The Core

The Core

For every night my weary head falls 

on pillows as soft as my broken heart;

For every morning the radiance of brilliant

sun sneaks its beams through safe darkness

 of my shattered window pane;

I fall and rise, encircled in Love,

pure and true

to share with You; 

not expecting, but sending wishes to Heaven 

Illimitably expansive, intimately treasured,

circular flow, everlasting freedom

elemental breath of life



Gabrielle Cianfrani 
July 25, 2019

Transmutation

FuturePeak, Boulder Creek, CA July 2018

Dancing alone, wide, green eyes gazing up

starry, wondrous sky, expanding;

Twirling around, counter-clockwise motion, 

arms grounding, extended hands,

compassionate Universe,

transforming Ego,

longing for flight—

Heaven 

Heightening True Love to raise like seeds,

blown from trees, afloat, featherlight,

lifting above suffering

Earth’s dreamscape,

Where separations enmesh;

Fear evaporates like intense

summer storm, quickly dissipating into

atmospheric tranquility

You, guiding your feet to meet me,

dancing your own, unique rhythm, 

vibrational ascension,

holding each timeless moment

freedom for all beings;

Composing creations, interwoven like Tabriz and Kashan,

collaborative, masterful designs—

bliss and peace 

Fly weightless, infinitely deep,

high above temporal clouds, 

obscuring neither pure mind nor soul;

contented abandonment of aloneness,

intermingling independent movement;

spinning clear light, resonating,

strumming heart strings— 

One Song

  

Limitless

It is nearly 3 am,

I just returned from roasting coffee. 

Was going to strip my clothes off and jump into bed, 

but I thought about all that smoke from all that coffee just

permeating my pores,

the smell of the burned off sugars, oils,

the deli and its deep fryer—  

Sleep would be restless

if I dove into my brushed cotton sheets, 

covered in fleece and feathers;

And when I stepped into the shower, 

it felt so good, 

melting away the harshness of life 

like marshmallows dissolving in hot chocolate;

thankful for the water running over my body,  

breathing

long, deep exhales with audible 

Ohhh and Ahhh;

Adequately wet, 

I picked up the patchouli soap, gliding it all over 

rinsing as I went— 

turning to let the spray reach my left side, 

standing in that one position for about

30 seconds;

And I thought, “I always do this, stand like this,

but do I ever switch sides and let the right side of 

my body feel the long, 

penetrating heat?”

No, never.

I say that in full confidence, for

when the water hit me,

there was an awakening—

Sensations I had never felt before

and I wondered in an instant

"how many other ways do I limit myself

without conscious decision;"

how much of life had I missed?

A profound sadness swept over— 

tears, feeling sorry for my lack of 

flexibility;

or like a child 

who cannot sleep for fear she will 

miss-out on fun 

(God, what have I missed?)

until I realized

that there was vision in the 1st place,

an openness of spirit, 

a love and thirst for life;

having the ability to tell myself that there was something more

in my human experience,

trusting myself,

to turn the other way without

fear 

to know true

Freedom.

Ashes, Ashes, All Fall Down

I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream. 

I can tell by the mark he left you were in his dream. 

Ah, child of countless trees. 

Ah, child of boundless seas. 

What you are, what you're meant to be. 

Speaks his name, though you were born to me..." 

-John Perry Barlow, Cassidy

    In early 2008, I visited Daniel Kottke at his home in Palo Alto, California. He is a computer engineering friend who happens to play piano and is a huge fan of the Grateful Dead, so we went through a bunch of songs just singing and having a great time. He shared with me that he'd occasionally hang out with poet, writer, former Grateful Dead lyricist, and co-founder of the Electronic Frontier Foundation, John Perry Barlow. Barlow would come over and he'd play Dead songs on his piano while singing and picking Barlow's brain about specific song lyrics or stories behind songs. Of course, to someone like me who loves singing Dead tunes, what Daniel told me was an absolute dream come true. 

     A year later, on Saturday, September 26, 2009, my good friend, Fürgen and I attended the Horizons: Perspectives on Psychedelics Conference, which was being hosted by our friend, Neal, held at the Lombardo-Romanesque style Judson Memorial Church in New York City. The church is situated near NYU and across from Washington Square Park, a park famous for its 77-foot tall marble arch constructed, originally, in wood and plaster to celebrate the centennial of George Washington's inauguration. It's a lively place where people go to play chess, feed squirrels, perform art and music, teach their kids to ride bikes, read by the fountains, and so much more. 

     While standing near the large pillars toward the right front side of the church, I saw a figure walk into the hall, kind of limping, wearing all black, and I could see the heel of a cowboy boot. The figure stood near a podium that had been near the rear center of the room. I squinted and knew right away, it was Barlow. I hurriedly skated over to him, trying not to look like I was running (my mind already engaged in a 40 yard dash), and not having any idea what I was going to say.

     "Holy shit!" I said, as I realized how utterly embarrassed I was going to be after coming to terms with the fact that I lacked all verbal articulation, "It's YOU!" He looked a little surprised and said, "I guess it is!" I introduced myself and laughed as I segued into telling him we shared our friend Daniel in common. I guess he didn't believe me, because Daniel is a pretty famous figure, himself. And as all people with fame have, Daniel also has a lot of social media friends, so Barlow put me to task.

     "Call him," Barlow looked me in the eyes and then down at my handbag to suggest I take out my phone. 

     "Really? You want me to call him? Okay," I took out my phone and dialed Daniel, "Daniel, I have a friend here who would like to say hi," I handed Barlow my phone and he chatted for about a minute, glancing up to smile at me as he did.

     We stepped outside onto the rounded front steps of the church and sat down, alone. We sat, silently, and Barlow looked over his left shoulder and said, "You know, no one has ever greeted me that way before. Nope, not in my whole life have I ever been called, "Holy shit!" I roared with laughter and apologized for my crudeness, but sometimes, you just don't know what to say and all that comes out are the most simplistic of ridiculous utterances.

     With a group of about 5 other people, Fürgen, Barlow, Neal, and I walked a few blocks to a friend's tiny studio apartment that housed a large, king-sized bed in the middle of the room, a couple of chairs, and a kitchen. Most of us sat around the perimeter of the bed with Barlow to my back. 

     While our host was in the kitchen with a friend, the mood was kind of stale, no one was talking because we were all in the presence of a God. It was painfully obvious that they were silently clamoring not to bore Barlow to tears. One man, tall and lanky, wearing a grey, button-down shirt, scarf around his neck, and brown trousers stood, looming over all who were seated, "Why don't we recite some poetry!" he declared.

     Everyone thought it was a good idea, even Barlow. I was all about it, after all, I had some poems up my sleeve that I could share. I worried that I didn't have many of my works memorized and might mess up the one shot I had at redemption. I was also thinking how this guy really wanted to impress Barlow and how silly and pretentious it was to just assume that everyone had poetry to share from memory. "I'll begin," the man said,"This is a poem by Walt Whitman."

     My mouth dropped open as, one by one, people recited other people's poetry. "What the fuck is this," I thought, "These people are kidding, right?" I kept quiet as four people recited works by famous poets, as Barlow leaned farther and farther back on the bed, being visibly lulled to sleep. 

     So, when the last person finished, I waited for silence and said, "I have a poem I'd like to recite, but it's something I wrote." Barlow sat up. "It's called 'Oh! Albatross' and is a poem I wrote in college when I was an angsty kid. Let's see if I can remember it..." With a bit of dramatic flare and a little bit of nervousness, I spoke:

"Here I am

In a world, crumpled-up
like an old piece of crumb-infested
cellophane
that will soon fall to its
demise
amongst all the forbearing rubbish;
Then I,
that useless bit of cellophane
will be thrown onto the curb
where the thieving ants will come
and scavenge through my few remains;
I will have no choice
but to surrender to their
military ways;
An ultimatum--
Join the Ranks of the Stronghold
or be ripped and torn
into a million
nameless
pieces
to which all that I am is

no more."

     A couple of people clapped and the room erupted in conversation. I was facing a wall as I sat on the bed and I relaxed my posture to kind of slump down, shaking my nerves away. At that moment, Barlow laid back, stretching his neck out to me and said, "I really like your poetry, it's good, you're a good writer."

     "Thank you," I nodded my head up and down, smiling. For a writer to get affirmation from someone who is like royalty that their work is "good", is just about the most satisfying and motivating word, ever. It's so simple, "Good." And for him to say that he liked it, well, I didn't need anyone else to give a compliment, ever again. He took that away that night, that insecurity that writers have, especially when sharing it with others to scrutinize, and he immediately put me at ease.
     I am so grateful to have had such a beautiful interlude. You never know when someone might say something that changes your life for the better, forever.

     Among his poems, J.P. wrote these rules to live by during his Saturn return, which would set his path for the next stage of his life. On August 15, 2013, Barlow participated in a Reddit AMA, where he shared his "Principles of Adult Behavior" that he'd written in 1977, the night before his 30th birthday:

1. Be patient. No matter what.
2. Don’t badmouth: Assign responsibility, not blame. Say nothing of another you wouldn’t say to him in the same language and tone of voice.
3. Never assume the motives of others are, to them, less noble than yours are to you.
4. Expand your sense of the possible.
5. Don’t trouble yourself with matters you truly cannot change.
6. Expect no more of anyone than you can deliver yourself.
7. Tolerate ambiguity.
8. Laugh at yourself frequently.
9. Concern yourself with what is right rather than who is right.
10. Never forget that, no matter how certain, you might be wrong.
11. Give up blood sports.
12. Remember that your life belongs to others as well. Don’t risk it frivolously.
13. Never lie to anyone for any reason. (Lies of omission are sometimes exempt.)
14. Learn the needs of those around you and respect them.
15. Avoid the pursuit of happiness. Seek to define your mission and pursue that.
16. Reduce your use of the first personal pronoun.
17. Praise at least as often as you disparage.
18. Admit your errors freely and soon.
19. Become less suspicious of joy.
20. Understand humility.
21. Remember that love forgives everything.
22. Foster dignity.
23. Live memorably.
24. Love yourself.
25. Endure.

John Perry Barlow

Born October 3, 1947 

Lived fabulously and fully 

February 7, 2018

Rest in Peace

     Fare thee well, now, let your life proceed by its own design,

     There's nothing to tell, now, let the words be yours, I'm done with mine.

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Learning to Be Confirmation Unbiased

During the presidential election season, all over social media, people post "evidence" that comes from sources with one political leaning or specific intention. While none are truly unbiased, there are ways to sort through the muck. One great way to manage is to find information that challenges our views. To do that in a fair manner, one should give as much passion and time to seeking out unpleasant information that is opposed to our beliefs and stances as one gives to finding information that supports current beliefs.

If you already lean toward specific ideologies and beliefs, and then only seek circles of information that consistently confirm and never challenge that framework, there's a term for it, "confirmation bias", and chances are, your ideologies and beliefs are shaky, at best. At worst, those beliefs can kill people, when those with such bias are allowed to effect legislation and rules for the rest of us, or when average people decide to allow their biases to affect others' right to life and freedom.

Challenge your comfort zone and welcome others of and in the world to take you out of your personal status quo. Through allowing others to challenge our beliefs, our beliefs are either fortified, adjusted, or they are changed altogether.

It's how we learn and grow. Changing your mind or not being able to make up your mind is not weakness, it is strength. It fortifies and grows the mind to be flexible in thinking. And sometimes, issues are so complex, once we allow more information in, there can be no cut and dry solution or stance, because reductionism marginalizes and trivializes.

Anyone who truly understands an issue can argue for or against that issue with equal fervor and breadth, because they can explain all sides.

It gives us greater ability to be able to protect ourselves against tyranny and injustice when strategizing in a geopolitical sense, in business, or in our personal lives. And when need be, it also adds a sense of humility and compassion to our stances, so we are able to deeply understand the view of our supposed enemy.

So, challenge your mind's comfort and step outside the norm. Take a different path home and see what you find.

Gentle Friends

When I was a baby, my mother purchased a Lenox china 3-piece porcelain gift set that she saved and used as I grew a bit older and more capable of handling such wares.  The series was known as "Gentle Friends" and featured unique rhyming couplets on both the plate and bowl.  The plate reads, "Our world is full of sweet flowers blooming bright and gay!  We love the things that make life good and bring us happy days!"  The bowl, which I used more often, read, "I should never feel alone, wherever I may be. So many gentle friends are near whom one can scarcely see."

That last rhyme, the one on the bowl, resonated with me throughout my life.  I am definitely one who stops to smell the flowers.  In fact, when I was very young, about six years old, I'd often be late for school, despite leaving home in plenty of time, so that I could watch a cloud float by, say hello to a dog, chase a butterfly, or literally stop to bury my face in the neighbor's flowers.  I always found peace in nature and I never felt alone, even when I seemingly was. My childhood, while I was able to lose myself in Nature, was often met with great difficulty, obstacles, and sometimes immense sadness and fear, markedly different from the way an ordinary child's life usually is.

Well, I'm not sure what made me think of it- perhaps it was Facebook adding a new "bio" feature to tell the public something about oneself that made me think of that little rhyme, that it should be my motto. I wondered who wrote it. Did Lenox have poets on staff, ready to whip out timeless bits of lifetime wisdom back in 1976? So, I did a search and found a poem by American poet, Abbie Farwell Brown called, Friends, and when I read it, it made me cry happy tears.  It really does embody a huge part of my life's philosophy in a beautifully simple way. While even a small child can understand the words, sometimes the simplest words, no matter one's age or sophisticated wisdom, hold the truest, most profound meaning:


How good to lie a little while
And look up through the tree!
The Sky is like a kind big smile
Bent sweetly over me.

The Sunshine flickers through the lace
Of leaves above my head,
And kisses me upon the face
Like Mother, before bed.

The Wind comes stealing o'er the grass
To whisper pretty things;
And though I cannot see him pass,
I feel his careful wings.

So many gentle Friends are near
Whom one can scarcely see,
A child should never feel a fear,
Wherever he may be.

 

Love Through My Ages

     When I was twelve, going on thirteen, as the leaves fell from the trees in 1988, our Language Arts class was asked to write a sense poem with "love" as the topic.  We were unaware that our teacher was also choosing a poem from each grade to be entered into a city-wide poetry contest.  
     I was truly the kid who used to make wishes at the wishing well and sit in the warm sun, gazing (no, really, I gazed... seriously), thinking about lovely nature, and daydreaming of spectacular adventure.  So, this was the poem my adolescent mind generated, complete with my current feelings after each line in parentheses:

Our Love
Love is a wonderful color, beyond explanation.          
(Yes, because you couldn't think of any.)
It tastes like caviar and chocolate covered cherries.         
(AND champagne wishes?? Oh my God, I'm Robin Leach.) 
Love sounds like beautiful music being played at oceanside by a goddess.          
(Is she sitting on a rock, strumming a harp, perchance?)
It smells like a garden of roses with the scent of sweet perfume.
(At least I wrote this before Bon Jovi laid on his bed of roses.)
It looks like man and woman, together, forever embracing.         
(until someone farts...)
Love makes me feel like my heart will pop out at any moment from the excitement.
(and this makes me feel like I want to vomit from all the cliches.)

     Four years later in 1992, I was on to sonnets- boy, did I love Shakespearean sonnets.  There are still a lot of filler words being used.  Notice that the material has taken on a slightly more mature tone and introduces the idea of turmoil in unrequited love.  I think I wrote this for a teacher- a major crush on the super-hottie-young-wrestling coach who was only 26 or 27 at the time... I actually remember writing this poem in the typing lab and printing it on the dot-matrix:

Unreachable Lover
This night that passed, I felt again your touch,
It was as grand as a warm summer's eve.
Your porcelain, red lips I've missed so much;
These tears, again, they will flow when you leave.
An exchange of thoughts and hearts once again;
These moments I anxiously do await;
Until then, on other days it will rain;
Perhaps, this is my unchangeable fate.
Although not true, all my dreams seem so real;
It oft hurts to wake to an empty bed;
These visions were ones I, indeed, could feel;
There must be a way all these would be dead.
Can you understand my feelings for you?
Just know one thing, all love expressed is true.

     Then, in 1995, I had my first, major break-up with a boy.  We actually still keep in touch and he agrees that he treated me miserably... though I was a stupid, little girl.  Anyway, for about a week, I hated this guy for breaking my heart:

Through tragedy, my hopes have gone,
No longer do I feel the pain;
A numbness in my every touch;
Now, I know no other way.
Viciously-
my mind spirals
downward, further
Until it hits the frosty sweat
days spent
future's past-
Thanks to you, I've learned this love
Thanks to you, I feel no pain,
And so to you, a cheery toast,
"Anguish and sorrow will here remain
with you."
The candle drips,
my spirit rips;
Fills up with a shuddering hurt;
Screams and blood,
Confusion, madness,
Black tears-
Isolation;
And it's all thanks to you.


No venom, angst, or insanity there, kids. So, I began to lighten up a little when I, again, found love in 1996:


I wake in the morning
feeling your gentle kiss
pressing my lips--
I smile
my spirit, again, knows
joy
freedom to soar
through eternity with hearts
open
souls united
wishes granted--
a spirit so high
birds cannot follow
but together we climb
together in peace
harmony--
knowing love
seeing beauty in others'
eyes
learning that existence
is enough to love
to give love
to forever
love.


     Then, I was married and in 1999, I gave birth to my first child and "Love" took on a whole new meaning:

Julia Love

My bright angel baby--

shimmering happiness

exploding into stars

shooting across the sky,

falling upon wide eyes,

transforming into dreams.

Kiss a delicate cheek--

warmth of a thousand suns

penetrate, melt the soul,

lift it to the heavens

delivering to God--

a universe of love.

    Finally, I began writing about universal love- making love to the entire quantum universe- immersing, superimposing, all of me into and onto all of it.  No longer limited by earthly love, I decided to branch out and expand the definition:

Body Electric

Turn on my Body Electric,

come-- brush against my quarks,

a chemistry explosively 

revealed after dark.

I wish to be your lightning rod,

come ZAP! me in delight,

come in, explore, there's so much more,

find vision without sight.

So long, I've searched through galaxies,

and foraged through a maze

of lifeless, empty energy

forced stunted by a haze.

Get warped, consume my juicy space,

take journeys in my mind,

wrap warm lips around every

particle you can find. 

     I continue to write love poems- though, likely, they will continue to reflect my love of Nature.  I haven't changed from the little girl who used to lay in the grass and search for bugs, cloud watch, and smell all the neighbor's tulips and daffodils on the way to school in the springtime- so much that she'd be late for 1st grade almost every day.  
     In fact, all this daydreaming and reminiscing about love has occupied my time all day today...  

     










     

Immortal

Aching pain drills its way deep to the center of her
solar plexus,
burning and twisting like a dull dagger,
thrust and lingering--
no helping hand to
release
agony;
Grasping, gurgling,
choking asphyxiation--
so much pain,
so much pain
pulsating with every broken
heartbeat,
pleading for departure;
Sinking in deep mire,
the floods overflow,
unable to drink from the fountain of
life.
Isis waits in futility for her to come, sit,
be lavished upon the throne,
instead,
eternity incinerates to ashes
when Fear impregnates,
casting torment,
invoking deaf angels
to carry her to Heaven or
Hell,
writhing, shrinking in abandonment--
Theseus found no joy in Ariadne,
and Dionysus has chosen
another.

Gabrielle Cianfrani
September 14, 2011
10:55 P.M.

Mature Love

At 19, a teacher who I'd kept in contact with since junior high, wrote me a poem. While it had been many years since we spoke, our friendship and fondness remained intact and developed as I grew. In fact, he never taught me in the classroom, but became someone who fostered my budding interest in English Literature and eventually, became a bit of a mentor and someone I have always admired for being so hard-working and successful in life since he was born.

I remember the moment when "Doc" (nicknamed for his Doctorate degree in Education) read his poem for me. Mixed feelings flooded my spirit: on one hand, I was full of immature embarrassment- seemingly unable to accept such a gesture of genuine love and appreciation; on the other hand, I was immensely grateful to have someone express, so beautifully, who I then was as a person when I was unable to see, myself, let alone to express as much in such an articulate manner. I wanted to snatch that paper right from his hands. It was folded, as if to say, "I was to be placed in an envelope and mailed," but it was pulled from a jacket pocket and unfolded. I extended my hand and Doc said, "I am going to read it to you, first."

Wow.

As a woman, I would do the same, now: I would read a poem to the person for whom it was written. Then, I could ensure that the intonation and feeling of my thoughts and words would accurately be expressed. That's what Doc wanted to do, help me to feel the poem. But even at 19, I was still just a girl... unripe for honesty's harshness, especially, when the honesty was intent upon me feeling what someone else thought of me, no matter how beautiful the thought.

I blushed. He read, gazing deeply and intently into my bashful eyes at every pause in breath:

Young Starbird

Thrust out of the black

with a silver glint... moving... radiating

Effortlessly moving away from the flock

and the noise

Maturing... Questioning

Distancing the Din

Seeing all... from afar

Still not forgetting the irreplaceable space...

She has left

In Awesome Wonder, she sets a forward heading

in search of deep meanings

seeking affirmation... yearning to be held... wanting to be held

just held

Looking for affirmation of her existence

through paper thin fragments of wisdom... she soars

smelling like yellow rose petals

and a new bathed baby

wrapped by her slow, sad, beautiful smile

Heavenly softness... gentleness

Gliding by... with an angelic twinkle

as a day brightener

for those who take the time to see her... differently...

for perhaps, the first time... to...

Listen to Her...

To help her with the Natural Shocks

To Know Her... in the Belongings of her Beautiful Heart...

and Face

as

She pushes into Life's love

while flirting with the stars

and

quietly

arms herself full

of

Womanly Status.

3/6/1996

I didn't know what to say... it was so-

Deep.

Doc asked me to write a poem for him in return, but to be honest, I was not able to write anything remotely from my heart with such clarity and conciseness of thought and feeling. And not only did Doc accomplish this, but he also delved deeper inside of who I was than anyone had ever done, even I.

This has taught me, over the years, that it takes a certain maturity to graciously accept Love. Immaturity brought Insecurity and Insecurity foolishly embarrassed... Maturity brought Security of Self which, in turn, brought the ability to Love myself as I love others.

Reading this poem now, at 30-something, I go over the lines again and again. Sometimes, I read the same line ten times. I feel safe in sharing with the world because, frankly, the words are simply words if you're a stranger to me- you can only imagine what something like, "Distancing the Din" means only so much as to be either remotely vague or completely amiss. But for me, I can hang on each word, waiting for the next word to come so that I can understand the totality and depth of Doc's words. I can hang on each word, finally, being appreciative. In the child's metamorphosis, Fortune arrives in the form of a Deep Breath... stopping and letting go of Ego and Self- an exercise in replacing them with grounded Truth and Wisdom, Compassion, and Love.

I promised Doc a poem and I'm finally ready to sit and dig deeply, in poetic form, as to what I want to say about a man who has dedicated himself to bettering the lives of all he has ever touched. He tempers a hard-edged, grounded, Semper Fi Spirit with the greatest of Love and Wisdom. He is the rarest gem and I, truly, must be lucky to know him. I'm grateful you're here, even if we had never met and you never touched my life.

Thank you, Doc.

Photo Source: Susan Morrison