Paper Stars

Paper Stars

We were making paper stars:

 Some were almost perfect. 

Others reflected the unsteadiness

 of 8 year old wobbly hands with child-safe scissors. 

And with each imperfection the delight of the task slowly faded. 

We would not have perfection.
We would have almost good enough,

A chip away at a much bigger idea.

The idea of not good enough. 

In these years of living there

That idea became a mantra of

Disappointment turned inward

Of it’s ok and shouldn’t have expected so much

Turning dark on the inside

And waiting for something better to happen

That never did

In the light of imperfection

Everyone seems happier than you.

But no one needs to point out

8 year old imperfections

Only delights and beauty and wonder

Of how these things come to be

The perfection of being imperfect

in the creation of anything

for the delight and enjoyment of creation.

For where would we be if we did not look up and wonder

And then create reflections of what we have seen.

@2012 Jennie Olson Six

Opehqueh

The word Opehqueh in Nahualt tongue means "they began."  This is the name that some incredible ladies  (Marisol Best and Crystal Mercado) chose for their project that I am SO excited to be a part of.   The short version is that we are an ensemble group creating a piece about the effects of technology.  This started in March of this year with a group from San Diego Junior Theatre.  They had about 13 pages of a script from that process.  What our part looks like is a lot of improv, writing, discussing and eventually, a reading.  It has been SO fun being a part of this process.  Saturdays rehearsal was spent sitting on bean bag chairs, improving a scene between our main characters, and eventually writing what inspired us from that rehearsal.  I think the freeing part of this, for me as a writer, is that I don't have to come up with or create a finished product all by myself.   Really, it's put ideas down, let others run with it.  It's been very exciting to be a part of the process in a group setting, where we talk about what works, what doesn't, does it fit, does it make sense, and having more heads than one is a great place to be.   Stay tuned: we have a deadline of a performance date for a staged reading of this piece on August 11th! 

The condensed version

Last time we talked, it was before I went to Alaska.  If you want the idea of how it went check out the Fringe Board, yeah, they read my play.  I read some other wonderful plays for some talented playwrights.  I also got really sick.  Like food poisoning teeth chattering sick.  But life-changing, yes.  I came back with a different set of eyes and a different outlook on my career. 

Taking more time to write.  Less time to do the social media thing.  Which is why I'm opting for internet free weekends.  It's still a little rough but I'm finding myself spending more time with friends and less time chasing down their updates and cute sayings.  I've cooked dinner twice for friends and actually written a rough outline for a screen-play, revised a couple of shorts and found more opportunities for work that pays and lets me do what  I love.  Yeah, bonus. 

A year ago, today, I said this quote along with some other stuff, in front of a bunch of people, to a person, and I meant every word I said:

“Love is the ultimate outlaw. It just won't adhere to any rules. The most any of us can do is to sign on as its accomplice. Instead of vowing to honor and obey, maybe we should swear to aid and abet. That would mean that security is out of the question. The words "make" and "stay" become inappropriate. My love for you has no strings attached. I love you for free.”
― Tom Robbins, Still Life With Woodpecker 

First year is paper.  Paper Covers Rock.   Enough said. 

Barefoot

Barefoot

Barefoot

In my mom’s friend’s backyard

Tall weeds

Unfinished construction

Dirty rusted nail in wood

Now in my foot

Remembering

Tetanus shot

Blood

Cockroach infested kitchen

Unclean

Poverty

We bond with each other

Over bloody feet

Circumstances into which we’re born

Methods we used to cope

Until that turned to addictions

Without the benefit of recovery

Taking new lives down the same paths

Of unclean

Impoverished realities

Recreating circumstances

As if there were nothing else available

When we know the truth

There are other times

When we have walked

Clean grass under feet

Smell of crisp wet summer

Happy

Fearless

Without shame

Barefoot.

 @jennieolsonsix 2012

What Seeds You Water

This weekend was a whirlwind of activity and celebration; weddings, graduation parties, fun and not-so-fun endings.  But one of the slower moments came from watching Wayne Dyer on Super Soul Sunday, in case you don’t know, Oprah’s alternative to Sunday morning sermons and televangelists.   A snapshot would be this:  you can’t afford to think anything but what you want in your life, you have to replace your thoughts.   This isn’t wishful thinking.  This is replacing your thought patterns.  For yogi’s it’s mantra work.  And it’s something that I’m actively practicing and working on in my life.  But sometimes you have to dig down and figure out the root of where the bad thought or seed is coming from.   And that work is messy but necessary. 

Today, I had conversation with a friend about how horrible everything was for them and how they had no choice in what they were doing and why.  After I hung up and started to drive home the thought came up “it depends on what seeds you water.”  Even when things are not so rosy, it’s one thing to feel bad and feel discouraged, it’s another to let that turn into the frame of the picture of your life and that this bad thing will be all that I experience.   If I actively affirm all of the bad things that go on in my life, I’m going to feel like crap.  But turning that into an active affirmation of positivity is slow process sometimes.    And I have to believe in what I’m saying.  So digging down into the roots of the weeds of my garden and looking at them, replacing them with some new seeds and watering, these things take time.  And patience. 

Use Everything by Rick Belden

I’ve been running from parts of myself for years

even as I believed I was embracing them

I’m still running

but I’m getting tired

I can’t run as fast and as far as I used to

and even when I do

I can’t seem to find the places where I used to go.

I guess it must be time for something else.

sometimes the only way to rise is to sink

sometimes the only way to move is to be still.

can I sit naked and wait

can I stand my ground in the rain while the lightning

strikes all around me

can I change my way of thinking

without thinking

can I remember to be kind to myself.

bad luck is the language of the unconscious

the body is the gateway to the knowledge of the soul

every experience has healing potential

every person I meet is my mirror.

life’s true work

is the work of the soul

the challenge is to love myself

to be with myself

in my body

always

in every moment

no matter what’s going on.

it’s all soul work

use everything.

#POETRY Last Day 30/30

So this was just as challenging as it was last year.  So I leave you with the last two.  Enjoy.

If I Can

If I can steal away
for a few precious moments
hold fast and take breath
into this full-throttle paced life
step back from the storm
watch it pass
there might be some space left
to create something new
out of the rubble
into something greater than I ever dreamed.



The Wooden Door

Two hearts stand guard atop
Weather worn wood
Outlived the lifetimes that carved it
Patient.
Hinges rusted paint faded
Once someone's dream house
returning to the woods now
Moss topped roof growing sprouts of birch trees
Weight weary
Abandoned or forgotten
The lives that once lived there
Gone.
Still the door
Stands watch.
Splintering
Waiting for someone new to enter
That never does. 
Wrecking balls and junkyards
unless the woods reclaims it
as one of it's own. 

#POETRY 21

Twenty-One

I just got started:

Community college class-load

Part-time employed

Starving student vegetable rice dinners

Cheap tennis-shoes

Growing out dyed hair

Retro-fied hippy wardrobe

Minimum payment on maxed out credit cards

Running slippery rain hills

Boyfriend at the 4-year university

Push start Volkswagon Super-beetle.

I went on to waste my time in various ways,

70's disco themed parties,

Hippy to office appropriate to yoga culture

Moving states,

Changing boyfriends and bedroom furniture

and jobs and careers,

Having choices.

You no longer have choices:

Ended in dirty lands

Filthy wounds

Too soon is a fucking understatement and a crime to say.

As I saw your name and age

Amongst the list

Of 33, 31, and places like Idaho

Hunting, Simi Valley

Families never getting their prayers answered

Hopes smashed

Dreams of college education

Gone.

What happens to that money that should have gone

To community college class-loads

Vegetable rice dinners

And cheap tennis-shoes to run in

Slippery rain hills?

Your names now on a list

That is far too long

And too often forgotten

When we can’t be pulled away long enough

From being entertained

To recognize the sacrifice

The loss of dreams

The elimination of choice

So we can still think we have one.