In A Dream

In a dream last night,

words fell from the sky out of raindrops and snowflakes,

falling as deep black ink out of the atmosphere,

into words splash! on a page.

It had one rhyming stanza,

and another not.

Like all true poetry,

it feels like light wind

on your hair

and goosebumps.

The words fell like pure experience

birthed into being, but

eternal like birth

and rebirth.

The words fell in the dream,

and I could not capture them.

For I am a

clumsy poet.

For wind to exist in a form

requires a particularly skilled

poet to get out of the way.

I will have to try again, but not today.

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Sunrise

Woke up from a nightmare~

lovers combat obstacles to be with each other,

tattooed names on their chests.

They were hot.

I woke up, alone again, reading articles like, “Remember That You Are Enough”.

My ferry man along for the ride,

my desperation and longing feeding unreconciled daydreams~

here I am, still, on the same roads, in the same town.

Is my lover on the bus, face pressed against the pane,

watching me basking in the glow of a sunrise?

Is my lover another sacrifice away, seeing me out of the periphery,

walking with a big backpack towards freedom?

Will my lover arrive here, where dense barricades of memories and anchors

compose my aura?

Surrounded by my personal comforts, the reminders of the road more travelled?

And it doesn’t matter,

as the sunrise rises and the clouds look just so.

The light appearing beyond the mountain range…

It will all be okay.

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Getting Through Shift

I must remind myself that nothing is certain,

and potential is a living thing.

I must think of lists of good things in my life

and wander through the bad with a

cloak of gratitude.

This is not some new age babble,

for me,

it is the momentum between footsteps.

Trust is older than the faint lines around my

mouth, and too much sitting.

Trust is this poetry that nobody ever sees.

Trust is letting go of should and going after can.

Will I look back fondly at these years?

Or hang my head at waste,

my mind fixes itself to a haunted future.

Who will I be?

And the trick is that all I have is this moment to decide.

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When I’m Sensitive/ I’ll use contractions in my poems if I want to, Professor.

I can feel the heavy belly of over-eating,

and the light from the screen is troublesome.

So is the repetitive sound, hooking its anchors into me one jingle at a time,

rewarding my center ’til I’m numb,

the great escape of the mind.

Even she does not want to be earth-bound, why?

Immortality versus reproduction.

Since when has nature been denied?

When I’m sensitive, I feel the chill of the air on my

skin and shiver.

When I’m sensitive, my guts relax and I can let go.

My clothes feel tight, unless they slide.

When I’m sensitive, I crawl back into the womb, white

noise and heartbeats are my lullaby.

When I’m sensitive, I want to be naked

in the rain under the stars,

or,

in a cave at nighttime, hands and feet plunged

into the dirt, and when I’m sensitive, I teach

you how to be around me.

When we get good, you know when exactly to kiss me,

and to watch me peripherally.

And I can learn to listen to the Goddess surround me:

Trust,

let go,

don’t listen to the mind,

she left town long ago.

Plunge your hands in the dirt,

dip your feet into the snow.

Only then will you see,

exactly where you need to go.

It is is not a there or here,

this or that equation.

It’s a little bit of this and a little bit of that.

And then we stand tall, like rooted trees in the earth,

reaching toward the starry dynamo in the machinery of night.

Ground the mind to the earth.

 

When I’m sensitive, the mantle the world has placed around my shoulders

is lapis lazuli.

It is a great blessing, to be sensitive.

 

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Stability Amidst Chaos

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.

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Today

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.

 

 

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woman on fire

THis might be the Only good Thing i Have ever written

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~

 

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sacred power menstruation

“Show men how to respect women, not how to drink less.”

-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,

competition

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,

like pain.

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,

loving them,

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

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XXX

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.

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