Soaring

And as I breathe this air so new,

light springs eternal from sights unseen. 

And, I find, that the labored life of this apparent dreaming,

was in fact only my heart’s quickened beating.

My soul subsides on golden clouds,

and soars ascending to touch the stars.

*I create for you a New Year filled with the imagination of your paths, footfalls bringing you closer to what lives inside, and a new eye always, for what grows at your feet.*

Pop the membrane,
thick and sticky,
the roots wiggle through, exposed.
Sacral saccharine flavor circulates,
oozing the bound sexuality
of a being inviting to know.
Weight casted with anticipation
as tips tickle lips
sensation.
Nubile gyrations loosen the crating
of hips overflowing in earnest.
Rhythmically sliding
holding onto the riding,
writhing, slippery dreamers, flit.
Compounded with the pounding cravings,
a sated release
trembles,
As magically met
this mating begets
the heated owning of awakened sex.

Sacral Astounding

Sacral fist packs a velvety punch
pulsing remaining strangers through fingertips.
The air snaps, crackles, pops.
World comes into focus, softly.
Nervous system triggered, finally wakes
with a clear bell cry of sensation.
Reading truth and chakra faith
bring about
these heady visions of belonging and birthing
an astounding amount of countenance
for the conscious.

Emotion

I find that it swells up in me,  this anger, this righteousness.
I breathe into the waterfall of my release and find compassion for the root.
I can not change a thought or gesture thrown or spat in my direction,
I can merely find empathy, and move forward.
I acknowledge and honor the emotions of my reaction, they swirl and turn.
But I give them no purchase on the walls of my heart
where they would rot and wound.
Om shri anahata namaha.
I work to turn the energy outward,
returning to the earth as it burns to a cinder,
while focusing on my own inner rhythm and what dwells there.
The song has changed, the melody sweeter, and I sing strongly anon. 

This is how I picture autumn. The dying leaves, the impossibly rich golden light edging, beautifully melded, into the husky dusk of night. The many twilights full of stars and the flights of somber melancholic birds that hold all my fantasies and take them into the crisp fall air. *


*I'm sorry to say that I don't know who the artist is, but I wish I did.

Chrysalis

Expand, contract, breathe.
Contract, breathe, expand.

Everyday generalities pull me tightly
and confine my light to the surrounding shape
of a leery, wan, doubt
that suits me no longer.
One single sliver appears inside
above me ripping the casing,
filling my open heart with

Possibility.

I cast aside this choking shroud,
hands break through, fingers pierce the skin,
and my arms embrace my unknown.

Wings,
healthy from the arduous journey from cocoon to flight
flap in heart rhythm
truth beats told
is the rending.

I AM the cause of my own brevity.

This power of

Allowing

blinds me in the clear sight of who I truly am.

My ascension,
shaped like a torrid freedom,
glows in elemental release around me
and with an expression of utter delight
I find the journey.  

Permission to Ignite...Granted

Just when I think I have a handle on things, the universe assures me that it isn't so. My handle on things finding levels of complacency that just don't fit me anymore.

Just this morning rage, cagey and splintered coiled ruthlessly in my belly and chest and closed my throat. Prickly thorns that are still scraping, yet now I'm exhausted by their presence.  I choose to understand why I am so susceptible to these feelings. Two days back at work and already I feel inundated with the vibes of this place. I pose the question, how can I work here and earn a wage without taking on the atmosphere around me?

I firmly believe that a new job would help me to accomplish this goal, however if there are patterns I haven't yet dealt with, they will rear their heads in a new environment, or so the cycle goes. I'm allowing myself to feel powerless and be victimized, bullied, by my own emotions. This leads the way to depression and melancholy, which in their weight make me feel light and buoyant, giving me permission to take my precious solitude and enjoy it. It's like this ridiculous exercise in drama levels.  Solitude is always around for the taking, I should concentrate on listening to my body and giving myself permission to enjoy whatever comes up for me...even anger.

Conspiratorial Nation

"Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen." -Emerson

So the crux of the matter is a commitment to not only yourself, but a commitment to the universe and the divine.  If I choose to be indecisive and bitter, my world stagnates because I am no longer walking on my path. I am instead sitting in the grass, seeing nothing, moving not an inch as the lichens cover me turning my blood cold and sluggish.  To experience movement your heart has to beat and you have to breathe in and out. You have to feel it as more than an involuntary function but a doorway to your core. To what is and always will be; the present unfolding of your own existence. Always a choice, always a chance, always a change; an organic function of your own power which is manifested everyday by your perceptions and thoughts.

Sermon for Disabusing

Sight bristled with beauty thistled,
pickled,
radiance shrouded.

Frustration found
lacking the stalwart dance steps
of a muddled contrivance
tainted
by begrudging acceptance.

Filters run parallel to iron mindset
presenting none of the purification
of soul woeful soul.

Inhalation claims heart hurt journey
unto a black hole build-up
of heat inducing melancholy.

As doubt begets doubt
the dessication of a belief system
that threads its last weaving vines
into the psyche of a former zealot.

Words of the Day

gregarious 
insidious
capillary
cellar door
emaciated
incongruous
domesticated
patriarchy
sacred
bulbous
cacophony
illustrious
amenable
thunderous
simile
incandescent
feigned
sonorous
australopithecine
decadence
warmth
rendition
fingertips
sentient
divergent
dichotomy
Atahualpa
ancient
weathered
steadfast
transparent
verdant
chill
elements
inherent
clandestine
enigmatic
archway
celtic
ruins
emollient
zippered
abandoned
surrender
seduction
honesty
aerobic
human
cavalcade
knight
daybreak
communion

Amid

There’s no time like the present. 

Presentation is everything to a person undone in their daily ritual,
the security blanket of reason…

of fear. 

It’s wrapped and re-wrapped 

like the swaddling clothes of an orphaned baby 

sitting on the cold steps of tomorrow. 

I walk alone, 

I keep my binkie hooked to my pinkie 

willing to cover-up at the least provocation. 
This keeps my eyes half shut to what I’m wanting to find.  

I let the wool fall to the ground. 

It floats, mysteriously aloof, 

crumpled in dust and consternation at its being left behind. 

My eyes open inward; find contentment with what I am 

and stop looking outward for the clues and signs of how to be. 

When I look to the world in front of me all I see is its beauty, 

it’s steaming infinite container of possibilities.  

I SEE MY LIFE, 

MY ROAD.  

MY LOVE OPENS LIKE SPARKS OF RECOGNITION IN MY HEART.

The heat causes the pillar of flame that is my soul 

to converge and engage this universe of flight.

Diffusion

Scratching, holding, balled up tight,

Breath surrounds, pushes through lungs gratefully,

but doesn't blow through this annoyance.

Feeling tires, hangs and blanches energy

 rending red, red, red.

Building, blinding

dirty, swirling,

acceptance is for naught.

Humming in pitch, dark,

pain body musings,

how do I balance the tirade?

I want to slash, 

to wound,

and scream my way home,

alone.

Without a sound,

deep,

damp,

Earth

quietly turning beneath my soul.

Trees bending, giving with ease, 

leaves clapping, sounding silent, resilient.

 No words in sight.

Sunbeams on my eyelids

The fuzzy fire lights

behind the mask of lashes

allows the flow of venom,

to be swallowed by the day.

Diffused

restoring balance in a day's rotating mood.

Creation

I want the words.

I create the cradle, feasting of flowering, birthing delightful.

Lost among the images, the base is the written.

Circled cycling fills to the brim and runneth eagerly over.

Tap in.

Drink up.

Find the truth of yourself in the airy sips,

seeping seamlessly through opened eager lips. 

Run amok in the confined chaos of next week,

incensed and censored

by your own labeled branding. 

Burns, blisters, festers, lies.

Snakes like vines of ice, insecure decision laced with anxiety.

 Will the ending come?

It is my choice it is my choice it is my choice. 

It is… 

Doors are unlocked at your least provocation, and understanding is right at your fingertips.

The mind chooses to deadbolt and cover,

to exist in a menagerie of searching beacons that light up the confines of

“comfort”

 in the giant room of complacency. 

I twist the knobs, I turn away from the lighthouse.

I open…inside

where self meets self inexplicable and awareness is birthed in the undercurrent.