Strong and Awake

Must there always be a price to pay?

In a moment, beneath an unlit rainbow dome, a single kiss unravels me.
I am point blank, blinking, at such full blown perplexity.

I gazed a the turning sky, falling into night.
We drove on and on, while I wished to stop and slow down.

It is strange how a freeze frame of time can morph into a monumental marveling metaphor for all of existence,
Then we step back and uncover the bleak, only scraping of the surface sort of encapsuled feeling.

The course of my veins flow with reminders of how a river's droplets dribble downwards and outwards.
I feel like a wishing well.
Each ache pours out with possibility.
Potentialities that wish to greet the surge of day.

There's resonance in that sensation.
There was so much turbulation.

And as I have sat in idle, I jump out of my seat seeking.
It's some strange need for intrigue.
And then I have it, the intruge,
And then it becomes an anomoly.
Constantly.
There are rows and rows of anomolies building up around me.
So then I hum,
A low... earth shaking sort of hum,
And I feel the ground below me break into a hundred pieces,
And at that same moment,
We return to a place of stillness.

It is a stillness I have yearned for since the days of childhood woes.
A place beyond the doldrums that face me til time old.

I know it,
Each time the earth quakes I return,
And I remember.

Stillness.

It is always what we return to.

It is what the ebb and flow persists at.

Stillness.

And so the river runs me.
And so I am ran for.
Ran towards.
On wards.
With so many words,
They can trickle out in these moments of marvel.

I am marvelled by earth's abiding mercy..
Each cloud takes me into that wave.
Each ray of sunlight beguiles me to pray.

And steadily I surrender.

Sunwept, and I render myself...

Strong and awake.

Wild Woman

Earth maiden, sing me to the sweet slumbers of your translucent lullabies. Dance me to sleep upon fairy wings. I release myself upon the fortress of your graceful protection.

My bright and yellow star, you lead me past an illusion of this vessel and illuminate all this dismal confusion.

Carpenter of my heart, chisel away an opening that was sealed closed for fears of pains and sorrows. Bring balance to the earth and sky of my blooming body. Blood of balance.... breath of life.

_______________________________

There you are.....

Wild woman. Wild mother.

Wild nature of a soul wishing to be freed.

I found her in the forest.

I found the nurturing nourishment I have needed in the lush green leaves that lift the lungs and soothe the spirit.

Amulets and talismans, are no longer needed in the mountain.

The dirt is my amulet,

My talisman-- the moon.

But alas, back to the fables of a city.

Paved roads, concrete jungle....

City stories of caged companionships.

Carefully confused by domestic disturbances.

I play along....

I await my days till I go home to the mother.

Back to the forest of my inner growth.

Back to the mountain that secures my soul.

My soul that is truly, always free.....

We are free....

....free to fly.

I am listening.

Mother Earth. You protect me. Mother Sky. You awaken me.

I am thankful, I am alive.

Eye of the Explosion

A torpedo of thoughts caught me by surprise.
There was no way to fight it.
I was sucked in and had no way to release.

What a strange and torturous occurance.
Feeling helpless and consumed by some internal fire.

Scrambled weggs for an evening wordathon.

Who will harmonize with my lonely voice? Spliced up and spiced up with the hopeful possibility that perhaps we are all intertwined beneath our bones and beyond our veins like wavelengths that twist and turn and churn into cobwebs of energetic synergy. Yes. I hope we are all connected.

I feel the breath of a phantom lover upon my neck each night before I go to bed. Is he or she a ghost? Why do I associate this breath with love? Could it possibly be the air of my ancestors breathing upon me and urging me to stay alive and vibrant because my work here is not done? Or could it be the breath of lonely spirits who just want to snuggle, knowing that I offer my arms with warmth and gentle kindness? Or is it the steady grace of the divinity that permeates within and without this world? Breathing life and sustaining life as the sun sustains our growing land while icicles melt and drift into the sand? Yes. Life is surely sustained. So whatever that breath upon me may be, I invite it because it sustains me. And while murky motions of light mimic the movement of melodies that steadily sedate the otherwise sorrowful sadness that occasionally roams freely within my mind, I invite you in, oh breath, upon me. I welcome you to steady me. I allow you to drift me into a stream that indefinitely anchors my life towards sights and sounds of love.

Where did you go? Will you ever come back?
What is the reason for this lonesome day gone black?
Now what shall I do?
Who will I tell my secrets to?
Who shall I kiss goodnight?
Who will hold me when I wake up cold and filled with fright?
Who shall I whisper fairytales to while walking hand in hand beneath a bridge below the sea?
Do you hear me?
Have you faded, perhaps?
Have you become one with the air?
Are you the looming breeze that drifts coaxingly upon a maiden's hair?
Are you the one who breathes upon my neck as I fall to sleep?
Or perhaps you caress the tips of my fingers as I tap each key soft and rhythmically?
Maybe you have been strung and now are the strings that I pluck.
Or, with some luck, perhaps you are the water I sip.
I press you to my lips and I swirl you into my mouth.
You tickle my tongue and you give me my strength.
You soothe my palette.
You blend my colors.
You may have left.
But you are not gone.

I am indulging in my infinite insignificance.
My idle arms are free.
I am tickled by the merry wisps of momentary gratification.
But I am consumed with an engulfing bottomless pit of gratitude.
I am enriched endlessly, unceasingly, and earnestly.

Once I was a kitty.
Now I've turned into toothpaste.
Ex-purr mint.
I am experimenting.
I had opportunities, but they turned.
They became awkward attempts to tune in.
Now I am strangely turning.
I am becoming a strong wind.
I am experimenting.
So catch me.
Go ahead and try.
I might just let you hold me.
But not for very long,
Because soon enough, I will and must be gone.
It's like a flash flood of a song.
A song that fills up your lungs with stretched out longing notes.
That's then streamed up and out-- live.
So you must dive and exhale.
Let that flood turn to air.
Vaporize my words.
Hear me.
I am alive.
Never dead.
Just meandering in melodious movements from the tip tops of the trees.
I gotta release and be freed with ease.

The clouds created makeshift eyelids upon the sun.
So before he was even ready to be done with the day,
They, the clouds, with their makeshift eyelids, forced the sun to say goodnight.
And that was when the tears came.
Drip by drip.
The water fell.
The sun was not ready to sleep.
The sun still had energy to play.
But the clouds were eager to welcome the night.
And forced the sun to say goodnight.
That was when the tears came.
Drip by drip.
The sun tried to fight the clouds.
The sun wanted to stay.
The sun wanted to play.
So that was when the lightening came.
Burst of light shone forth from the clouds,
Echoing the sun's efforts to show that he still had energy.
He was still there.
He had not left and did not disappear.
But the clouds disagreed and shut him out.
And that was when the tears came.
Drip by drip.
A sad sun.
He poured his wishes upon us.
Reminding us that he still had energy to play.

You consume them with malnutrition to preserve your feasting ploys for destruction.
Tell me, where do you think you're going?
You force them to take daily dosages of premature manipulations fathered from your treacherous tubes of liquidation.
Your joys and toys are their struggles.
You laugh and giggle while they weep for their unfed babies.
These are babies who have no name or face to you.
You suffocate the innocent with your avarice.
Have you no soul?
Have you no empathy?
Have you no sense of shame?
No.
It is all a mere game to you.
You must keep your scoreboard high to preserve your rank and name.
It is a disgrace that you turn and say it is them of whom I ought to blame.
They are ignorant?
They are barbarians?
You have imprisoned them in such shallow caves.
Your corruption breeds horror,
So wake up citizens, it's time to be brave.

Where to go?

My mind is ever molding and growing.
Building and exploding.
There are probabilities that are being tested and taken advantage of.

Over the past four years I have tested my senses and the nature of comfort for my own self exploration and understanding.

I have felt quite comfortable in the arms of different lovers and quite uncomfortable in unusual locations I, oddly enough, had forced upon myself.

Though, at the root, there is always just me, existing, be it good or bad or neutral.

The strangest experience is that of recent.

This has been the most compelling year I have ever experienced in all my life-- thus far.

(Side note: Sitara, my feline friend, is currently rubbing herself all over me. It is both absurdly annoying and adorable. I often want to be left alone to collect myself, but nooooo.... she wants to be rubbed.)

I had created an aspect of myself that had life and possibility, but it had died out of unfortunate timing, to hopefully, one day be born again when the stars finally align. What else has happened this year? I had loved two men with a little more than too much of my soul though received nothing of similar worth in return. I feel I am most often playing in a child's play pen, though quite unsatisfied by the mundane foolishness of it all.

We are all very foolish.

It is as though we mesmerize ourselves by the smallest particle of desire and lure, to be hauled into unintended stories, which, at the end of the book are merely laughable and not worth any valor, or, quite possibly, stories that end with unearthed gusto of lives that may have been remarkable, but were cut short out of a failure to have chosen the road less traveled.

I am trying to understand my road. I have currently walked my way into a fork. Only, this fork weaves and curves and deforms at will under unsuspecting circumstances. It seems that the more I walk, the more forks I find. I have a collection of forks, all different sizes, shapes, colors, and materials. So it seems to me that it is not necessarily that I have some given singular path that I must chose now before the bridge collapses, but that I, and everyone, must mold a path to our making that best suits our abilities and in turn, fulfills some internal purpose that feels like it is on fire, but has yet to have a name.

I can feel my purpose. I can sense it.... but no, I cannot name it or show it. Not right now. Perhaps more obscure lessons must be learned.

Until then, I collect myself. Collect my forks, and examine them. Maybe I will make sense of them, and then hit the road to find more forks.