By Ted Itagaki

Santa Fe, New Mexico
Summer, 2009
 

       I once built a doll house to play with when I was young. It was the color and fabric of different shades. I wrote stories and poems and songs of the dollhouse people. They told of fighting and conflict.

       They were small and painted and of many sizes. Some wore ties and some wore nothing at all. They sit on the shelf with other war toys. They sing me to sleep because I am afraid of the dark.

       Support our toys and bring our dolls home to sing us to sleep.

Opening words

Be this alive .....

To smell a piece of grass and feel thrill of pulsing energy,
To watch the movement of the waters and cleanse all cells in my body, to eat a morsal of food and surge with delight and music from my soul, to speak in meter and rhythm and passion and soar with hyperbole, to wish for magic and lift the huge stones with ease, and intone the rain and dowse the fires,
To heal and serve and move and sing with joy uneneding,
To calm the trembling heart and soothe the ruffled spirit in need,
to have no fear, move in beauty and grace, 9/18/07

You know what my dream is .....?

Be this alive . . . 9/15 1:45 am
That as I walk thru this space and time I see suffering and bring healing.
That I acknowledge all are healers and all are sick people.
That I know down to my bones I have no one to seek approval.
That I fear no one’s disapproval.
That I judge not for I see wonders in everything.
That I seek always to find that which makes me feel good.
That I create joy by searching for that which excites me most.
That I physically display my joy like a child skipping down the sidewalk.
That I smile at my weaknesses and my mistakes.
That I see all that I can be and all that I feel.  1:52 AM
To stop the pain, end the fears, speak the truth, still the beast, soothe the priest and feed the animals and nurture the souls that breathe and implore and beseech to listen and not speak, to sing and not complain.

We create and move alone
and look to see
a clue to what we deeply feel
but do not sense in all the
scene an open space but still
a clue to what we deeply feel

We move and create alone
to hear some sign
that all becomes
to strike a pose pretending
what we deeply feel
but do not simply
ponder from where
this sound has come
but deeply feel.

We deeply feel
we create and move
where once begun
a vapor on the pane
a breath of fading sun
we strike a pose
pretending simply smile,
we are one

       ‘Twas but a taste of heaven
Pressed against a glass of smooth
       And fluid dance upon the light
Of evening grape undressed
       And lifted down upon the lip
And hip of open tongue
       And pressed against the taste
Of heaven’s widened nest.

       'Twas but a feel of woven
Silk that turned the stem
       Of maraschino cherries
Bending down and kneeling
       Rest and moved in subtle
Lingering flesh upon
       The beating pulse
Of heaven’s widened nest.