quiet enough long enough:: 9/18/23
its been quiet enough for long enough
underground beast
fumes of festered feeling
rises to the skin
everyone knows that stench
the one who is sick
among the sick
reminder to set ablaze
everything
weve neglected together.
still unable to bare your gaze
enduring the next bloody layer
another version of being awake
under this sky for the first time
and in pain.
i wonder what it is like for you to be mothered by this
how do you navigate fear or bliss
without the mind of tenderness
just arms and heart
is it vacuous?
it is foreverness
the tether of source
that wraps you and me as we
never separate
thus afloat
not knowing
anything
forever
empty but for you
dear daughters
dear mothers
dear fathers
dear brothers
the way woo wei
to exist:: 8/28/23
let it all fall away
until there is hardly any of it left
hardly any
then sneeze
and observe the tremendous explosion
of breath seize the atmosphere
with the velocity of a hydrogen bomb
and mourn the small-minded buzz
who nervously identified the smallest
most impressionable version of a Self
look down at the toes
who ever-wittedly buries your words
into the mycelial vibrations of infinite harmonics
be so soft you disappear
into another cloud of pink fluff
fight back against the force
who told you you were separate
from the prostitute and the pimp
celebrate your existence
and trace each lost lash with a finger of mud
and a love for each real rain drop
blessed by the creatures whose carcasses
you call ground.
grief
you lay
belly down beneath
each ripened screech
of disbelief
that pinches and pricks
some squirrely brief
tightening
only to release
torents of swirling
bad weather
for me
here
in the middle of my street
alone
as mother and father turned to go
am i the only one who knows
you have to turn
and hold
each one
until they cry
then stop
until the sun shines through
the crack you knew
would kill everything
and you
but didnt
if you step through the illusion
to the next conclusion
that life is pain and grief is sane
where im from:: 1 ~ 8/17/23
holes in screens
like scratches smelling
the musty rust
its not me
grandma in the kitchen
way up high
a stool
to separate me from the others
no smiles
but food instead
meat and ketchup
grandma in bed
my scary bed
strange noises
from the closet
garden cucumbers with father
up early with mama
dressed up for dad
p-rades and flags
ships with small beds
home without dad is best
crying so dark outside
bad boys and my dog no one pets
brothers in trouble
tutus to save me
we ran away to boston from cubans
another scary time and place
with a mean lady downstairs
threw water on our heads
a farm, some hay,
smells of donkeys and freedom
skies blue not ever known
could this be our new home
wheres mom wheres mom mama
i have fled
to make a better story in my head
the deepening:: downloads 8/14/23
it happens in drips
the metamorphisis
that one falling star
and then
waiting forever
knawing
knocking about
breaking everything
not knowing as the biggest part of realness
downloads in dripping hits
missing
being ready
no blood
only demand.
i have been existing with this one prayer since i was 33
i believe
this one exotic promise
that’s 45 years
108 x 10,000
perhaps this was the 10, 000th time
it came pouring in
like the beginning of that moment when you see your life flash before your eyes
and you plead
‘im not ready’
slow
slow
is the command
now
feel
first
the root.
buhr.
‘this is the promise of the trail of what you call time’.
‘this is the endless mark upon the page; like ‘thay’ taught you’.
bhuhr.
‘you are made of this’
‘you must begin here to understand' .
next
bhuvaha.
‘this is about you and your containment of all expressions of mystic creations’
‘are you well. turned on. ready for the infinite?’
i pause from the weight.
wait.
svaha
‘the dimension of lineage through the umbilica; backwards and forward. endless. humanity.’
spinning clarity interrupts mental constructs.
this is belly supra intelligence.
i thaw.
maha
‘complex helix of multidimensional love.’
‘you are this fuel for all creation.’
‘you must make this fuel in every moment for the continuance of all’.
jhanaha
‘the lungs breathe everything alive as particular manifestation’.
‘2 stream containers create a confluence of the spiralic neck into the One.’
sat
‘the heart reflected in the sweet face’.
‘the One opens through 369’.
‘each cosmic strand now calls & develops the voltage of possible capacity’.
‘beyond language, knowing, light and darkness, each one a sky, a star’.
‘no beginning. no end.’
blessed be.
369 birthday bones:: 8/13 /23
i want to deepen being able to be present for myself and others.
this is the nourishment that will interrupt the dopamine cycle of habitual distraction.
lets see if i am interested in presence instead of quick and easy fixes.
thoughts...
as we move into the transformational practices of breathing in and out, we notice change.
we are accustomed/educated/programmed to perceiving change as outside of us usually..." it must be them."
and actually, we are a process of creation.
we are a process; ever-re arranging what works or doesnt work through the ever-present right pre-frontal all-knowing awareness that makes us not separate.
we are creating & contributing to the big picture with every thinking, feeling, speaking, moving vibration!
this is a multi-dimensional process, of course.
this keeps us curious and motivated. i'll speak for myself.
this now is the moment.
a fresh infinite beginning!
another opportunity to attune and love and be receptive to possibility!
we practice to recognize & ride the opportunities of each moment to actually be becoming who we dreamed ourselves to be...
authentic.
because of the law of life; change, we are unique compilations of codes, truth, color, perspective & love.
this is what we want to enhance with unity practices to polish the authentic you!
its time to focus on the Self.
if you want to serve, know love, be a change-maker, you have to be full of you.
how do you do that?
listen.
inside.
feel what is attuned and what is not attuned.
and...
that negative biological bias...
what i don't like/want/be
is information too...in (side) form (ing) ation (creation).
positive & negative create something new.
invest in listening.
i will find & create environments where all can be whole, nourished & welcomed.
by the way, love that you are here walking beside.
waltzing home to bones:: 7/11/23
new roads peel back revealing
wizard time unwinding
tapestries of promised gnarly difficulty.
some big hand covering my mouth
dreamed real
to recover from a destiny
already experienced
so many times
storming through this body that stays upright
and enraged
that i am not yet elegant and free to dance a waltz easily
on these beautiful parquet floors
that have so much to tell about
the old forests from which they were so brutally harvested.
Who gave a remembrance
as they planed and ground and shaved
all of the breath from a gathered bond
of those limbs and trunks that breathed the world
into a beauty exhaling elegance of renaissance brocades
twirling into the exaltation of an open sky held up by tree beings
inhabiting the floorboards that teach our feet to
trace understanding ever-spiraling swirls of endless life into smiles
and a delicacy that can not be canceled by those axes
yet lace us together in infinite embrace.
belonging home in the bones:: 7/6/23
i feel your belonging
home
in my bones
brown othered
not there where you roam
belonging not bothered
as smoke fills the sky
promised by whiteness
smudged grey by such lies
forests’ nests hidden
your timeless mom
a guide towards the heart of the world as your song
and infinite belonging where colors pour rich
naturally more friendly
than proper and niched
home
bones
roaming
brown
stardust as dirt
more life than all humans on earth
one speck of brown
will grow all worlds
one handful of brown will hold yours as the same
one family of brown will gather these shames
and make smiles as magic
to dance free these chains
may we never forget to sing for all hearts
to touch each one to mend any still broken
to speak only truth in tongues yet bespoken
libertad! libertad! libertad!
each new perfect beginning:: 6/28/23
untangle the webbing
free the subtle brush
of begininglessness
formless being
is enough
some breath will join us into
everlasting
ever
last
ing
prepare
for everything to end
again
and
again
to live
as making room
to begin
to
exist
within
the space
in
the
between
everything
as
connection
intra
being
breathing
out and in
only
space
only
free.
perfect beginnings:: solstice message 6/20/23
if life were to begin today
this moment
away from the pain
thered perhaps be no you and me this way
thered be no competition to get there first
…to be the prettiest for the publics thirst
betrayal of mercy to let him through to
experiment with death and living too.
if in this moment the beginning was seeded
id bow my head and listen for the defeated
then raise my eyes to find that wisdom
and scramble along all of the edges and frissions
as clues to gods finger pointing at me
as skin and life not separate from the seas
that wash us together then rain us down
in tumbles of fragments as part of the crown
of sacred glory unbroken
it is spoken
the word
i hear you dear one
it is perfect
the sky the moon the whales whom you love
love it all
and testify within each making you shape
its time
there are no mistakes
walk with courage and take
everyone who wishes
and embrace
those child whispers of innocence
as bliss
perfect memorial life 5/29//
shoes lined up at the door
everything lines up
do not disturb
no dust on granmother’’s floor
who
is
grandma
?
there isn’t room for you
don’t lie
secrets bleed blood
no one must know
that isn’t real that real moment
there is divine madness
here who sneaks creeps upon
every surprise as the door opens
is it him
spectres of a past
that steal
everything
present.
when will you turn to the mirror?
who looks back
bows to your knowing
and breaks a heart open
to home that PTSD
to create something glowing
to follow a need
to be
enough
of a bow
low enough
to be proud
of you for showing up
as enough.
who demands?
grandma is dead
not in your head.
it wasn’t a lie she says
you knew all along
i knew you would stear the lineage clear of that terror as you refused to leave the scene your young body leaned ever into it until everyone was free.
today
you are free
as you have freed me
dear life 5/26//
i see what is happening
here is the downward spiral known so well
free falling to the death of this moment
then the next
watching my mother die
and all of those before now
unresolved
feel the squeeze around the bone
write it down
i see how the king dies
still and inert
unproductive suspension
you may die like this
testing
like this investing in an online kingdom broken from the bottom
computer
i thank god to be awake
do i work
i stir
the repetition points and rotates around me
i am unspectacular
again
i need a place where belly down is not a collapse but a birthing place
to make
gardens
composted for lavender to survive the summer
sun in pots
that hold winter
as a threat
to the fragrances that cooks a kingdom.
no matter.
you are fabulous as beautiful words string together just right
they don’t buy things like this.
don’t lie.
drop the glory from your shoulders to the ankles of woman
stand naked before all authority
with love upon your bloody lips
be transported.
do not squander the quiet that binds us
regard your noble pose upon the smooth waters of lifes pond drifting
reflecting back
ripples that wash it all to some source
that drains the living and teaches grace
infinite
dear life 5/26//
i see what is happening
the narrowing of the curtains
in order to smell the freshness of another day
greeting some darkness inside
close the curtains
don’t invite the sadness
of only 12 more years
or only 1 more fresh flower
we never know
we count
even backward still not knowing anything about the whereabouts of you
and how about waking up
less complicated, complete, completely wrong
inside out and smiling
they will never know these poems
that will disappear
as soon as i forget to show up.
its happened before
the struggle of remembering
and the
the whole mess of recovering shards of a past made up of even more dense delusion
i am not wrong.
suffering until deciding what fresh breath i will breathe
and if that will be with company
of precious daughters who cant know either the meaning of us
or the pots i made with these hands that gardened all the way through a tortuous freeing
over and over tearing at clay that made me ok to be shattered to become softer and kind
hardened again like my mothers mother who killed a child from social shame womens plight
the same
is this an unholy mess to be cleaned/ or left as is to squirm and reveal
the next thread
still in bed
some mornings bleed on into the river of the next where some truth shines so brightly we are all unafraid
to know what is right for the next act
thought
whisper
and meaninglessness
that falls away
to be broken
into tiny particles
like stars
near and far
morning shadows & signs //5/25
this morning there is some breath in my brain
the consistent struggle to count from 100-1
to train in the morning hours of
5-6am remains
where do i go
where have i been
continuing
to be uninvolved with my own life
wearing relations
where do they go
where have they been
wriggling free are worms of desire
not mine
not me
we fly off freely
to witness without feeling
this morning among shadows
a decision is made that the past may lay
in fragments
so that today
a lively nest of dreams
might
new moon shadows 5/20 signs of victim slaying
what is this ‘victim’
who lays at my feet
and insists on climbing on my back
covering my eyes
and blinding me to my inner voice
that guids me through
the blinding shadows
of dead ancestral codes.
this is not law
this is another bardo
whose small itch
is dangerous
enticement
to scratch again
against the grain of comfort
that laid so many women
thought slain
to rest
for just long enough
until an inhale invited
rising into the endless night of all souls
to smile into the yes
of every hungry ghost
who laughed at your visions
until they came true
hobbling off
to chew on needless rules
that blind all of them
eventually
swallowed
by the land
who is law
and the elements
who loved us all along.
now rise
because you know it is time.
now.
rise.
your bow has served.
your heart has been heard.
it is light now.
your sight on horizons
where your dream world awaits
this now
at your feet laid.
now
rise.
new moon 5/19 signs of wisdom
emerging from the isolation of thinking and feeling burdened, each one of us has had an opportunity to be quiet for the last few years.
Can you imagine what it is that you have been understanding better?
If we don’t look back, if we don’t use the same words, if we free ourselves from old broken identity, if we can feel our magnificent innocense, we will realize that we have become deeply aware.
Aware of what is true for us.
Aware that criticism is harm that creates a Great Divide.
Aware that we are NOT separate .
As we deepen we can also understand, to the atomic level ,that we are always growing in capacity for containing, and illuminating, with all forces of light and love.
This is how trauma is transformed into Wisdom.
Wisdom is light.
Wisdom is the brightest indication of our Divine nature that is Infinite.
Wisdom is the seed that sparked our lives into this body.
And so our bodies are light.
If we want to transform trauma, it is done with light.
Trauma does not just sit in the brain and get regulated with exercise.
Again .
Trauma transformation is more than exercise.
The most important medicine for your trauma is to come into the stillness of being and radiate light and sounds that emit Wisdom.
This is transformed trauma.
Of course, it is good to start somewhere with understanding of the brain and nervous system , and
(contrary to cultural programming)
you are not just a brain or nervous system.
So I invite you
Zoom out
Witness your infinite potentiality as light on the atomic level.
Your light emission has more voltage than the sun!
This is your identity.
You can not be luminous if you are critical, judging, self-loathing, self-negating, entangled with dead, tribal law, disconnected from the light of your ancestors, unable to hear the song of the world from all of the creatures that are here to help you awaken into love and light!
When you know who you truly are you are unstoppable.
You must selectively create an environment for your growth that is infused with a good deal of stillness, resonant language of coherence, the laws of nature, and the harmonics of inclusiveness.
Be Still.
Hold the Light.
And you will know the yes !
5/10
tearing
tearing
chrome chaos
feet dangling off the ground
flying around
?
play from beneath
down deep
completely
love me
piercing holes into my disbelief
as stars relief
despair
into complete infinity.
5/8 hsp
From Yoga Therapist nina be, specializing in working with highly sensitive persons .
i am wary of using others’ codes to depict the world
its a form of coopting life that is not worth the loss
‘highly sensitive’, though, is the expression that i often witness,
as with a magical human being speaking out their experiences.
there is such a delicacy in describing the lacing of their field;
lovely and tear-stained,
loved and left with what remained
some betrayal
inhumane
knowing
the way it is
divine in some way.
highly sensitive
clearing the globs of smudge
this is what is meant to be a life.
For everyone, parts of an article that may be helpful. And if you need more help, I am here for you. (Sources at the end.)
A person with sensory processing sensitivity is highly sensitive to their environment. Sights, sounds, smells, and other forms of sensory input may cause a heightened experience . A sound that is barely perceptible to most people may be very noticeable, and possibly even painful, to an HSP. I believe this needs to include vibration and the music of the cosmos.
There’s more to being a highly sensitive person than just being sensitive to stimuli. Other characteristics::
processing environmental stimuli more deeply
being more emotionally responsive to behavior
being more physiologically responsive to behavior
having stronger unconscious nervous system activity in stressful situations
having stronger emotional responses (both positive and negative)
being strongly perceptive of subtle differences
having a low tolerance to high levels of sensory input
having a low pain threshold
Being a highly sensitive person can be stressful and can cause anxiety or relationship challenges. However, there are also benefits to being highly sensitive, especially in the right environment or with support.
Some advantages include having a rich inner life and showing increased empathy.
Being highly sensitive can also offer strengths in relationships and depth in processing information; perfect for creatives.
As noted earlier, being an HSP is not a diagnosis but a personality trait or temperamental disposition that offers both benefits and challenges.
What are the signs?
Some signs of high sensitivity include:
Overstimulation:
Personality and temperament: highly empathic
Empathy: others’ moods strongly affect them, or they notice subtle social cues others do not.
Pain sensitivity
Withdrawal: may withdraw more or need more alone time to rest and calm into the Parasympathetic Nervous system.
MINDBODY CENTERING YOGA THERAPY may be helpful for anyone who experiences sensory overload. MBCYT has helped people make changes to their environment to minimize the frequency or severity of sensory overload.
Many people can manage episodes of sensory overload with specific techniques and home care::
learn your body signals with an MBCY Therapist to befriend your intelligen sensitivity
learn how to become proactive in mapping environments and people who are positive, supportive and harmonizing
keeping a diary of signs, symptoms, and triggers of sensory overload
avoiding the triggers of sensory overloads, such as loud concerts or events with flashing lights, where possible
asking others to help reduce sensory inputs, such as by turning down bright lights or opening a window when strong smells are present
identifying and establishing sanctuary spaces for when a sensory overload occurs at school, work, or other venues
staying near the exit when at a concert or party so that it is easy to leave if necessary
talking to teachers, colleagues, friends, and others about sensory overload and asking for their support in reducing sensory inputs
taking regular breaks, and getting enough rest and sleep
drinking lots of water and eating a balanced diet
establishing a solid sleep schedule to reduce becoming under-resourced in a busy, fast world
SOURCES::
Acevedo, B. P., et al. (2014). The highly sensitive brain: an fMRI study of sensory processing sensitivity and response to others' emotions.
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4086365/
Are you highly sensitive? (1996).
https://hsperson.com/test/highly-sensitive-test/Aron, E. (2018). Sensory processing sensitivity: Review of the research.
https://hsperson.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/Presentation-HS-therapists-July4version1242pm.pptChacon, A., et al. (2021). Cross-cultural adaptation and validation of the Highly Sensitive Person Scale to the adult Spanish population
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC8286783/
https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/27475418/Greven, C. U., et al. (2019). Sensory processing sensitivity in the context of environmental sensitivity: A critical review and development of
https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0149763418306250Licht, C. L., et al. (2020). Serotonin transporter gene (SLC6A4) variation and sensory processing sensitivity—Comparison with other anxiety‐
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7434600/
5/6 unwrapped
uncovereduncovereduncovered
why must you save me?why am i hooked into the crevice of the moment i almost died from your suffocating violence and i awoke to some primitive beastiality that haunts and deprives and says they all will never know alive fully eitherwhy havent i been saved yetwhy am i the only one who can save myselfis this the infinite endless human pain to be ascended who i am i am that?there are no flowers here.
4/25/23
WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE TRAUMA-INFORMED?
Of course, everything in the world is subjective. That's really an important Truth to hold as a lense in this delicate and deep conversation.
For me, as a professional Yoga Therapist, trauma-informed means that I am interested in the subtlest layers of well-being expressed in a human, animal or environment. That has a lot to do with my own education. My own ability to be present with me first. The stability I create in my own living, breathing condition forms the underlying ethical Trust that allows anyone who comes to me to express the range of their joy and distress. Trauma-informed means that a guide is versed in the deepest sensibility of how a being expresses distress...to the seen and unseen layers of their being.
Trauma-informed also means that the guide is aware that consciousness is the terrain of possibility and that the imagination will free anyone in pain into less pain.
In other words, a trauma-informed guide needs skills in:: the conscious and subconscious mind, a depth of education about the various tissues of the body, and how they can trap information that causes distress or discomfort for a person, how the heart provides a resonance that frees humans who are trapped by set beliefs of negativity and rigidity, and the supportive elements that are always informing the natural processes of growing and connecting to the world and each other.
DO YOU NEED TO SUFFER FROM A BIG EVENT TO NEED A TRAUMA-INFORMED APPROACH TO YOUR LIFE?
As a Yoga Therapist, I approach my client-centered guidance from a humanistic orientation. To me, that means that I look for what a person is bringing to me as their pain points. One person may have lived in a war zone and is able to stay present in their life and find inner peace as a consistently available resource. Another person may have been over-criticized by an authority and be quite triggered by any form of judgment.
The gift of being human is that each one of us in traveling a unique path that has created a unique approach and orientation to each live moment. So we skip the judgment and pathology and look for the message and intelligence that each living expression has. Whether its comfortable or not, we value being alive and able to stay present with and within ourselves.
WHAT IS TRAUMA?
Trauma is the accumulated scar tissue of self-abandonment. Because the psyche is always prioritizing focusing on growth, if surviving is all that is understood by a human being, it is very difficult to find joy, inspiration, connection, and Trust. What changes the condition of Trauma is to practice being present to every moment of one's life with appreciation and a sense of belonging. This is a spiritual 'feeling' that must happen for the 'brain' to record each moment as part of a meaningful life tapestry.
IS TRAUMA EXPERIENCED DIFFERENTLY FOR EACH PERSON, OR IS THERE A GENERALIZED FORMULA EVERYONE SHOULD USE?
Blocked joy can happen in as many ways as there are human beings times 1 billion, so it makes sense that every one of us who feels we have some effect on the human condition can stay awake to how we are feeling. As everyone becomes more educated about feeling threatened away from comfort and trust, or what it takes to maintain a sense of agency in our liberty, we can help care for our small part. That our words, actions and thoughts are inclusive instead of aggressive, that our fatigue doesn't cause us to do harm, that our unaddressed lack of sensitivity doesn't hurt another with neglect.
We are fortunate to be able to 'feel' when we are in the 'flow'. The 'flow' state is a wonderful realm of research and understanding that addresses many unseen elements of happiness, enjoyment and connection. Each on e of us has a unique way to 'flow' together and towards coherence and deeper layers of coherence and harmony. The more we are present, the more deeply we saturate our day-to-day with the ongoing ease of our natural 'flow'.
4/23/23
another wet morning:: tulle
its all been terror
the leaving
the assault of homelessness
the pink tulle for everyone else
the cluelessness of no place
the prospect of being uninvited
then, no, just at the last minute
the bus leaving me behind
the echos in the infinite communal showers
the prowling hands as what was love
i never slept at night
that was crying
and it hasn’t stopped
its not ok
any of it
to be motherless and no one can see it
‘she’s right here’.
they cant know how i raised her
how sad i still am 60 years as a human who wanted to be dead at 3.
the despair weights these wet wings
no false eyelashes for me
i fly in my dreams
i smile only when i scream
you don’t matter.
to be left out in the rain
is absolutely insane
and it happened every time he raged
there is a crack in the foundation
and every time the earth moves
the strain on my mask tears
another unpleasantness off of me
there are no clues
why i have ever been tolerated
how hate poured so deep
forced to stand
i still weep
how is any of this worth it?
she who has always been ok will say ‘how is it’
the reply will be a shakey ‘the same’.
the dread of that.
will she lie and say ‘i respect that’.
the sherades, the games
what a disappointment i am
to fain interest
to bury inside
the night another hole of focus where i reside
what time tonight?
maybe the only thing solid is despair.
4/20/23
another wet morning:: ARIES NEW MOON /a shared sky
this day has an order
teaching and reaching
outisde the constructs
of meandering and bleeding
if thats all there is
a pinch and a note
a wet summers night
and a hand on my throat
my hands will touch codes then
shaping veils yet revealed
knowing as cellular
not secrets concealed
as nature doeth model
touching the sky
songs from within
are heard as we cry
this human encampment
upon some great hill
doeth spoil what life offers
numbed by a pill
rather listen or sit
as you deepen the hole
into darkness as promised
the womb you behold
meander or gather
sing or throw fits
she holds you forever
as your ugly hate spits
this flame cant be squelched
as you dance to the edge
some arms will re-member
that divine sacred pledge
as You, stars and all
free falling
as flying
as still
as liberty.
another wet morning:: mother eclipsing //when you sit by the window with me
when you sit by the window with me
and weep
about being a woman who must bleed
and how you love a being
whose soul is all that you need
commonalities far and in-between
i know my place
you say that you see me in your face
i would never assume that place
from behind ancient silenced woman shame
with no one around to hold the pain
you are how we are the same
pure woman child from these flames
emergence into your name
you declare your melanin fame
mother proud is more than i could’ve heard
shadowed voice beneath your birth’s sweet biting
a woman too loud could be disquieting
her brown man eyed from sterile walls of the despising
no midwives hovering on this stormy night
the South a place for uprisings
our mixing of blood not surprising
you, this mother’s child cannot yet know your rising
will cauter some wound for those on the horizon
no fear you are blessed by the love of the free
girl child creature
measured by the blood she must bleed
by the cries of the world she cannot but read
unstoppable you breathe
“mama, i’m good. you’re an angel to me.”
we are freeing those fleeing
the terrors of bleeding
women child aquarian breeding
from cosmic to seeding
only love as you bleed
4/5/23
another wet morning:: FULL MOON n mt closet
I live on the moon
behind that partition
everything cleaned and smoothed
just fold up the couch
to open the door to
whomever .
only the moon
never knew
i had slept squeezed up
so as to not fall over another ledge
right where their
shared despair sat
everything cleaned and smoothed .
no one asked
no one came to knock to see
what was real
if it was really me
all cleaned up
everything cleaned and smoothed over
behind the partition
there the moon and the mess
of denial
me believing
someone else was better
than their behavior
i was right
maybe in the next life.
my closet home was happening now
one morning
the moon
awoke
spoke up
and promised something better.
my socks padded my dancer feet
and bid silently
farewell
to the community created
by the light of the moon
with love i believed
could be reciprocated
to make the world freer.
and therein lies the rub.
dont love to have it returned.
love like the moon
and tell the truth.
to you.
another wet morning::
a simple mind
i have always had a simple mind
my teachers, father and peers told me so
after awhile
i didn't listen
because my mind
was my
mind.
my life
my billion breath quota
is my quota
and after awhile
i figured out
these breaths were not to be spent
to be who
someone else wanted
me to be.
because my mind
was so simple.
my mind cannot agree
by being threatened to no longer be free.
though rich in some ways
serving and loved
i see your freedom
buried deep
i feel your whispers
soft whimpers
this april morning
theres agitation waiting
to hurry
why do i worry
about you
your life and what it does to me?
what did i learn about how others treat
a queer person who already is revolked
outside the curve inside nerves
jagged rattled
always
underlying each neglect
why is all of this piled up at the front of my brain
why dont i make room to be sane
just for me
my life hasnt been easy
its been hard yet
unpossessed
not getting what i wanted
and knowing how
2 billion heartbeats
each
one a now
perhaps almost dying so many times as a child
taught me
that my wildness
was all that i had.
a creek or stream
a poke or scream
i was the only one i had
and no mom or dad
could match
my love trust belief
in
me.
another wet morning::
surrounded by angels
and you are still angry.
difficult things to say
i am full
i am full of being pushed to the side
and ignored by your admirers
full of shouldering the dirty laundry
while i save you from yourself
I'm full of believing my job is to tell you about yourself
and exhaustion of minding
you going to jail for lieing
I'm full of pain
from you stepping on my toes
and calling my attention nagging
I'm full of regrets
piling up from not listening to my wishes
instead of my grandma's need that i marry a prince
full of the noise of neglected grief
empty of relief
where do i dump the pieces?
from inside of me
i lean
fully prepared to come clean
brave enough
to face everything mean
empty enough
for none of it to be about me
wise enough
for all of it to be created by me
strong enough
to last beyond the past
lucky enough
to have everything i need to be happy.
another wet morning:: declaration
you declare this a welcome space
why is everyone here white?
holding their breath
waiting for the next rule to be broken.
isnt this a replication of another patriarchy.
why do folks in power play god?
i smell it.
raised and buried in a house of gods
i know diety
i will not fall again underfoot
though my color be blood beneath
my reparations are paid from the soul of my love of the world
and if i could bow lower
or pay for those lynched bodies a better way
i would not hesitate.
whether i am believable to you
i cannot weigh.
i have work to do.
inside out
i walk about
open and full of the despair
that weights the hearts of worlds.
we will do our best.
my promise
i will make sure of that
as far as i can reach.
i am not enough individually.
i am all there is together.another wet morning::
another wet morning:: 3/28
i think its today
gayatri
laying there
zoftic and loyal
for 25 years
i have caressed you first thing
sung you to the world of mine
for friends and brothers
to put guns down
and ill children maligned
to stop the trucks of rolling destruction
you have carried everything to the wind
the wind all along
who created everything
out of all of that.
how could i possibly understand.
another wet morning:: you are grace
thick well fed blood
from some ancient european lineage
your step belongs
even along
these foreign sidewalk ribbons
maybe you have been hungry
i see from behind your soft eyes
it is but a glance
perchance
you are here somewhere
on the planet.
i am already happy.
it is beautiful
to already love you
so easily.
another wet morning:: equinox manifesto /the world turning continued
let the clenched fist unwind
let the skin of your bones loosen
let the rivers of liquid life spin
let the great unloosening launch
let the heat of those stars burn off flecks of neglect
let yourself be welcomed by the sky
let yourself dip and dig down into the forever
the trees have been waiting to hold hands with you.
another wet morning:: equinox manifesto /the world turning 3/20/23
on hungry ghosts.
she staggers in
neutral
‘tore up’
as an expression of
scars burst forth
from the screams of the world.
“we are used to it”
spoken in plurals
as the only way to make sense;
from all the parts
ragged
raging
equinox exile-rant calling
bond here
in exile
by the pond
the river rushes beyond
past sign posts that cannot be trusted
hover here
stay low to the ground
trust is found
on the hands and knees
scarred from knowing the path to mecca.
another wet morning:: wisteria manifesto 3/18/23
flowers flowers everywhere
space affords me companionship
otherwise
who would find me interesting
stagnant impressions of life passed
drip onto each bud
the scent rises to re-member new life
another awakening.
this self-concerned anxious hunching
almost kills me each winter;
the light is low
the food is bad
the rush of cast meanderings feels pointless
files spew crushed facts
dusting giant windows
before bonsai peeking
to watch back ancient
that wisteria, beyond elegant.
i stop cold.
whoever had the thought of such.
it would have been me.
another wet morning 3/17/23
racing ahead
numbers count steps
digits make vibrations
swirling into vortices
time to space
now floating
now absorbing
now being.
another wet morning 3/16/23
waiting
the unreal eye zed
everything seems only real in the old way.
seeing is by touch
the codes saturate
nothing but the evaporated past.
you
drip down the window pain
longing for something real
is seeing touching?
another wet morning 3/13/23
under stand the bifurcation
that challenges a clear forward driving force
this is not living
this is speed.
can you feel how the speed of humanity has driven all else to the edges
hanging on to last remnants
of feeling
connected to soul.
trifurcation is the soul emerging
it is birthed from the cessation of speed
cessation senses into vibration,
then, breathes.
now pulsation
as space
from which the soul creates
this now.
another wet morning 3/12/23
see me on the other side of the glass
the one not invited
the one remembering scrapes on the playground
because girls cant run that fast
i skipped for you with grace
and even if its made up
the scrapes of play
stole my childhood
but never erase
the innocense
who loves every one
tender and soft bellied
laughing giddy peekaboo quince
who smile back
into next week
forever.
another wet morning 3/2/23
the releasing of you
into another mental tear
drops in my lap
i let go
of that longing that shuts down my tenderness
some meandering nerve that touches that daffoldil
yellow again
staining the lawn
over and over
no roundup please
anyway you could stop?
another wet morning 1/2/23
the window streaks tears that remain untapped
a daughter asks why there is so much sadness
the man with the broken chimney re-members a dead wife
whose scratched face is just another Friday night.
all men are cruel and innocent at the same time.
i recognize both faces in the mirror as mine.
these times lay the dense fog of denial at Gods feet.
we then walk away hoping ,
“it was all a mistake”.
“you were innocent”.
every ‘yes’ is good,
a rising up of power,
a woman untangling from the man of the hour.
this wet morning holds that tender heart
to begin weaving tendrils of peace as we start
to complete this promise interwoven
the we as intrabeing.
paris 11/1/21
do not long to be other than yourself
if the price weren’t love
would you stop looking back
over your shoulder
for the one who wants it all
the accolades
the ones missing missing missing
echoes of which
have been fought off
in order to breathe
just now
this breath
holding this pen
turning this shame
loosened by this resolve
to not hate what hangs from your shoe
as your sister dreams of Paris
and you stifle the resentment
that ruins the memory of long walks across that town
to accompany being
the loneliest married woman alive
1/2/22
What i know::
Your history matters. It is already valid.
Your narrative matters.
You use the words and concepts available to you that supported you survival.
Your education now needs to be about this, NOT the right answer!
WATCH THAT SHIT!
The disembodied authority IS BEING DISMANTLED.
Its uncomfortable, scary, BIG and necessary.
THE KING HAS NO CLOTHES.
NO MORE HIDING.
And it all has to go.
The EARTH IS messaging.
Walk the land.
Listen.
And listen inside.
If it is dark and sticky and scary and that is inside of you like anxiety or depression or negative competition or scarcity or fear of being punished..ALL OF THAT IS REAL. Dont invalidate your feelings, words or stories.
Move into the MYTH of you.
You are the hero/ine!
Say it again...I AM THE HERO/IINE.
what i know is...
if you dont have the authority in this 5 minute life, you will never live.
You will live someone else's mission.
You will live by someone else's words, wisdom and stature.
When i meet you, i will need to meet YOU alive.
then we will be able to co-exist until the end of time.
that i know.
You are who i love.
You are who i want to awaken and greet the world from your soft and tender belly.
You are the one who knows your Truth, each step, each surgery, each punishment, each silenced beckoning, each thread of power that is weaving your MATRIX of LIGHT.
Meet me here in this infinite moment.
Can you feel it reaching across time and space into the continuum of the Mystery.
Can you feel the vast expanse of everything unknown and how you know from your multi-dimensional SELF...
The One who has lived your life from your fragile and loving innocence?
The Pure Being who you were protecting all along?
And NOW, put it down.
We are grown.
It is 2022.
Let's meet.
of renewal::
with each new day
i will allow myself to be called
i will move through societal walls
of pathology that name
my vast capacity as pain
Dragon messengers from deep
outer realms awakening my sleep
here
in the moment
i rise to know
this path as holy
no one else's growth
this is me in my faith
a life that facilitates
my unique wildness
to dance into refinement
of shame into grace.
new year revelations.
Through the specters of death and dying, there is a provocative teaching about absence; my life plagued by the learned distance between the light and the shadow, my innocence and my courage, my Truth and my day-to-day.
Since the nye of 2000, i got... that it was up to me to create a better world. actually, that was my childhood mission as well.
its been a wonderful adventure, worthy of a driven Sagitarian longing for fire and inhabitance of the world.
Today, i feel my body beginning to keep up with my soul
my words catching up to my body.
My penchant for questioning the habitual verbiage of uttering into the okness of the crowd, has worn all words thin.
My spirit isnt nourished.
i appreciate the emaciated hollowness of copying the world just to belong.
it wont work.
it hasnt worked.
From the honor of perspective...
out of the 50 years of my employable life, i have only been able to tolerate working for someone else and their authority for 7 of those years. my spirit flipped out.
it makes sense.
my parents' authority was totally flawed and it was a great idea to inquire about how they had become so broken.
the original AUTHORITY.
who was that in your life?
then, follow that.
how is it now?
deep levels of curiosity and badassery have been my liberation.
How about yours?
my Spirit voice is just too loud when things are headed south.
For bunches of people, the SPIRIT'S VOICE is an indication of madness. that can be a real and dangerous thing in a family. in a culture. in a society.
That's real life research, proven over and over in regards to the effects of the military complex, the medical complex, the pharma complex.
Heavy Stuff.
and that's the shit that silences the screams of the innocents who DON'T want to plunder the EARTH.
LIKE PRECIOUS GRETTA T. J. BUTTERFLY HILL. BELL HOOKS. you know them. the big mouths. we call them other names and they may even resemble our mothers, sisters, daughters and lovers.
maybe life is a rant.
maybe the adventure is a real annoyance to most everyone.
it cant matter.
it just cant.
as the D. Lama and Thay invite, 'nobody is gonna just come along and fix shit'.
That's what i get about 2022.
When you learn to fly, it's rough.
The sense of liberation is to buckle up, connect and build a sense of reverence for the Earth's teachings.
March 2023 is gonna be a break, and we all are gonna get real skinny up in here with the cleaning up.
We're gonna learn tons more, so we can be strong in the Truth.
i am soooo grateful to my teachers, the fathers and sons who embrace my humor and tenderness, the women and daughters who join me in tears and badassery in the posse of life...where the Earth has provided the miracles of oceans full of whales, and jungles full of huge and gentle elephants and a PROMISE.
that is to keep going.
thank the sun.
bow to the moon and the Earth.
She will continue to provide the ground for each of your beautiful steps
in the dance of life.
Praise be.
May all beings be Peace.
Onward dear precious badasses.
1/2/22
Compassion::
Compassion has come to be vital sustenance in my life. Its opposite, perhaps being neglect, created a deep grove in my sense of nourishment from the very beginning.
Compassion was picking me up instead of letting me cry. Compassion was feeding me instead of letting my hunger grow. Compassion was reasoning with me instead of hitting me. Compassion was explaining the question rather than failing me or humiliating me in front of the class. Sometimes humiliation, punishment, hunger, depression, violence and failing was what happened.
My teacher said that he would never create a world without suffering.
He said that without the right hand we cant know left.
i wonder and wonder why this has to be so.
My teacher tells stories of deep deep suffering that he witnessed and endured. He has words for his suffering. He knows his suffering. He calls his suffering a friend. He suggests that we do the same so that we can move from suffering to understanding so that we can know compassion.
I pay attention. My life up until being deep in mothering had been full of survival, and escaping suffering, numbing suffering, disassociating from my suffering. i still do all of those things.
My teacher says that one should call things by their true name.
I name my suffering, and, now my suffering has allowed for there to be other in my realm.
Other, not as in 'othering', but that which is found within, underneath or around the suffering. This is 'understanding'.
I have come to understand more and more as I come to know my suffering.
My suffering and i are intimate. I try to attend to my suffering with attentiveness that i wish others could offer me.
Yes. That is a true longing. To be attended to. Without judgement. With compassion. Intimately. Like a good friend.
To mark that Path i write and write. My journal has a heartbeat. It breathes out and in. It sleeps. It awakens. it screams. It cries. It gets excited. It soothes.
My journal points to neglect as being a new good friend. One who was sleeping inside some of my disassociation.
I am here.
Dont forget.
That is compassion.