Elegant Existentialist: Thoughts from a Therapist

 Une Larme Dans L'Ocean Une larme dans l’ocean My Grandfather  Taught me to speak French. Translates to, A teardrop in the Ocean Another Grandparent lost to 2020. My Grandpa took me to museums The Exploratorium  Modern Museum of Art Taught me how imagination Can spark an idea That can change the world. We went to the first  Cirque du Soleil In a fantastical tent  in San Jose Magic before  my Five year old eyes. He made sure this child Of teenage parents  Saw beauty in the world That couldn’t be seen from outside Her window looking out to the fields Where migrants picked strawberries And smells from a tallow plant Permeated the air. My Grandpa taught me  to be proud of who I am. Embrace my truth, Speak truth to power, In the darkest hour. We fall like shooting stars Disintegrating  from great heights. Raindrops in a bucket Held and collected Water molecules connected Rippling from the energy Of every new drop.  The sound of rain Tapping b...

 Raindrops Raindrops fall to the Earth Mirroring my tears. So many Grandparents and Elders Lost in one year.  Collective grief  in isolation. With loved ones dying. In overflowing ICUs. I. See. You.  Even though I can’t. We are forced to grieve alone. In bed and in our fuzzy pajamas To bring us comfort In the collapse. The rain reminds us  That God cries too. At least that’s what we were told When we were children Walking home in waist high water or playing in puddles either way we were left seeking  the warmth of home. My tears fall for my grandfather. Grateful I got to say my Goodbyes. Held his soft fragile hand in mine Locked all the details In my mind  Gave him one last hug Blanketing him with love To take on his journey above. Raindrops fall to the Earth.  written on January 2, 2021

 Five Years  H ow have Five years flown by?  Five years since I've seen your face outside of my dreams and in reality. Reality bites these days. I like to think Neil deGrasse Tyson, is right and there are other Dimensions where we're free from COVID and you're still alive. Singing songs of Freedom i n our fight for Social Justice. Baking up ideas, pies, and cake as you bring people together to dance the night away on a cold, dark Winter Solstice. Which was always your favorite night of the year.  You always loved hosting a good party. Mulled wine and chocolate  ganache, live bands and lots of laughter as we all get trashed together for the longest night lost in twilight.  Among existential conversation in the corner. Debating Neitzsche and Kant, what happens when we die.  I marveled at your magic you sparkled like the light in the December trees. A magnifecent mama to your son, Milam.  His name means Tibetan dream. You're missed by so many,  ...

Thirty-Five You would be Thirty-five I’m wishing  you were still alive Celebrating  that we have arrived A seat at the table and we survived Generations of Oppression and Genocide Taught it’s safest to stay quiet and hide  Never have too much pride keep everything inside But we could taste the poison of unspoken truths Truth is, you showed me how to speak Out to a crowd and against the man All the while, staying hand in hand Overcoming all obstacles Stronger together, we continued to stand.  You would be Thirty five Now I stand alone but our souls have grown Friends for so long, life’s needle has sewn our beings together I know I’m never on my own I can still feel your hand Holding me high Guiding my way As I reach to the sky No longer afraid Because you taught me to fly Now flying with me Invisible  Cloud like wings  You would be Thirty-Five