It is said that
Love is patient,
Love is kind.
Love sees only the truth, and leaves the past behind.
Love is only in this moment,
only and always in this moment,
through and through,
Love is the light that shines through the brick wall between me and you.
Where are you hiding, Oh Lover?
Behind a pile of rubble and poetry.
But you know, deep down inside, you can never escape me -
Me -
holding a memory of the truth between us
the moment where you saw me, and I saw you
and we saw each other, together
and in that moment,
there was a Spark of Life.
And I fell in!
And I went blind.
And it could have been the best experience of all time.
And then afterwards, reveling in the memory
but you, in a daze,
returning to your old ways.
How long will I have to wait for you to remember the truth?
The truth, that is the light that shines THROUGH the wall between me and you
But all I know, as long as I have to wait,
Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love only sees the truth, and leaves the past behind.
Oct 12, 2024
Oct 12, 2024 at 1:26 AM UTC
It's true that
Love is everywhere...
but She goes cold when you turn away from her.
When you recognize Her,
the answer is to embrace...
to lean in...
to let her pull the glow back into your eyes,
the rhythm back into your pulse,
the heartbeat into your neck,
your breath.
There is no other way but to slowly die again.
When she shows up, it is a gift.
What a cruelty to let the ultimate gift pass by...
What a cowardice.
Her Beauty splayed before you, and your answer...
"Let me think."
"I don't know what I want."
As if there is anything in the world at all to say yes to,
greater than Life Herself,
full force.
A million writhing snakes, eyes glowing red,
gather in the shadows of your lack of action.
Warmth can become cold. Dread. Anger.
It would be wrong to say "I am angry"
and more true to say "The Goddess is enraged."
I, human, can feel her growing her poisons
for a woman scorned can become a
weapon of great and swift teaching.
Love is not to be dealt with lightly.
She demands Bravery and Immediacy.
There is NO more important work than to face her honestly.
She, who gives you the Truth more plainly than a mirror.
She, who cuts through the false ideas of the mind
with cold clarity.
And I, simply a channel, opening.
Great Mother, how do I show him? How do I do my part to bare you to this world, not only the beauty but also the terror?
That thing that scares great men into little boys, yet inspires boys to become men.
I can only sense it. I wish not to hide.
That thing that fear tries to put in a cage,
suffocating the world.
Oct 5, 2024
Oct 5, 2024 at 9:50 PM UTC
The breath of the mountain fogs around her as she flows over mossy rock. I have to duck to enter the grove of manzanitas guarding her banks. Crouching, I enter a womb-like space of moss-covered rock beside her calming, swishing, gurgling banks. I climb the rock and sit, reaching my toes to the surface. Cold and clear and rushing by, the water touches me and sends shivers to my spine. I bend, bringing lips to the surface, and drink. Lie back.
Only five minutes' walk from home, this secret place quietly lives.
I haven't told my... partner.
It feels too sacred here. Like the inside of the womb. I feel that I can come here to escape, and to rest, if I carry reverence in my heart.
The creek refuses to take my loneliness, though. I offer my tears and she swallows them. I dream of becoming a river creature and diving into her, being carried away.
What is that perfect sound? How her water is shapeless yet becomes circular as it moves around the rocks, sending bubbles to the surface; somehow together the water and rocks ring out a sweet song. A softness that catches silence and invites listening.
The river is like the rhythm underneath my heartbeat. The song of my bones.
I can feel it, and a drumbeat dances out of my hand to my chest as I sing:
My body is the Earth
Mother, I can feel you crying
My body is the Earth
Mother, I can feel you dying
My voice has picked up the richness of the forest's dank soil, the mustiness of the moss and decaying manzanita leaves, and somehow too the clarity of the stream itself. Tears roll down my cheeks as I sing and drum to an audience of trees, moss, and creek, where my voice feels heard and safe and my heart is cracked open, one with the forest.
The hardest part is leaving, though I am more whole than before. I give my thanks to the water and crawl out of the mossy creekside womb, emerging at the edge of a gravel road in Southern Appalachia, North Georgia. Gravel crunches beneath my feet as I make my way homeward.
I never share my song with a human.
Sep 30, 2024
Sep 30, 2024 at 1:25 AM UTC
I bowed to Saturn, and took a long walk up to the edge of the world:
A special place that takes good old-fashioned ****** work to reach.
There, I met the ocean, raw and wild, where she engulfs the tip of the land with great glee,
throwing herself repeatedly in ecstasy at the rock.
Birds flock and all kinds of life burst with soul at their meeting.
And me, walking... I felt my own universe inside me, full of stars, pooling with the dark liquid of the womb. I felt your baby at my breast.
The next time you see me, will you see me fully for the woman that I am?
Sep 30, 2024
Sep 30, 2024 at 1:11 AM UTC
hopeless and exquisitely beautiful
the night is both demon and angel
for me, my aching eyes, staring too long
at the moon, thinking too hard my thoughts
swallowing too much the silence
to take it all in
I tire quickly, yet stay awake
alone with the night
the bugs sing to my spirit,
I am wandering out there somewhere,
somewhere I am in the forest,
somehow I am restful,
dying slowly, coming alive
My eyes are hollowed-out moons
My body is a fallen tree covered
in mushrooms and moss
One last sigh will let out my
soul to fly with the birds, and
the angel-song, and the sound
of solitary footsteps in the night,
footsteps on an overgrown path-
less-travelled
So much death and life
I might
tell the moon goodbye and say goodnight
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
you, teeth and laughter
blowing soap bubbles to my brain
and popping into dust
silken fingers, your cheekbones
are art, falling rain, blooming rose
I want to catch you
but you fall (like raindrops) through my fingers
eluding me
I would softly touch you if you let me
I would kiss your wrists and collarbone
and eyelids, I would tell you
talking is only necessary when comfortable,
I would tell you all my secrets
I would share my swiftly beating heart
with your strength, and my lonely evenings
with your meditative mornings
I want to muse with you, and
cook until our skin weeps for love,
or our minds take us elsewhere
I imagine I would fall asleep early and
easy with my ear over your heart
I wonder how fast it beats
and what the chances are
that you're thinking of me
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 1:50 AM UTC
Is it possible to be engulfed within yourself?
My insides are an ocean.
If I could, I would float away from all this nonsense
dancing to my heart's content on the cloud that flew me out of here
reclaiming my boldness, fueled by the bits of light scattered about,
rays of golden-ness spelling "forget, forget, forget it all"
dancing on my eyelids, sculpted sunrise, salty tears
"please, just feel this moment and be a part of it."
Please, just feed me back my feeling
Please... cry, wholeheartedly.
... What even is this beautiful world without the emotion that keeps it spinning?
Love is golden light on pine trees. Love is a clear river.
Love is your fiercely beating heart. Love is full immersion.
Love is rawness.
Please, tell me how to find that in this vending machine.
Tell me if you see rainbows when you're on the treadmill,
please teach me how to be human when so much of this world is telling me to be a machine.
Tell me how to forgive myself for choosing my brain over my heart?
For sitting still when my bones want to run and jump and dance and swim.
For forgetting how to play!
Forgive me for the woes of the world, for the things that I can't change but still feel the weight of. Forgive me for consuming. Forgive me for hurting. Forgive me for not giving homeless people money. Forgive me for my selfishness, for my biases, for the mistakes I make over and over again.
Forgive me for my humanness...
And most of all, help me reclaim my humanness.
For love is the most human thing I know, and I'm struggling to feel it.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 12:31 AM UTC
A space composed, simultaneously, of divergence and convergence
peaceful moments are the wave about to crash and break
acceptance is not the end of motion, it is the end of resistance
a breaking point is a point of new birth
the air is made fresher by longing
and life is made most beautiful by constant change.
Ride the wave.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
There's something like fire in me,
something like dense wind and fierce waves,
something in the way of a bold moon.
Light shines in on me through my scar tissue, hits something deep.
The light seeps
and drips
and weeps.
I weep with fear of being overcome,
with the bitter taste of false expectations
and a burnt heart.
My skin has peeled away and like ash blown into nothingness,
baring me for what I am:
a child ashamed of her tears.
a fruit fallen before ripeness.
a sapling wishing for the wisdom of a tree.
Wishes weighting my sunken soul further down,
and I seek to be set free.
To break out of my body and become the universe,
to fill my soul with her stars and plant love with my steps
and weave golden threads of light from my once-heavy fear.
Fear.
Fear is my vast, heavy ocean.
Fear erupts within me, an angry volcano
and envelopes me.
Fear is my darkness. The darkness is too much for me.
I want to be inside myself and live in my heart,
the girl of golden threads with a voice like lightning,
who knows her mind and speaks her heart and exists
as a pure expression of love.
Like grass sprouting up from charred ground.
In darkness and stillness, I light fire to my barren body
in hopes of new growth.
For love and only love.
For everything was only ever an expression of love,
and I can accept that next time around.
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC
Texas, you ran on me like blood,
miles of road building up for an anticlimax.
Sun on her back, begging for rust,
wringing herself for another hour of daylight.
Green and golden grass through the windshield
speckled with red.
Made me want the coming dust,
made the vibrant greens of the humid East
seem like anthills worth cementing over,
Golden red. Wind whipped through the car windows,
nostalgia in a place I'd never seen.
I wanted to break you. Time was too still,
change was too slow for me. Southwest America had my name
drawn in dead bug splatters and drained coffee cups
somewhere ahead.
Time doesn't translate to these long miles,
it's just you and me and something new, something old.
Me and the windshield and the dead bugs,
and flitting thoughts of North Carolina,
repeated songs, hard silences,
and something chilling about these dead towns.
Some salty Pacific air already on my tongue.
Something nameless to remind me that being young is bittersweet,
and I don't know what I'm running from
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC