Coffee, Tarot, Highways, Mom’s House


Am I dizzy from too many orgasms?

Is my brain getting enough oxygen?

I tried to channel the previous walk that was pleasant and the one before that which was most pleasant. But this was not possible.The craftswoman outside did not catch the love I was giving her. I could not look up after that without fear of being catcalled or ridiculed. I entered the cafe, where I was greeted with pungent pregnant silence and the red-haired barista who composed the first memory. My thought then, “I want to fuck him”. Was it wrong to want everybody to smile at me when I walked in? I tried to see him out of the fantastic goggles that were on before, alas I could not. I was jumpy and aching and insecure, but I made it out with coffees and a cookie.


We ate breakfast and drank the coffee while we spent some time in post-sex, cuddle land. I read his tarot because of the custom blend of incense designed for readings and I forgot to shape the incense into a cone. His reading felt haphazard. I didn’t feel like I touched him deeply. Fold up, try to start again.


So I considered death and what it means to consciousness to die as a body. Is there an awareness around decay?

Mom’s House

She had food, and space. But I am a desert now, and too much space can be filled with too much emptiness.


2:46 A.M. Words that Became Because I Was Un-becoming

To keep on going, I must write on the page.

I’ve abused my communication guideline and

for this I must pay. So, I suffer inside and it feels so

intense that the only release is on the page-

as I bleed words into the virtualsphere. Where they

go, I cannot know, I can only hope i am not a fool in the end.

What it is like to be an artist is to feel like a balloon inside, so

pregnant and full, is always on alert and prepared to go into labor

at any moment.

What it is like to be crying for salvation is a child

trying to crawl back into the mother’s womb instead

of feel the life stripped away before our very existences.

What it is like to be a woman is the constant urge to create.


Outside on a Tuesday

Reflecting back on you,

and the various times ‘you’ came with ‘me’

and we would create whatever it

is, but

we would create it together, and

the nighttime stars lay claim to

layers upon layers

of truth in decay and

truth in creation and

the truth of harmony.

But before we go too far,

I wanted to take the time to

write to you, to let you see

something, to come on a journey with me.

i’ve seen me in the limitations of

seeing me in you.

Only when I don’t see me am I free to see you,

and even in this regard, one could argue,

that anything I can see in you is part of me.

I’ve seen myself in you, various bubbles of

past and future, floating above and beyond

or behind as memory.

You show me parts of us I have not touched,

but I am a sponge, fertile to your need.

You see me as much as I see you,

how high can we go?

How low can we go?

I feel the urge to tell you, that what you plant inside of me grows,

for I am an Earth mother,

So do not hate yourself,

because I do not want to see hate.

Women, we are receptive, by small or by large,

we need love to give love, to give large

as waterfalls on water; to give love as

geysers in the rock, to give love to anything

or any one thing.

To give love to what we would like to nurture,

attention and affection stimulates growth.

Our power lies in our power.

Reflecting back on you,

how can you be sure you exist?

Are we mirrors?

Do I know me from knowing you?

Can I only know me from knowing myself?

But I must be me before meeting myself,

so is that not inconsistent?

Just give me one thing that I can hold on to,

she asked.

Unconditional love, if you learn it within, so you will it without.

As within, so without.

Show me love and I’ll show you love, or Life.


Spaces Between

It feels empty afterwards,

like waiting for another,

hoping they catch the extra effort,

your desire to be seen

by them

and only them.

Your desire to be seen

grows when they do not look,

and this is the crux of the madness.

Can we talk about this emptiness inside?



Gumdrop eyes,

or distant memories,

call into now, the familiar feeling

I seek.

You were there, hallways in Time,

addressing me, seeking me,

wanting to know.

You are special this way,

seeking to know,

knowing there is something to know,

stick with me,

I will show you where to be.

  • We are shining jewels,

    on the spherical net.

    Catching light and reflecting

    bits of a brilliant source.

    I call you here,

    with my glistening throne,

    the seat of my power,

    to most, the Unknown.

  • I call to my elders,

    and those I cannot see,

    only feel.

    Like a mirror across from a mirror,

    reflecting you,

    reflecting me

    reflecting you,

    and so on to


    Meet me here,

    to make love

    and magic.

    To look beyond the veil,

    one step forward,

    no steps back.


    To Anne, and Robin, and Meditation

    Anne, you had me at abyss,
    of which he dove into,
    their love affair lasted 63 years.
    She flirted with him long ago,
    sucking at indecision
    and timidity,
    her devouring femininity,
    so attractive in the way
    she whispered,
    “come with me.”

    If you close your eyes and listen close,
    there is a sound.
    Beyond the sound,
    there is a nothingness.
    Beyond their eyes and words,
    A void of emptiness,
    of which our lives orbit around,
    elongated, stretched, circular,
    we must surrender or
    get swallowed.

    Brothers and sisters,
    there is so much noise, but it’s
    not all encroaching.
    Listen to me, please hear my voice,
    because we comprise the symphony.
    I beg you, embrace the stillness,
    the chaos, the unknown. Become
    friends with it, become friends with the
    sirens and the voices and the
    deeply entrenched pattern of danger, violence.
    It can be dark, but we are here for you.
    I am here for you.

    Close your eyes.
    Count 10 deep breaths.
    Feel the subtle energy of your body,
    rise and fall with the inhale.
    When your mind wanders,
    practice bringing it back,
    to the moment, to your body.
    Find your sadness.
    Feel it come up within you.
    Maybe you visualize it.
    Maybe you feel it lodged in your heart,
    or your throat,
    or your hips.
    Feel it. Do not go on until you do.
    Relax into it, with your breath,
    with your intention,
    with every ounce of purpose
    you can muster.
    If you’re really sad, imagine
    doing this to another, to
    someone you wish you had the energy to love,
    imaginary or not.
    If you’re still too sad,
    maybe smoke a joint before you try.
    See the sadness, really feel it,
    notice how your body feels on sadness.
    Notice where it hurts.
    Cry if you need to.
    Spit if you need to.
    Ask yourself,
    Is this experience random?
    Did someone outside of me force me to have this experience?
    Is this a learned response that I developed a long time ago?
    Feel the wisdom of the last question.
    Realize you can see it differently.
    Realize it comes from within you.
    Realize by feeling it differently now, changing the quality of this
    moment, you can practice daily, in your life, to bring
    a different reaction, to pave a new path,
    to embracing the void with courage
    and joy.
    Really feel it in your body,
    to let go of grief.
    Feel it. Do not go on until you do.
    Enjoy the letting go.
    It is said that only an empty vessel can be filled.
    Empty yourself to start over.
    Start over.
    Keep starting over.
    Hold it in your heart center, this joy,
    this wish that we will all walk each other
    You are not alone.
    You are never alone.
    We are orbiting.
    Bow to yourself.
    When you’re ready, you can open your eyes.


    Where there is Sometimes Space to Contemplate beyond Suffering

    We will question the reality of

    my laundry

    melting into the bathroom tile

    and the rock collage

    on walks from home

    /an IMAX feature of perception.


    This is new access

    to the matrices of time

    where there is space to

    consider atoms

    are everything and falling

    apart and re-assembling

    is merely truth.


    What does it look like right now?

    What will it look like tomorrow?

    Could you fathom your body

    made up of the fabric of space?


    Creativity Like a Virus

    There is pre-birth tickling the edges,

    like an infection that needs to spread,

    through the translator which

    appears like an almost-ready portal

    to the next dimension.


    I’ll teach you this: When something is bothering you, find the area and practice releasing the strained muscles, the furrowed eyebrows. Practice giving it your attention.

                  Attention if you feel that love is too subjective.


    Where are you in space?