.Written below is my favorite Stephen Dobyns poem,called "Song For Making The Birds Come."

"Song For Making The Birds Come"

All winter you felt nothing.As your body
continued its necessary tasks,your sister,
the snow,remained keeper of your heart.
Now it's the first warm day of spring.
You walk out to the pasture.There's much mud,
and still snow on the north side by the pines.
You take this poem from your pocket.
Raising your voice,you read it aloud to the sky.
Soon birds begin to come,first the dark ones:
birds of anger,birds of depair.Then you see
the wren of friendship,the gray dove of hope;
then others of patience,joy and love's own red bird.
As you read,they begin to fill the air above you,
twisting and diving in great circles around you;
covering the poem with the sound of their cries
until poem and song become the same sound,
blending together under the warm March sun.
At last you emerge from the lethargy of winter.
Your heart is a great tree beginning to bud.
In narrowing spirals,careful descent,the birds
you have summoned arrive to make their nests.

I Met The Walrus.

Has it really been three weeks since school started?
Time does go by rather quickly,I suppose.

Today,the topic of discussion was that of the muse.
What is a muse?
Where does one find a muse?
What does a muse look like?
Do we love or hate a muse?
Does a muse always have to be a female?
Is a muse human?

My homework assignment is to write a letter to my muse,and flip the words into some sort of poem.
We'll see how that goes.
I'm thinking,but not sure as of yet,if I will post both the letter and the poem.
Some kid in the class(forgive me,as I do not know everyone's name as of yet),mentioned that "John Lennon was the muse of the people."
I thought that statement was profound beyond compare,so I'm sharing with you.

Write soon.
Much love,
Melissa

Happy Birthday,Charity Water.

Every single year,the month of September holds special meaning in my house.
The month of September means a changing of the seasons(well,maybe not in Arizona),packed backpacks and lesson plans,and multiple birthdays across my family tree.For those that are previously unaware,I honor the various achievements of those young and already passed on,and do so in the form of pictures and quotes on my MySpace page.My personal motto is to celebrate the self,but what better way to do so than to learn from the accomplishments of others,right?

As a month in the calendar year,September also stands to represent my desire to contribute to the world in new ways.This year,I've decided to hand over any gift money that I receive,in addition to some personal wages,to Charity Water.Here's a synopsis,right from the web page,to explain the importance of everyone's right to clean water:

"In just three years, we've raised more than $10 million through over 60,000 donors and helped more than 700,000 people in 16 countries get access to clean and safe drinking water. We're just getting started.

This September, we need your help to serve a million people and then keep going.
Were you born in September? Give up your birthday and ask for your age in dollars.
Not born in September? Run, walk, swim, dance or just be creative."

So,while I will always celebrate my right to have a place in this world,I recognize that there are many other people out there without basic needs being met.I encourage everyone,in September or the eleven months that follow,to donate to this empowering organization.

Sign up now at borninseptember.org

A Trip Down Memory Lane:Shel Silverstein.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti Documentary.

To learn more about the documentary,please visit the following website:

FerlinghettiFilm.com

"Paradoxes and Oxymorons" by John Ashbery

This Is What A Journey Looks Like.

Good evening.
I do hope that everyone is having a wonderful summer thus far.
To those that have recently joined my page(s),I extend my hand in friendship.
The above photo,taken in Sedona,is a moment that I wanted to share with everyone.
I'm headed back to school in three weeks(a writing class),in order to prepare my portfolio for MFA applications.
I look forward to sharing my words with all of you in the near future.
Much love,
Melissa

The Next Moment Is Unknown To Us All.

I’ve been in hibernation with a book about the late poet Jane Kenyon,
entitled Simply Lasting:Writers on Jane Kenyon.One essay,written by Gregory Orr,explores the role of poetry in the world that we all inhabit.The idea is that every experience invites chaos,but so does the human body.From all of that chaos,extended or internal,the single survivor is a poem.As an entity,the poem represents the poet’s desire to move forward into the remarkable unknown and away from the past.

from Our Lady of Sorrows

Everything that has happened to us has vanished,everything in the past moment is gone.All that we loved,all that we dreaded,all that we ate for breakfast have vanished forever.In front of us is the blank screen of the unknowable next moment;we exist in this world without knowing what is going to happen next.How can we know?It’s not revealed to us.So here we are already poised between the vanished past,which has vanished even as I speak of it,and unknowable next moment.Let’s say I add another dollop of dread and within us we have what I would call the buried self,which is all of the things inside us:feelings,sensations,thoughts,images,memories,painful memories that have migrated out of the vanished past to take up residence inside us.And we have the voice inside us that will never shut up,at least I do;God help me if I am speaking to an audience who doesn’t know what I’m talking about.I like to think of it as “radio free brain,”this twenty-four hour broadcasting station.And believe me,it’s not like NPR,giving lucid essays and commentary;it’s just chattering.It’s both a running commentary on the chaos of what it is to be inside my head,and an aspect of that chaos itself.

So what we have now is this enormous, almost overwhelming experience of disorder,and an equally strong human need for order, a human need to believe in some kind of coherence.In fact I think our minds functions spontaneously with a kind of interplay between these two powers.All of us face the blank screen of the unknowable next moment.And our minds spontaneously respond to that disorder, that awareness of anxiety,with ordering powers.Everyone of you knows this – your walking into a situation in which you don’t know what is going to happen, and your mind just spontaneously creates possible images and scenarios.We do this all the time; we don’t necessarily focus on it, nor are we even always aware we are doing it.Sometimes the scenarios are terrible, sometimes they’re glorious, but either way they serve to allay anxiety and dread; they’re how we live.What's beautiful about poetry is it capacity to translate this human experience of disorder and the need for order into language; to translate it up out of the physical world into the world of language where the poem can be constructed as a replica, a drama of this interplay of disorder and order.It’s not a translation of the chaos into cosmos; I think poetry is far deeper than that.What it does is mirror the interplay; it proposes orderings and disorderings.

Vigil For Laura Ling & Euna Lee.

Tonight,I took part in a vigil to honor the bravery of journalists Laura Ling and Euna Lee at Changing Hands Bookstore.Hand selected as one of the few major locations for the vigil,the provided handout each attendant receieved reads as follows:

"Two U.S.journalists,Laura Ling and Euna Lee,who work for San Francisco-based Current TV-a media venture founded by former Vice President Al Gore-were arrested on March 17,2009 near the North Korean border while reporting on refugees living in China.

Both women,accused by North Korea of crossing into the country illegally from China and committing hostile acts,were tried on criminal charges on June 4.On June 8,they were sentenced to 12 years in hard labor camps."

Over the course of the two hour vigil,posters were signed,yellow ribbons were pinned on shirts,and information for a petition requesting amnesty was provided.The goal of the petition is to acquire a million signatures,which will(hopefully)be a device in granting freedom to these two brave women.

The link to learn more about these women,their cause of investigation at the China/North Korea border,and to sign the petition is located in the link list on my page.

Much love,
Melissa

"The Body War"

I.
I remember sitting in the kitchen chair-
rooted into the fabric were the inorganic designs
of red potatoes petite as my teenage breasts,
and celery thin as bone marrow.

I remember the lump in my throat round like a radish,
as the one hundred calorie meal
gained its way down to my stomach;
my body was a mesa minus the monsoon.

I remember my stepfather dressed the rim
of my dinner plate with the labels retard,fat ass,and underachiever
in a feminine cursive made from ketchup.

But most of all,I remember worshiping
Anorexia Nervosa like a goddess-
and writing in my journal with the word Dream on the exterior
that waif was not just a cracker,
but a way of being.

II.
I remember my body morphing with the seasons that year-
winter gifted my flesh with a glow named Jaundice,
and all my stepfather said was:

Stop drinking lemonade

and spring returned the favor by stunting the roots
of the virgin blonde hairs on my scalp.
Then summer came too quick,
and my epidermis and neighboring dermis
said goodbye to an alliance against the sun's children
nicknamed UVB,UVA,and UVC.

I remember asking myself:
My skin reminds me of a raw Rib Eye steak,
but does that make me a carnivore?

I remember autumn used to be my favorite season-
the wasting away of each day until middle school began
was marked with an X on a Van Gogh calendar,
for each time a molar in my mouth became
loose like the pods on Mesquite Tree.

But most of all,I remember not sleeping
in my own bed of cotton sheets the hue of midnight
eight hours before the first day of Biology class,
how I recalled to myself on the way to the hospital:

There have been no shooting stars
in my sky for twenty-eight days

as if to acknowledge all of those quirky Post Impressionist
epiphanies that arrived upon my ear
three hundred sixty-five and a half days too late.

III.
I remember stirring in a new bed-
the sheets were white as a wedding dress.
As if to read my mind,the nurse said:

I know you want to walk
down the aisle someday

To which I finally confessed:
Somedays,I can't even find
the strength to stand up.

I remember my words hung
like a single light bulb on a string-
the truth had finally lit up the room.

I remember my mother said:
I had no idea

when the psychiatrist entered the room-
her entire being was a simile of
my teenage icon The Queen(Latifah),
and my last pound of lucidity wanted me to say:

In spring I sing,in fall I call out to
all the ones that had a hard day

But most of all,I remember she embraced my patchwork duffle bag
and welcomed to her house what was left of me-
a worn out Walkman and a book about
a bird that sung from inside a cage.

Standing at the foot of the bed,she said:
Girl,we are gonna make you so healthy
that you will dance through these halls

I finally understood:
To the entire world,
my story is the light bulb on a string
illuminating the rite of spring.

"Hairbrush"

While brushing back my hair
I twist back
in time to when I met my father.

We sat on a couch the color
of calorie free peaches and he said,
It is all a matter of control.
He knew about control
the night he met my mother
in a hotel room with a dirty lampshade
and a call collect telephone.
My father handed me an envelope
with the faces of dead presidents
pressed on a mint background.
He wanted to pay for the insecurity,
the hollowness I chose to feel.

I want to control myself
as I sit wondering about
the double dose of pills I took.
I'm looking at ads for the perfect female
cut up on the bathroom floor.
Their eyes are the shapes of coffee beans,
appetites-the size of a cardinal bird.

The hairbrush has faded in my hand-
there are no fatherly initials left to control.
Hanging from the bathroom mirror
there are different women with eyes
as big as kitchen clocks and bodies
the size of their independence.

The Dream Box Builder.

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines.Sail away from the safe harbor.Catch the trade winds in your sails.Explore.Dream.Discover.”-Mark Twain

The last few weeks of working with a Reiki Master have begun to build up,not unlike stacks of poetry anthologies.As any quality poetry anthology should,there are various representations(despite different form),of the poetic greats within my newly designed writing space.There is my coffee mug from England(a wise tribute to Shakespeare),a quote about budding to the fullest potential tacked upon my wall(Anais Nin),a synthetic sunflower in a pot(Ginsberg),and a picture of my mother and I surrounded by koi fish(Matsuo Basho).The newly created space,or extension of self if you will,is shaping up into the square that I’ve always dreamed of.

On the subject of squares,I’ve taken on a new project,courtesy of my Reiki Master’s wishes. My new project is focused upon the creation of a ‘Dream Box.’ Several years ago,my aunt(a lead nurse in an emergency room in California)gave me a trio of boxes.Those boxes that most of us from the year 1979 and beyond were given as gimmicks.Each of a different shape and color,that fit in a most appropriate way inside the other.The boxes are of my favorite paisley pattern of blue,purple,yellow,and green. I’ve adopted the largest box in a most fitting of ways,as there are so many dreams in my future that are waiting to explode across my personal sky just like shooting stars.The idea is to take clippings from a variety of resources(newspapers,magazines,old photos that are bent at the edges),and place each item into the box.In doing so,I’m supposed to say the following “Whatever is contained in this box-IS!”. I will be the first to note that,despite all of my auditory sessions with my own poetry,reciting these lines felt a bit ridiculous.That is,until I placed a picture of an English phone booth in my Dream Box,and the following experience happened just fourty-eight hours later…

Once a week,I open my schedule to meet with my greatest advocate,best friend,and guide,otherwise known as Mom.Just forty-eight hours prior,I’d placed a picture in my ‘Dream Box’ of a English phone booth,in hopes of putting out into the universe my desire to return to England.Over the course of dinner(salmon and an artichoke) and three glasses of Bougelais,my mother puts down her titanium fork and says,” I’ve got a surprise for you, my dear.” In that moment, I did what every person nearing the maturing age of thirty does, and stopped mid-chew. I could only imagine what that surprise entailed. Was it a medical scare? A boyfriend? I was placed off the chess board,as this is what she said:

“I’m planning a trip for us to England and France next summer.I know that you’ve always wanted to go,so I thought it was time to make your dreams come true.”
In a matter of seconds,I was brought right back to my ‘Dream Box.’How in the hell could a book bought by millions of people across the globe be,in effect,directly working for me?How is it that my mother,g-d bless her,know of my dream to walk upon Morrison’s old haunts? A trip to England,yet again? All of these questions were racing through my brain like a subway in New York(which will be our first stop,ironic as it seems,for a wedding between extended family members).


At this point in the story,the lesson is quite obvious.Always,no matter what others say,put your desires into the universe.Do what nobody else believes possible,and relish the accomplishments from that experience(s).In addition to putting these so called desires into the great wide open,pay attention.Every single detail that hits the page of life runs parallel to these desires,however wanted or not wanted.At this very moment in time,I’m already packing my bags.Three pairs of yoga pants,a journal,and an open heart feels to be the only necessary elements…


To great life travels!
Much love,
Melissa

Road Trippin'.

Every once in a summer while,I am presented with the opportunity that leans towards escapism.Towards the end of last week,a good friend of mine(the same that presented me with a ticket to No Doubt,now that I recall),offered me a vacation for free to Sedona.Right away,I went into full gypsy mode.I cleared my schedule,which meant pulling out of two poetry readings,and cutting back wages at two other jobs. I shoved two yoga pants and some v-neck shirts into the same bag that went with me to London,grabbed my I-pod,and off I went...

For those of you not familiar with Arizona,the town of Sedona is the perfect meeting spot for hippies,retired folks,gypsies,or any other adventurer that you can think of.Everything about the place,from Picazzo's eatery,the mystical shops,and even the oversized mint green leaves on the trees promotes a getting to know the self mode.

So,that's what I did. I stayed up until four in the morning with my journal,read some of 'The Dharma Bums' by Kerouac(again),drank wine from the stocked refrigerator,and felt responsible for nobody but myself.The retreat sang at top lung volume a very fitting phrase of 'fill my cup' over and over again,literally and not so literally.;)

As every attempt at escapism naturally does,the road trippin' experience came to an end sooner than later.Upon my return,my Reiki Master noticed my calm tonality,not to mention my slightly red cheeks.I told my teacher of an interesting connection that I made between two events,one that happened before the trip and the other during.I'd like to share that story with you,in hopes that it might spark some insight into whatever feels like a ring around your life expressions at the moment.

Two years or so before the trip to Sedona,I was roaming some shops in downtown Tempe.I'd just left my British Romanticism class,and was contemplating how I would ever write a fifteen page paper in one day(that evening).From what I hear from his current students,my paper has been used as a model for excellence in research paper writing.I owe my life to the British,let me tell you.There is just something about all of those word choices that always captivated my spirit.Writing that paper just sort of came into being,which is much of what a college experience is,yes?As for the shopping experience that distracted my attention,there is a mecca in the downtown area that displays academic logos on everything,gas stations,pizza joints,and a common sport of relaxation known as pot smoking.Funny that the smoke shop owners still know me by name,even at the two years post-college compedium that I seem to be rockin'.Some habits die hard,others continue to prosper.In a radom shop that had recently appeared in the Tempe Brickyard,I found all sorts of stuff for cheap(hemp clothes,jewelry,etc.).One particular rock ring comprised only of turquoise caught my eye,and so I cracked down and bought it.Every single day for the last two years,I've worn that ring.I don't believe in buying things to any sort of heightened level,afterall it is just stuff.There was just something about the ring,and the ten dollar price tag probably didn't hurt,that made me buckle at my barely there consumer needs.From that point forward,the ring fit in just the right way,and was on me at all times.

The very same day that I met my Reiki teacher,I was out running errands in an entirely different town,and the ring and I participated in a bit of an unexpected seperation.In the middle of the store I stood buying a gift for a friend,and barely moving my hand,the ring flew off my hand at the same speed as a bird leaving a tree.Clash,boom,bang,the whole stone exploded on the floor.There was no part of the ring to be saved,and I aided the employment staff in clearing up the mess.Rather than cry at the loss of something that is just a thing,I left the store with a foggy understanding that the break was just meant to be.

Going into current time,I've always wondered why that ring left my finger in such a rush.I've also kept my eyes open for a replacement,but never found anything that spoke to me.That is,until Sedona arrived upon my knee high boots this week.Walking up and down the main drag underneath these perfected Monet shaped clouds,I ran into a shop to use the restroom,and there in bucket after bucket were all my damn rings!

I went to the restroom,and came back to take a closer peak.My original ring,as you might rightfully guess,had no twin in all of the twenty plus buckets that I looked around in.However,I kept returning to a ring comprised of Carnelian.The color is butterscotch and smooth as a baby's bum in texture.So,I bought the ring,tucked it into my purse,and left to dance around in the sun.

Inside the box that held the ring,the owner of the store placed a synopsis of the stone meaning.This is what the piece of paper reads:

"...Opens the heart and brings in joy.Supports one individuality.And courage.Male aspect of the Spirit.Action!!!!!Fortifies and strengthens the body.Protective stone and brings good luck.Ability to manifest one's desires.Eases sorrows and protects from anger,jealousy and fear.Memory aid.Can heal open sores,kidnesy stones and other kidney problems and allergies.Stabilizes energy in the home.Second chakra."

The only bit of information that I knew of the stone prior to leaving,was that it was tied to creativity.To read that piece of paper at the bottom of the staircase that evening just made my big heart burst.This was prime example of what my Reiki Master has been trying to illuminate to me in the last two weeks.Not only does everything happen for a reason,but when one door closes another literally does open.
To add to the volume of epiphany that evening,I went from the staircase to the bedroom(ok,I stumbled.I still made it in one piece.)and 'The Dharma Bums' book that I had left open on the fold out couch fell on the floor.I picked up the book with the intention of getting on with page one hundred and twenty,but the book opened to the following line:

"I saw that my life was a vast glowing empty page and I could do anything I wanted."

Wow,right?
Two signs that leaned towards the same energy of thought,and that close together?
For those that know me,there was a whole series of explicatives added for decorative feel to that powerful moment too.

Even though this prose is much longer than I anticipated,I'm really trying to express the importance of two elements:listening to one's intuitive nature,and the freedom that arises in letting go.The whole story has very little do with a ring,when you(or I)really think about it.Rather it has everything to do with letting go,and arriving to a presence of being in what is.That is an experience(s)that will happen time and time again,as I'm learning.So,let's say that someone calls me "fat" or "chubby" or the grade school famous "ugly" as a further example.Just as I let go of that ring that day,and welcomed ten-fold other forms of better fit meaning into what currently is my energy of thought,I can easily ward of the projections of other people.Every time I illuminate a level of strength,obstacles(mostly in the form of other living beings)will present themselves along my path.But those types of insults,amongst the many other negative forms of syntax that can be called to the front of thought,mean nothingness.Actually,those thoughts are only a representation of what the giver perceives of their own being.It isn't me that is ugly,less capable,or even fat,but the other person that sadly has to value surface level interaction,rather than the opportunity to live.To those people,I bid good luck in finding a better way,as I am proof positive that being deeper is better and longer standing...

Carpe diem,my friends and family.

Much love,
Melissa

Luis Alberto Urrea.

In four days,the month of May will offically be complete.
For many,this current month means nothing more than the welcoming of June.
That rush of blood to the head of what is to come in the following summer months,be it trips to a foreign country,summer school classes,or an opportunity to work more hours at a job that isn't anywhere near as satisfying as a home cooked meal from Mom's house.
To me,the month of May means many things.The thinning ASU hooded sweatshirt gets hung in the back of the closet,only to await the fabric softner sheets that will greet it next year.It means waking at five instead of six in the morning to walk the dogs up and around the block.It means spending last moments with a dear writing friend of mine,before she boards an airplane to Bali for a month.Fourtunately,however,it also means more time to meet remarkable writers such as Luis Alberto Urrea,as I did this evening.

Urrea is the recipient of a Lannan Literary Award,an American Book Award,a Western States Book Award,a Colorado Book Award,and was inducted into the Latino Literary Hall of Fame.In the midst of a book tour across the United States of America,Urrea's last book 'The Devil's Highway,'was a finalist for the 2005 Pulitzer Prize for general nonfiction.With all of these previous distinctions,Urrea has the perfect excuse to be arrogant in candor,but proves to be quite the opposite,upon attendance by someone such as myself for a reading/signing.

No different than many writers that are invited to a bookstore for an event such as tonight,Urrea discussed the birthing rights to all of his books,which span from nonfiction,poetry,and fiction.A room of sixty people laughed at his detailed stories of interviews with border patrol agents,and sat amazed at his ability to stay glued upon what is really important in any form of art.What am I talking about?Urrea made an interesting comment about writing all of these ethnic related stories,that of living through misery to find joy.Urrea said something tonight that I will never forget which was,"Living within misery is easy.Living in joy is hard,but the profits are profound,however invisible to the self or others."

In adding my own seasoning to what felt to be a perfect literary meal,I want to clarify some notes made on the same topic.In all the places that I post my blog,or variations of it,there have been comments that span an entire meal of opinion(s).Some seem to channel my exact thought process,which means that my exact intention upon writing these series of prose was understood.Then,there are others that for whatever reason,debate my statements.Am I offended?No.To write a blog and push the 'post' button means the opening of the self to the opinions of others.I welcome the thoughts of others,even if those thoughts are off target on a marginal or complete level from my original intention.In one of my previous posts,I made a statement as it relates to the world of artistry,and the lack of value placed upon honesty in any art form.For some,the reading of this line meant that I was stating that I believe that there is no honesty in the arts.Quite the opposite was intended.So,let me expand upon this theme a bit further...

Every decade of living offers up remarkable circumstances upon which we all must wrap our heads and hearts.Perhaps it isn't even decades,but minute to minute that offers new oppositional forces to take on.These experiences can often lead to a feeling of defeat,but artists of today are offering up,to a large extent,such an honest effort in promoting the issues that are of dire need of intention(global warming,gay marriage,reflection on personal life issues,etc.).My feelings towards the lack of honesty in the arts is geared towards those that don't feel the need to break the mold.I think that the art world is at such a crucial point;one that shouldn't be focused on sales,but the pushing towards creation as a reflection of what is really happening to each and every one of us,no matter our choices of daily living.When one person gets denied the right to marry the partner that they love,despite same sex,that person is often more times than not one of our friends or even family members.It affects us,as the lives of those that we are closest to matter.When an artist,or other larger than life spokesperson isn't concerned with the environment and the withering away of the layers for our children(and their children)to live on,that is upsetting to me,as it should be everyone.I can't help but salute groups like Green Day that speak to whatever it is that they feel genuine to their lives,even if it means being banned from a major retail developer.We need more people like this in the world,and the levels of participation are steadily increasing.

For everyone that is wrapped up in the mistakes of others,I invite you to see beyond the mistakes.Consider it,if you will,as an attempt on a constant level to get to what is really important.It isn't about my mistakes at love or disregard for appreciation of body image,but it is about us all.The more that we come together to admit that these issues are happening,the faster the pace increases to overcoming all of it.The catty,petty,and immature matters much less than the message of taking over the world with a willingness to defeat the odds.If I must constantly put myself of the chopping block to make a better world,and even one that I may never see in my lifetime,then sign me up.These times of misery and chaos are probably easy to those not paricipating,but the joyful outcome for those with a focused heart and mind however difficult at the moment will be the leading force for decades to come.Do you believe that stament?I do.I'm not about to have anyone tell me anything different is possible either.

To learn more about Luis Alberto Urrea,please visit:
http://www.luisurrea.com/home.php

To impacting the world!
Much love,
Melissa

There Is No Doubt About It...

Hello.
你好.
Salut.
Yia sou.
Shalom.
नमस्ते.
こんばんは.

I do hope that the extended weekend is providing everyone with reflection,appreciation,and time with those that are loved.In Arizona,the temperatures have started to rise by the day.Last night,I attended the No Doubt concert,courtesy of the kindness of one of my best friends in the whole world.Two ten dollar beers(domestic too,which makes me cringe),dancing,sweating,and laughter filled the outdoor arena.I had such a good time focused on nothing but having a good time.If you have the chance,please check out the concert;I believe there are only a few dates left,yes?

Speaking of no doubts,I'm all a buzz with some wonderful news.I've decided to embark into yet another life journey,and one that includes self-publishing.At the moment,I have a myraid of papers on my desk that are composed of possible book titles and cover art.Yes,you've read the previous sentences correctly.I've decided to be independent once again,and have begun the process of piecing together my own poetry chapbook.My goal is to have the chapbook finished by the holiday season,which means that everyone will be able to purchase my book.From there,I will be planning a trip cross country to different venues to read my poetry to all of my family and friends,new and old.I cannot wait,as I have no doubt that the new experience(s)will be a new way to become familiar with myself all over again...

Speaking of familiarity with the self,I've also teamed up with a Reiki Master.At the moment,I'm honey pot deep in reading 'Ask and it is Given' by Esther and Jerry Hicks.If anyone out there in the world is looking towards a new way of seeing,I suggest this particular book.The energy we give out is,as I am learning,directly equal to that of which we all receive.Daily.Hourly.By the minute too.I will be sharing my insights,struggles,questions,and answers along the way...

What else?
Oh,yes!
I've mentioned this bit of information in a previous blog,but I am currenty an Editor for 'Conclave:A Journal of Character.'The journal is still accepting submissions for the final publication,and I will be adding the link to the column on the right side of my page here shortly.I encourage everyone to submit their recent musings,as you never know if you will be chosen for the final draft of the journal.Good luck to all of you,and I look forward to reading the various art forms soon...

To good energy!
Much love,
Melissa

1000 Journals Project.

Good evening.
It seems that I haven't posted a blog in nearly ten days.
There is so much to share,but all of that will come in a different blog.:)
At the moment,I'm going to share my most recent finding.

The 1000 Journals Project.
According to the official website,which everyone should check out,the project is:

"The 1000 Journals Project is an ongoing collaborative experiment attempting to follow 1000 journals throughout their travels. The goal is to provide a method for interaction and shared creativity among friends and strangers."

I'm going to be jumping on board with the project,and the group even has a blogger page.So, check my followers and connect there too.

The official website is:

http://www.1000journals.com/

More soon,
Melissa