‘pina’

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/

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.