What is important? You say that coming to Now, being seated in your soul, to appreciating air and food, birdsong and love is a valid source of strength~ And we must practice, but you say I cannot be trusted to decide my own medication? There are laws put into place for our safety, of course~ don’t over do it, but each of us is different. The law enforcement standards are the modern commandments, set into motion from a burning bush and the overzealous. Patriarchy teaches how fluidity is chaos, and should be prevented. Now the Earth cries MOVE! as her dancefloor spins like the surface of a moving top. Breaking down, building back up, it’s the only game in town.
It’s really just got to be okay the way it is:
hair that falls at an angle,
or legs that spread wide,
handfuls of flesh
that have no shame built in.
In a world where nobody accepts one another,
we cannot accept ourselves.
One day, this will not be,
except in the has been,
and it will be beautiful,
like fine wine cinema.
How do you start a fire, start a fire, Little Boy asked.
It starts with some tension, resistance and motion, friction in our hands, Big Man answered,
It starts with an ember, an ember, a smoldering of light.
A smoking delight
and we make it through the company of lovestrangerlove,
through the kindredship of similar desire,
so we toss and we toil and we share the sacred sweat,
until the most miraculous thing comes!
A spark of energy from out the void,
a tiny fire,
emitting the most curious combustion!
Heat, heat, drawn to the fire like a moth to the flame~
Creation! Purification! Desire!
Spidery-something woven with our sweat and unification,
so much not out of nothing,
but our creation.
Tension in the space between a gaze of lovers~
And then we take turns blowing wishes into the ember,
and gather dry Earth to serve as sacrifice,
and then we dance like semen circle ’round an ovum.
How do you light a fire, the initiate asked the wise old man.
You start by generating heat, or electricity,
with only the energy at your disposal, the beats of your heart
and the spaces between,
a push/pull binary rhythm ticking with the compass hand directed to Soul.
Then you go out and you show others the Soul.
Then she lifted the lip on the veil of the tent,
and under the energy of a half-lit moon she whispered to her sisters,
“How can we light a fire?”
And we work at making conscious all the phases of the moon,
the new with her motivation
the birth quarter with her action,
the full with her fertility,
the death quarter with her wise council.
And we be radical with our sexiness~
learning how to tough love and love
on scale with harmonic rhythm,
and we take it to the streets,
and for the select within the sheets,
and for the few, for those who burn the brightest,
we have a special room, locked deep within,
so deep you become an innerstellar explorer,
so deep you have your license in the Astral realm,
to places that defy the spacial bias of nearfar.
And slowly but mightily, we bring gifts from there,
ones that harmonize with the Earth,
ones that have evolution written in DNA,
made of fire,
once we know it,
we begin to court it,
we toss everything into it, to see what is left,
to see what is stronger than fire,
to see what endures beyond flames~
-Unconscious intoxicated woman
Come here little boy,
blind, scared little boy,
take that dare little boy.
You want to see how mama works?
You want to explore the inside of the Earth?
You watch, spill your seed, while mature men fill my need.
Because this is not something you can take for yourself,
this is something I give to you,
when you are ready,
when I deem you worthy of initiation to your soul.
Right now, you are a void, a black hole.
Muscle memory and vision, animal nature,
is all you know,
for you have never planted a seed in fertile soil.
You are a headless horseman of the Apocalypse.
Do you know you are actively engaging in your spiritual death,
by getting off with a slap on the wrist,
denying your participation beyond intoxication?
We collectively see the need to send you down the fast lane into hell.
But, this is congratulations.
This is your introduction to the soul.
For you have lived in a formless realm for a while,
and now this is your story.
It’s okay, little boy,
love is there for you, little boy.
Love is here for you little boy, in the form of salvation.
I have stood where you are in the palace of the Gods~
before myself weeping,
detoxifying from a life of privilege~
sweating beads of deceit out of my pours,
It hurts when hormones flood your body, do you remember?
I’m sure you know,
so full of testosterone, swimming in the Feminine water of locks
with only one key, no knowledge of where it goes.
Just a turbo-charged desperation,
an inheritance of repressed sexuality.
This is our child.
This boy is us.
This is the cry of a society that has the depth of an oil spill in contrast to the deep ocean trenches.
We are moving beyond this,
and the backlash can attest.
It is time for mamas to reclaim the nest,
and nurture the way we know how,
an introduction to the soul,
disciplining our children,
showing them how to know,
evolving beyond the bird brain rationale of comparison and shame.
It is born on a mantle of rainbows,
which is comprised of piercing cries from the underworld.
Let us hear you cry, little boy. Beg for mercy from the Goddess that she
show you how to become civilized.
Beg for punishment.
Show us you know you don’t know.
Let us kick you out of the nest.
Because we are you.
You are us.
~*we are interconnected, a tree needs its roots needs its branches needs its trunk needs its sun needs its insects needs its water needs its fruits needs its seeds needs its roots needs its branches needs its trunk needs its sun needs its insects needs its water needs its fruits needs its seeds*~
This issue goes deep, deeper than underage drinking, deeper than privilege and race, deeper than conspiracy, and government. This is connection, and we are reflecting each other every day more and more in the fact that we deliver punishment where we see fit, and bestow grace on those who do good. Our moral compass does not belong in the hands of God or the church. We cannot afford to outsource our voices to those in dark rooms making decisions for us. The children are our children, the mothers are our mothers, the fathers our fathers. It is our responsibility as a collective to stand up and demand justice. He needs a punishment. But ultimately, he needs to truly understand why he’s being punished. He doesn’t see that it’s a big deal. Are we fishes swimming in the water of rape culture? This concept is new to me. Yes, I’ve lived under a rock for some time. I’ve taken for granted how safe I can feel, which is very safe, most of the time, despite the fact that I have run for my life from men who were chasing me and following me and tracking me down. I knew the power of sexuality early on. For me, it has been crucial to reclaim my sexuality in order to combat these forces. To face my demons instead of ignoring them. To kill where death is necessary. If he can be rehabilitated in the ways of understanding that we collectively decide would be beneficial, if he can muster a true, sincere apology and dedicate his life to a greater awareness, we have done our jobs as responsible citizens of humanity. We cannot defend this behavior, despite the legal system and their words. We are beyond words. We need justice. And we need a way to create justice~ or we are not worth our inheritance of life, for every individual member and as a whole.
We need to teach our boys how to treat women.
But more importantly, we need to teach our girls how to treat themselves, because this teaches boys how to treat girls.
There is no working system of empowerment for young girls, but there needs to be, passed down from empowered woman to empowered woman.
Repressed sexuality comes out under the influence, and violence is an obvious expression of this.
Men look to women to find a connection.
Women are the embodiment of spirituality. With the polarity inherent inside of our bodies, we come with a built in moral compass and psychological awareness that is not inherent in the bodies of men. Men require direction. Their only connection to the Goddess, or their soul, is through nature, or through women. Women are inherently connected, as they embody the Goddess. This is a woman’s worth. This is the spirituality of womanhood, gaining an awareness of embodying the Goddess. And this is what girls need to know in order to gain that awareness, and the knowledge that comes with it.
And only then, when our empowered girls take back the reins, will the boys know their true place at the foot of the Goddess…waiting to be formed in the universal key that can unlock any door. Not before. Not after.
image originally found on goddessofsacredsex.com
This is the mecca of the divine,
I bow in your direction, oh
wise, holy, sexy Goddess.
You are not in the North or the South or the East or the West,
but you are inside of me,
I find you by touching my pussy.
The way I see the world is better than yours,
fist pump, she said, flashy smile~
to spend our days finding the
best, most appropriate ways of
saying things, to shoot an arrow
out of the moment into the moment,
at the heart of a reader,
is an art and something only the
obsessed can start.
I will sleep on the streets,
as long as I have a pencil and sheets~
the ability to see~
what is in front of me.
My duty is as a reporter,
and a scientist.
My experiment is my life,
and the relevant story,
hot off the press,
is what is happening.
I will say it better than you,
for my craft is my perspective,
and this is my rap of hubris.
I’m gonna do this.
I am a sick girl,
compared to the relative few,
born an American Jew,
unfettered, so I thought
about my lack of roots.
Go to school,
was never gonna work for me,
seeing and writing, learning
it’s important what you believe.
Living on the sum total,
seeing all possibilities,
down below, wanting
a bit of this, a bit of that.
Be strong and know that
you have your own belief.
Everyone else can suck it.
Guided by a blind ambition,
I go down this road
that I’ve always been down.
Nobody waiting for me,
nothing to answer to
Here, the flowers smell sweeter,
and the air a little more crisp,
the road is a friend of mine.
Strangers are family,
who promise to lend a smile.
hard to care when it is just me.
Hard to push yourself,
when you are the only one to answer to.
Dreams of big houses,
and baby names~
It is not unfamiliar to women
to put everybody before themselves.
For me, everybody is illusory.
I say, they are me and I do this for us.
But then why are there fences
and just so much excess?
I want to be held accountable.
Am I soaking in the suburbs?
The Joneses moved out, a long time ago,
it is just our dreams and sacrifices,
our friends and the strangers,
which we compare ourselves to.
I am without water,
in the middle of the desert,
in the middle of strollers,
families and school districts,
writing a book about the Mistress.
This young man, he told me,
you’re worth more than your pussy.
He’s right, but yet, he does not see,
that a woman’s worth is hard to find,
that she’s raised as “less than”,
that everything she does is considered
value-less because it’s unseen.
Only devoid of her love is he aware
of the gifts she shares.
In those moments of gratitude,
she is known.
I will try,
I will try.
I’ll be complacent in
the smiles of the passersby,
and the flower petals falling
on the pavement,
evidence of a life
that gets lived~
grill nights and board games,
long sunset walks,
the American dream.
It’s just me that I have,
all of the time.
Sometimes I wonder,
what have I gotten myself into?
Where am I going?
This quiet, settled town is not the place for me,
soul wild and just beginning to flower,
craving to be free and full of desire.
Empathetic human beings,
we are so much more sensitive than we care to admit.
What kind of inspiration bath do you want to have?
They say look at your seven closest friends
to find out who you are,
could we not say the same of our surroundings?
Nature. Noise. Nurture.
I am amidst stillness,
this is my shot.
Time to go inside and find
She is dying to be seen,
scorched earth and heavy lids.
She is the first rainfall, dripping on the
cracked lips of a stranded crew.
Open to Her,
let her quench your thirst.
Show her your hidden parts,
to be nourished,
in the purifying fire of
She is here.
Do you see her?
Do you see her?
She holds out her hand,
palm up to receive,
reborn with your love,
in each immortal moment,
the phoenix rising from her ashes,
knowing no truth but
the here and now.
She will show you Heaven,
if you can meet amongst
Sitting on a chair,
reading in a store,
floating on the air,
waiting to embrace
the possibility of
Our heroes always have a love story.