If the red box
were yellow
Or square
Or round
Or blue
Or Green,
Short or tall.
If it were of wood,
Or paper,
Maybe cardboard
Or bamboo.
If it were you
Or me
Or both…
Or not red at all
What would that mean?

I ask: Kali Ma what do you want from me?

SHE replies:

There is no love waiting for you out there.
Feel this empty place, this place of aloneness.
Yes you are totally alone;
your expectation is never going to be met from out there.
No one is going to love you for you to know love.

You don't have to do anything.
You don't have to be anybody.
You don't have to to do anything on your list of tasks.
You don't have to fill your time with meaningful activity.

Waste as much time as you like.
Be ashamed of not doing, not achieving if you must.
Wallow in this idea that you are a failure
That everything you have done is for nothing.

There is no love waiting for you out there.

No, I want nothing from you.
I want nothing from you for I already love you.
You cannot give me anything for I already own your soul.
You are mine and I am yours.
I am in every cell of your being.

I want nothing from you.

This is not the love that you seek
This is not a love of safety and sweet hearts.
This love is unbounded.
This love is the force that blasts mountains
And triggers earthquakes.
This love rocks your foundations and
pulls you from the rubble of your ignorance.

I want nothing from you.

Can you not see the foolishness of your seeking?
Wake up to your arrogance!
Open your eyes to the love staring you in the face.

Don't ask me what I want from you,
It is already given.

4yr old me: “I really liked him. We were having such fun playing in the shallows. He knew all good pools to find exciting stuff in.”

Adult me: “yeah I liked him too. He’s a good listener, interesting, gentle and attentive.”

“He made me giggle and shared good stuff to eat. He didn’t care that I’m just a girl, made me feel special. Told good stories too…”

“yeah he’s sensitive and made me feel desirable …”

“now he’s gone… why did he go… what did I do? What did you do? Doesn’t he want to play with me anymore? Was I too noisy… maybe I talked to much, asked too many questions… you are always telling me not to talk to strangers… but YOU were snuggling up to him!”

“No you didn’t do anything wrong… you’re right it was me I got carried away with the play, the conversation… my desire…”

“but why did he go he was having fun too…”

“he got scared”

“scared? of what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will he come back?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ve got a pain in my heart.”

“Me too.”

“And in my tummy…I’m scared it feels like I’m going to explode.”

“what are you scared of”

‘ the pain. If he never comes back will the pain be there forever?’

‘ I don’t know’

“But you said you would look after me. You said you wouldn’t let it happen again. You promised.”

“I know I blew it”

“ please make the pain go away?’

‘I can’t’

‘why not? You’re the grown up’

‘I’m afraid too’

‘why’

‘because the pain might last forever and I don’t know how to make it better’

‘so what shall we do?’

‘we’ll hold each other tight and feel it together’

‘that feels better… I’m still scared’

‘oh?’

‘if you’re scared… you might leave too’

‘If I do I’ll take you with cos we’re inseparable’

‘promise?’

‘cross my heart and hope to die.’

‘I feel like dying’

‘shall we go to bed instead?’

‘Ok but can I have a story….’

‘ sure, but no more fairytales’

I am not here now.
Not available,
Absent. Not present.

Hijacked,
Held hostage,
******* in a tangled web
Of locks and chains.

Trapped,
Houdini like,
In a cage and thrown
Into the turbulent waters
Of my shark infested mind.

****** in by a
Whirlpool of stories,
My thoughts spin
Epic myths,
Fantastical tales,
Dark fantasies and
Cheap thrillers.

Each teasing,
taunting and
goading me
To disconnect,
Shutdown,
To flee from
This moment.

This tender,
Aching moment.
This unashamed longing,
Drenched in the desire
To be penetrated by
Your presence,
To free fall into
The lap of the Beloved.

But you, like me,
Are not here now,
Not available,
Absent. Not present.

Sometimes it’s not possible to tune in.
Sometimes it’s not possible to find meaning.

Sometimes the box doesn’t fit me,
Or I don’t fit the box.

If I could find a box to which I fit
What colour would it be?

21 April 2009

I took my aching heart for a walk up on the moor today.

Past the lily pond and wild flower meadow to where the sky opens up over the valley. Seduced by the teasing scent of coconut and honey from the blazing gorse smouldering in the sunshine, I take the grassy path strewn with violets and head up the hill.

This morning the sun woke me to a moment of bliss. A stillness so expansively sweet that even the clattering of the refuse trucks making their weekly collection caused but a tremor to pass through. It feels like the debris of the past has been spirited away in the night leaving me swept clean and naked to this moment that stretches it’s arms wide to embrace a new dawn.

Yesterday I was shaken awake to face my Passion. Surrendering to a swell of knowing rising within me like a tidal wave that drowned all remnants of security to leave me standing on the precipice and, once more, like the Fool, I step off.

Free falling to find my wings I soar over the valley of my past, eyeing the rocky depths below through which a silver river of tears cuts through the darkness. This torrent that flooded my heart and broke through its’ defences to leave a gaping, empty hole. Empty of dreams, illusions, the fantasies that conjured a make believe world in which I could pretend I was in control.

Softly I tread up the path, walking on shifting sands, everywhere new life is emerging from winter slumber. Ponies graze and grunt in the spring sunshine, mother and foal amble past connected by that invisible thread that connects heart and mind. The past no longer restrains me. I am free to run, headlong into my heart and fall completely, passionately, and blissfully in love with this tender, raw shoot rising within me and calling to me like a hungry new lover.

The longing for a passionate life in which each intimate moment connects me more deeply to my true Essence into which I die and am reborn over, and over into it’s ocean of emptiness and bliss.

I took my aching heart for a walk today and found a path to freedom.

23 September 2009

There is an ache that has imprisoned my heart, wrapping itself round in a tight hug. Selfishly it stands guard like a jealous lover allowing no other to tease open its grasp. This ache, a memory trapped in a web of fear and unconscious, unresolved pain.

At times my heart is still, unfeeling, disconnected from the pulse of this pain. In denial, split off, ambivalent. Easier to hide, to slip peacefully into the warm treacle of numbness, pushing away anyone or anything that will trigger the tremor, the after shock of that quake that shook my foundations and brought me face to face with my terror and rage.

My heart is lost with no map for this uncharted grief. His death caused a tsunami that swept away the familiar landscape in which my heart travelled, weary but with faith, along a well trodden path.
Now it surveys a desert devoid of familiar landmarks, open to the elements with no shelter from the dust storms of emotions that create a whirl of confusion through which I can see no way forward. Left with no option but to lie low I must keep faith that this too shall pass.

Can there be love after death? My heart aches with this quest. He went out with the fading light of summer and my tears fell with the leaves from the trees. A blaze of colour lit the moor as his body burned to ash and my heart went into hibernation, drawing in the light to wrap close for comfort from the cold shock of his sudden disappearance.

To love again is to face this loss over and over. To love again is to become intimate with the fear, this terror of the pain and embrace it without shame. My battle weary heart longs for peace, for surrender so it can come home to rest in the tender arms of a new love and feel the soft breath of longing like the spring sunshine on a new born lamb.

As love born after death takes her first wobbly steps my heart trembles with anticipation of the fall. But if the first shoots of spring were to fear autumn there would be no flowering, no opening to the light, no summer and no harvest. To love again is to trust again. To fall over and over, like the canopy of a tree returning head over heels to the earth year after year.

I feel the soreness in my heart as the light draws in and the leaves turn to fire in the cool night air.