Empty Me and Fill Me Up
Empty me, that I may become new and full again.
Release me from the past tenses that turned in their names...
the dulled
the jaded
the faded
Empty the doubted in myself,
the dimmed my light in yield to others' comfort.
Empty me...
And fill me.
Fill me up with the light of destiny's most brilliant outcome that I may shine, yet cast no shadows.
Empty me.
Cast off the shadows of judgement and jealousy.
I'm no better than her with my handmade dream catcher.
She's no greater than me in her imported leather pumps and underwire.
We are all relative.
Fill me with compassion and empathy and kindness that I may share in these with openness, unattached.
Empty me.
Melt away the confusion.
Let the why's roll away - why do we cast pain and suffering and hardship upon one another? Why do we honor valuables higher than values?Why don't we share? Empty me of such selfish ways.
And Fill me.
With Grace, the essence that reaches past illusions of separateness and shines Truth on all subjects.
Subjects in the school of Life here on planet Earth in
The Human Conundrum 101.
Empty me of the idea of mistakes.
Drain away the regret and sorrow of should-haves and what-ifs and why didn't I speak up for myself?.
Fill me with the reverence of voice.
Voice that empowers freedom.
Voice that imparts Divine Majesty and dissolves worn out pretenses.
Empty me.
Out with all the thoughts that never served, their thoughts , the thought-I-heards, the this isn't what I envisioned.
Empty out fear and it's tendencies, the fight and the flight and the running away from Love.
Fill me with that which I Am.
Pure.
Pristine.
Peaceful.
Fill me confident in my choices, comfortable with me.
Naked if I so choose.
Me.
Free.
Empty me.
Clear out the walls of my former self until I'm polished shining on all sides.
Until I'm reflective like the bowl of a moon.
Clean.
Clear.
A vessel for the Light to come in from every angle, from every Angel.
With full-force power wash, empty me and fill me up at the same time,
Let me feel the cleansing rain in all corners and corridors.
May Love's True Reign reside therein and Rule.
Release me from the past tenses that turned in their names...
the dulled
the jaded
the faded
Empty the doubted in myself,
the dimmed my light in yield to others' comfort.
Empty me...
And fill me.
Fill me up with the light of destiny's most brilliant outcome that I may shine, yet cast no shadows.
Empty me.
Cast off the shadows of judgement and jealousy.
I'm no better than her with my handmade dream catcher.
She's no greater than me in her imported leather pumps and underwire.
We are all relative.
Fill me with compassion and empathy and kindness that I may share in these with openness, unattached.
Empty me.
Melt away the confusion.
Let the why's roll away - why do we cast pain and suffering and hardship upon one another? Why do we honor valuables higher than values?Why don't we share? Empty me of such selfish ways.
And Fill me.
With Grace, the essence that reaches past illusions of separateness and shines Truth on all subjects.
Subjects in the school of Life here on planet Earth in
The Human Conundrum 101.
Empty me of the idea of mistakes.
Drain away the regret and sorrow of should-haves and what-ifs and why didn't I speak up for myself?.
Fill me with the reverence of voice.
Voice that empowers freedom.
Voice that imparts Divine Majesty and dissolves worn out pretenses.
Empty me.
Out with all the thoughts that never served, their thoughts , the thought-I-heards, the this isn't what I envisioned.
Empty out fear and it's tendencies, the fight and the flight and the running away from Love.
Fill me with that which I Am.
Pure.
Pristine.
Peaceful.
Fill me confident in my choices, comfortable with me.
Naked if I so choose.
Me.
Free.
Empty me.
Clear out the walls of my former self until I'm polished shining on all sides.
Until I'm reflective like the bowl of a moon.
Clean.
Clear.
A vessel for the Light to come in from every angle, from every Angel.
With full-force power wash, empty me and fill me up at the same time,
Let me feel the cleansing rain in all corners and corridors.
May Love's True Reign reside therein and Rule.
To Hangers Or Not To Hangers
So the question is- do I need more hangers or less clothes? I know there are much bigger questions out there but I'm living in the first world here so it's all too easy for me to ignore the fact that there's countless hungry children on Earth who wish with what's left of their wishing might that they could be at that restaurant when the lady sends back her prime rib because it's overdone and that they could receive such a discarded bounty that abounds the numerous dumpsters each night. I mean, there's parched mouths by the troves in Africa who'd give anything to have their issue of the day be whether to get more hangers or have a few less shirts in the closet...
But why should I give thought to them? My water is not privatized, I just turn on the tap toward the H or the C and viola!- like magic I have the flowing essence of life at my fingertips. Besides, I'm too busy thinking about if I'm going to get another string of lights for my porch today when I go to get the hangers than to consider that the money I'll pay for my light emitting diodes could serve people in need in other places in the world who don't have a porch. Or outdoor furniture. Or a welcome mat...
And there's no room in my mind to think about how many folks don't have shoes that fit their feet or shoes at all because I'm too occupied with the question of if I'm also going to get a shoe rack for my new porch because, like Barbie, I like to have several pair to choose from and they're encroaching on my welcome mat. And I hope there's one on sale, it's so justifying buying something that's cheap for cheap even though it was made in China where the workers were paid so very little, compared even to the sale price. But I shan't think of the young overworked Chinese people who assembled my shoe rack, because I can't see them, so do they even exist?
And what a healthy distraction it is to go on the computer and look at my online shopping wish list and pretend like as long as I get my double-walled borosilicate glass travel tea mug for less than it was a few days ago that all is right in the world. 'Tis the season for consuming, after all.
And I probably won't have time to stop and think about what I could do to help children stay warm this winter because I'm very focused on organizing my thinner long sleeves adjacent to my thicker jackets, for which I do not have enough hangers...
...I wonder how late the new department store is open this evening, but no mind for if they offer profit-sharing with their employees or not...
But why should I give thought to them? My water is not privatized, I just turn on the tap toward the H or the C and viola!- like magic I have the flowing essence of life at my fingertips. Besides, I'm too busy thinking about if I'm going to get another string of lights for my porch today when I go to get the hangers than to consider that the money I'll pay for my light emitting diodes could serve people in need in other places in the world who don't have a porch. Or outdoor furniture. Or a welcome mat...
And there's no room in my mind to think about how many folks don't have shoes that fit their feet or shoes at all because I'm too occupied with the question of if I'm also going to get a shoe rack for my new porch because, like Barbie, I like to have several pair to choose from and they're encroaching on my welcome mat. And I hope there's one on sale, it's so justifying buying something that's cheap for cheap even though it was made in China where the workers were paid so very little, compared even to the sale price. But I shan't think of the young overworked Chinese people who assembled my shoe rack, because I can't see them, so do they even exist?
And what a healthy distraction it is to go on the computer and look at my online shopping wish list and pretend like as long as I get my double-walled borosilicate glass travel tea mug for less than it was a few days ago that all is right in the world. 'Tis the season for consuming, after all.
And I probably won't have time to stop and think about what I could do to help children stay warm this winter because I'm very focused on organizing my thinner long sleeves adjacent to my thicker jackets, for which I do not have enough hangers...
...I wonder how late the new department store is open this evening, but no mind for if they offer profit-sharing with their employees or not...
TINKITY TONK WARPED WRAP
Popsicles melt faster in spring fever.
Dribble to the drip drop.
I stuck my nose in a rose in South of France.
Didn't want to leave.
Enchantment.
Dippin' my rose in dew.
Drip to the
drop to the hippity-hop.
Easter prevails.
Or Esther.
Or Eostre.
Or
Ishtar.
Or...
I play piano in my dreams.
Black on white stripes –
complementary, striking, like the Black Keys playing with the White Stripes,
singing the space between set to classical music on high tempo with heavy bass.
Bippity bobbity bang boom.
Speaking of stripes, King Tut.
So much for
rest in peace, huh?
The afterlife will understand, right?
If the civilization
fell it's not thievery anymore, yeah?
Ankh.
Angkor
Wat
Watt
Water
What?
I love making sense of nonsense like
bibida bop-a
dink donk.
Makes cents, right?
Like liquid turquoise light filling the
unseen in your eyes.
Striped candy.
Unwrap
And warp the time that makes
me human.
Human.
Who man?
You man.
Hu
Bingkity Tonka Bing
Bong
Musical note.
Muse float.
In a parade headed by a canary, tailed by
the Sphinx.
Does the Sphinx have a tail?
Let's ask King Tut, he's ahead of
the game.
Stared at his picture today and made believe he was talking to
me.
They used oil to Christen.
Katonka Ponka Tinkity Tonk.
Dribble to the drip drop.
I stuck my nose in a rose in South of France.
Didn't want to leave.
Enchantment.
Dippin' my rose in dew.
Drip to the
drop to the hippity-hop.
Easter prevails.
Or Esther.
Or Eostre.
Or
Ishtar.
Or...
I play piano in my dreams.
Black on white stripes –
complementary, striking, like the Black Keys playing with the White Stripes,
singing the space between set to classical music on high tempo with heavy bass.
Bippity bobbity bang boom.
Speaking of stripes, King Tut.
So much for
rest in peace, huh?
The afterlife will understand, right?
If the civilization
fell it's not thievery anymore, yeah?
Ankh.
Angkor
Wat
Watt
Water
What?
I love making sense of nonsense like
bibida bop-a
dink donk.
Makes cents, right?
Like liquid turquoise light filling the
unseen in your eyes.
Striped candy.
Unwrap
And warp the time that makes
me human.
Human.
Who man?
You man.
Hu
Bingkity Tonka Bing
Bong
Musical note.
Muse float.
In a parade headed by a canary, tailed by
the Sphinx.
Does the Sphinx have a tail?
Let's ask King Tut, he's ahead of
the game.
Stared at his picture today and made believe he was talking to
me.
They used oil to Christen.
Katonka Ponka Tinkity Tonk.
Simplicity
This always happens to me in Autumn. I want to move back to
Indiana and watch the leaves turn all hues of warm and hear them crinkling under
my feet as I walk down the asphalt driveway my dad paved, back to the A-frame my
dad built, and watch the stream come alive over the stones and fossils and water
sprites....
I learned about the importance of good traction on the soles of
shoes when I was a young child. My older brother taught me. He told me one time
that my kangaroos shoes were good because they had good traction and I listened.
Because I looked up to him...
My mom taught me about unconditional Love. I
don't know of a higher teaching. I've struggled to find it outside my parents'
home. My dad taught me Love too and he showed me how to work hard for the ones
you Love. No matter what just keep working for the ones you Love...
I learned
discernment from my lovers - if you could call them that. I'm not sure I ever
called them that. I don't know why I am now. But anyway, discernment, it's a
good thing... Like traction.
This is really the perfect Autumn weather.
Sunny blue skies. Crisp mountain cool air. The kind of day to rollerskate
outside on the concrete... like I did today. Moving out. Moving in. And my last
day here, rollerskating on the concrete outside the garage in the home where I
lived with the pheasants and owls and goats and the black spiders that weren't
widows... You don't need traction with roller skates.
It's a good day. And
now I'm going to babysit two kids that live in a beautiful place further up the
mountain. We make jewelry together. And play on the tire swing. And look down
over the clouds over Maui.
And earlier today I passed a Buddhist monk in the
grocery store. Driving home I was craving simplicity, peace and clarity. I think
I could be a Buddhist monk and give up possessions and attachment to the world.
That is, if I didn't have children in this life. I'm not as good at thinking
about the future as I used to be. Or maybe as bad. But there is some future that
has to be thought of when you have children. Like wanting humanity to, well,
evolve. I'd say survive but what's the use in survival if we're not evolving
together...
And I think of the past and the soles of my shoes. And running
fast. And now in this Autumn breeze I crave tranquility... and good traction...
Indiana and watch the leaves turn all hues of warm and hear them crinkling under
my feet as I walk down the asphalt driveway my dad paved, back to the A-frame my
dad built, and watch the stream come alive over the stones and fossils and water
sprites....
I learned about the importance of good traction on the soles of
shoes when I was a young child. My older brother taught me. He told me one time
that my kangaroos shoes were good because they had good traction and I listened.
Because I looked up to him...
My mom taught me about unconditional Love. I
don't know of a higher teaching. I've struggled to find it outside my parents'
home. My dad taught me Love too and he showed me how to work hard for the ones
you Love. No matter what just keep working for the ones you Love...
I learned
discernment from my lovers - if you could call them that. I'm not sure I ever
called them that. I don't know why I am now. But anyway, discernment, it's a
good thing... Like traction.
This is really the perfect Autumn weather.
Sunny blue skies. Crisp mountain cool air. The kind of day to rollerskate
outside on the concrete... like I did today. Moving out. Moving in. And my last
day here, rollerskating on the concrete outside the garage in the home where I
lived with the pheasants and owls and goats and the black spiders that weren't
widows... You don't need traction with roller skates.
It's a good day. And
now I'm going to babysit two kids that live in a beautiful place further up the
mountain. We make jewelry together. And play on the tire swing. And look down
over the clouds over Maui.
And earlier today I passed a Buddhist monk in the
grocery store. Driving home I was craving simplicity, peace and clarity. I think
I could be a Buddhist monk and give up possessions and attachment to the world.
That is, if I didn't have children in this life. I'm not as good at thinking
about the future as I used to be. Or maybe as bad. But there is some future that
has to be thought of when you have children. Like wanting humanity to, well,
evolve. I'd say survive but what's the use in survival if we're not evolving
together...
And I think of the past and the soles of my shoes. And running
fast. And now in this Autumn breeze I crave tranquility... and good traction...
Oh. Yeah.
Maybe he
was the kind of soda I wanted to drink.
Maybe I couldn't find his flavor in
the Midwest soda fountains...
Maybe I wasn't careful enough in those moments at
the end of a thought.
Where there's that millisecond of a pause.
Where
belief or its antibody takes space...
Maybe. Maybe not.
Definitely knot.
Knot as in sailor knots tied just so, as the ins hold the outs
and the ups
hold the downs.
Just so it's up and in, knot down and out.
And sew on and so
forth.
Figure 8's
And who is he and his soda pop love?
Before the
forgetting, what fruit juice where we drinking at the same
time, different
place?
I'd like to buy a vowel please...
O.
He will know what comes next.
Yeah.
I wonder if he has a heart on right now.
I have a heart pin. I'd
let him wear it...
Does he know who he is?
Does he know who I am?
I sure
hope he can remind me because the forgetting is not for
the getting anymore for
me.
I call back crystal-clear clarity...
I want to remember the soft skin on
the inner side of his forearm.
I want to recall the shimmer on his tongue when
he laughs full spread, and the sound his navel makes
when I put my ear to it.
Even if these are future memories, I just want to
remember...
The
scent...
I want to touch his heart from across the room, across the
shoreline, across...
And maybe he was the pop in all the soda.
The fizz.
The shizz.
The whole reason soft drinks were so...
And now he will taste
all flavors of amazing because I know the absence of his
taste.
And contrast
equals complementary. Appreciation can stream in strong
when one realizes what
they've been missing...
I'd like to trade a consonant, please...
Trade that
"m" in missing for a "k".
K?
was the kind of soda I wanted to drink.
Maybe I couldn't find his flavor in
the Midwest soda fountains...
Maybe I wasn't careful enough in those moments at
the end of a thought.
Where there's that millisecond of a pause.
Where
belief or its antibody takes space...
Maybe. Maybe not.
Definitely knot.
Knot as in sailor knots tied just so, as the ins hold the outs
and the ups
hold the downs.
Just so it's up and in, knot down and out.
And sew on and so
forth.
Figure 8's
And who is he and his soda pop love?
Before the
forgetting, what fruit juice where we drinking at the same
time, different
place?
I'd like to buy a vowel please...
O.
He will know what comes next.
Yeah.
I wonder if he has a heart on right now.
I have a heart pin. I'd
let him wear it...
Does he know who he is?
Does he know who I am?
I sure
hope he can remind me because the forgetting is not for
the getting anymore for
me.
I call back crystal-clear clarity...
I want to remember the soft skin on
the inner side of his forearm.
I want to recall the shimmer on his tongue when
he laughs full spread, and the sound his navel makes
when I put my ear to it.
Even if these are future memories, I just want to
remember...
The
scent...
I want to touch his heart from across the room, across the
shoreline, across...
And maybe he was the pop in all the soda.
The fizz.
The shizz.
The whole reason soft drinks were so...
And now he will taste
all flavors of amazing because I know the absence of his
taste.
And contrast
equals complementary. Appreciation can stream in strong
when one realizes what
they've been missing...
I'd like to trade a consonant, please...
Trade that
"m" in missing for a "k".
K?
Higher Your Imagination
I don't know man, maybe he hasn't called again
because he decided he didn't like the freckle on my right ear and he wouldn't
want to have to see it every time he's talking to me when I'm driving.... And I
think my vintage lunch box collection intimidated him. Yep, I'm sure those are
the reasons why he's not connecting...
Does this sound like something you
could have made up in your mind and convinced yourself of?... That all too
powerful imagination can get the best of us sometimes. But I'm here to encourage
you to make that imagination work for you folks, not against you.
Trade in
those doom and gloom "I'm not worthy" thoughts you may have taken on in the past
for "rise and shine" thoughts. Tell yourself after he hasn't called back that a
benevolent force in the universe has distracted him from reaching out because
your course to Mr. Right or Mr. Better-suited-than-that-one will come in better
timing if you don't walk the path with that brother-no-call.
Let your
imagination work for you. Higher it as your cleanup crew to the naysayer that
hides in your intellect. The next time you begin to doubt that your creative
potential will ever amount to an amount of worth that is worth anything great,
picture yourself shiny and happy surrounded in your creative endeavors with lots
of other smiling people appreciating your talent made visible and wanting more
of it.
Don't let your imagination take you down a path in your mind that
ends up in you preparing a passive-aggressive cold shoulder dance around that
person who didn't accept your friendship request for the next time you see them.
No, let your imagination work for you. Who knows how often they even go on
social media, and moreover, imagine what it would feel like not giving a hoot
about it anyway.
Let your imagination work for you... When you're looking
around and all you're seeing is society going down the toilet wrapped up in a
non-flushable diaper full of corn syrup formula poo, instead visualize people
holding hands in a circle around the globe with the oceans a sparkling turquoise
and the lands an iridescent spring green while the minds of all the folks in the
circle are shining with a spark from the light of Eternal Sunshine. And see each
one having a brilliant idea from that spark that will serve the cleanup crew of
the collective mind of humanity. Ya know, like a biodegradable diaper that can
go right into a special composter that feeds directly into the soil of the home
garden in a way that's not stinky or icky. And another dreaming a way that mamas
and or papas can stay home with the diapered (or undiapered) babies all the
while financially secure for the first two or three years gifted by a True
government... Yes, please, let your image-a-nation work for you... And everyone
else too...
because he decided he didn't like the freckle on my right ear and he wouldn't
want to have to see it every time he's talking to me when I'm driving.... And I
think my vintage lunch box collection intimidated him. Yep, I'm sure those are
the reasons why he's not connecting...
Does this sound like something you
could have made up in your mind and convinced yourself of?... That all too
powerful imagination can get the best of us sometimes. But I'm here to encourage
you to make that imagination work for you folks, not against you.
Trade in
those doom and gloom "I'm not worthy" thoughts you may have taken on in the past
for "rise and shine" thoughts. Tell yourself after he hasn't called back that a
benevolent force in the universe has distracted him from reaching out because
your course to Mr. Right or Mr. Better-suited-than-that-one will come in better
timing if you don't walk the path with that brother-no-call.
Let your
imagination work for you. Higher it as your cleanup crew to the naysayer that
hides in your intellect. The next time you begin to doubt that your creative
potential will ever amount to an amount of worth that is worth anything great,
picture yourself shiny and happy surrounded in your creative endeavors with lots
of other smiling people appreciating your talent made visible and wanting more
of it.
Don't let your imagination take you down a path in your mind that
ends up in you preparing a passive-aggressive cold shoulder dance around that
person who didn't accept your friendship request for the next time you see them.
No, let your imagination work for you. Who knows how often they even go on
social media, and moreover, imagine what it would feel like not giving a hoot
about it anyway.
Let your imagination work for you... When you're looking
around and all you're seeing is society going down the toilet wrapped up in a
non-flushable diaper full of corn syrup formula poo, instead visualize people
holding hands in a circle around the globe with the oceans a sparkling turquoise
and the lands an iridescent spring green while the minds of all the folks in the
circle are shining with a spark from the light of Eternal Sunshine. And see each
one having a brilliant idea from that spark that will serve the cleanup crew of
the collective mind of humanity. Ya know, like a biodegradable diaper that can
go right into a special composter that feeds directly into the soil of the home
garden in a way that's not stinky or icky. And another dreaming a way that mamas
and or papas can stay home with the diapered (or undiapered) babies all the
while financially secure for the first two or three years gifted by a True
government... Yes, please, let your image-a-nation work for you... And everyone
else too...
Circumnavigate
The body can only say so much until its message trails off
into a sequence of lost numbers that add up to boing-oing-oing-.
Flesh is
form and function and it's best performance is to dematerialize in stations
where light can bounce. The kind of light that can be sensed and enters the
daydream where matter no longer matters and the climax of the zenith overcomes
itself in holy matrimony, over and over again like new chambers opening up
constantly and "Eureka!" never tires out, always fresh and liberating. New
treasures every time... Timing.
Crowning achievements rolling over in the
long run like it's all one big Bang! with multifaceted moments to be looked at
from every angle and just when the omega is about to be discovered it is
realized that the alpha has transformed and so the chase, the search, must go
on! A novel mystery. And vice versa…
It's all suitable for the finest of
tastes and I believe it was the queen of hearts that made the tarts and she's
gonna get 'em back and it won't be long 'cause the birds know the calibration of
every soul's eyelashes and can return treasures to their rightful owners in the
wink of an eye.
Blinking waters and winking wets the wheels of magic and
inspiration... And affirmation.
Spin cycle.
Can a cycle do anything
other than spin? It's just Nature as spirals expound the circle.
And columns
form. Light columns situating as the beginning of an ending. Happy ever after
and that equals back at the beginning - Original - without the sin.
And
look – we can read the book and remember. Re-member. And never let go, yet let
go of never.
Always. Take. Hold.
And ringing out seals as the songs of
the spheres hit 3 part harmony that was hidden in cellular memory… Stellar
memory…
Bringing tones out of now–here to shatter the shattering like the Tao
de CHING! would sing.
Esoteric melts out of the seems and becomes exoteric
like an exoskeleton but soft and holographable to our neighbors because we shine
of the same light and the essence is of us.
Completely...
Sing Candy
Ya know what it is!?
It's candy...
We all still want candy.
We want to say words that evoke something from the inside - off our tongues.
We want to kiss so we can taste the creamy center of our soul - of the soul of another.
We want to lick our lips and know the sweet aftertaste.
We want to suck and draw juice as tiny portals on our tongues become a place for communion.
Taste buds as tiny chalices to understand the world, a fruit, a human being with a heart beat and an imagination and footprints.
And spirit.
The tongue, a place for free spirit to take flight...
Tongue on tongue, tongue on wine, tongue on sounds of love.
Avenues.
Runways.
Run-aways from stillness into expanding out into what space - inner and outer - have to offer.
And if I were a lesbian I'd probably be in Love with all the girls in my writing group.
Anyway I'm not - but I love their tongues!
Because I know the lyrics of their tongues.
I know what bubbly and wine they enjoy washing over their tongues.
I know what they desire to do with the extensions of their souls - those tongues!
And I'm inspired by it all.
And my mouth waters.
And a watering mouth like a spring brings life to so many exquisite things.
And my tongue feels good saying bubbly delight and delight in being bubbly and may bubbly delight be with you girls!
Ok... and you too boys.
But back to the girls because I'm writing this on Mother's Day and I'm reveling in the Divine Feminine.
Divine Mother Spirit.
Mater, Muti, Ma, Madre, Mare, Mai.
And words for Mother are linked to Mar, a word for ocean.
Our hearts are open like the ocean.
Our wombs hold great potential and life like the ocean.
Ovum.
Ocean.
It all enters, initiates, opens with our tongues.
And what they share.
Like Springtime.
Like a spring.
Words like Love and Honor require the tongue.
And like these words, the tongue does it's magic best when it both gives and receives at the same time.
Same place.
It's candy...
We all still want candy.
We want to say words that evoke something from the inside - off our tongues.
We want to kiss so we can taste the creamy center of our soul - of the soul of another.
We want to lick our lips and know the sweet aftertaste.
We want to suck and draw juice as tiny portals on our tongues become a place for communion.
Taste buds as tiny chalices to understand the world, a fruit, a human being with a heart beat and an imagination and footprints.
And spirit.
The tongue, a place for free spirit to take flight...
Tongue on tongue, tongue on wine, tongue on sounds of love.
Avenues.
Runways.
Run-aways from stillness into expanding out into what space - inner and outer - have to offer.
And if I were a lesbian I'd probably be in Love with all the girls in my writing group.
Anyway I'm not - but I love their tongues!
Because I know the lyrics of their tongues.
I know what bubbly and wine they enjoy washing over their tongues.
I know what they desire to do with the extensions of their souls - those tongues!
And I'm inspired by it all.
And my mouth waters.
And a watering mouth like a spring brings life to so many exquisite things.
And my tongue feels good saying bubbly delight and delight in being bubbly and may bubbly delight be with you girls!
Ok... and you too boys.
But back to the girls because I'm writing this on Mother's Day and I'm reveling in the Divine Feminine.
Divine Mother Spirit.
Mater, Muti, Ma, Madre, Mare, Mai.
And words for Mother are linked to Mar, a word for ocean.
Our hearts are open like the ocean.
Our wombs hold great potential and life like the ocean.
Ovum.
Ocean.
It all enters, initiates, opens with our tongues.
And what they share.
Like Springtime.
Like a spring.
Words like Love and Honor require the tongue.
And like these words, the tongue does it's magic best when it both gives and receives at the same time.
Same place.
Wyzard Wynd
She left the court of the king for the
courtship of the high wizard upon
his conductive turret. T'wasnt a
love spell that drew her to his deep
violet pupils, but pupil is what she
desired to be. Accomplished
wizards know not to cast love
spells in the first place. But she
had caught scent of his
electromagnetic currency and she
dreamt of accompanying him in
pointing a finger to the moon and
the stars and Jupiter.
And so he took her into his turret
and beneath his wing. And his
power was so provocative and
great that she'd try to point her
finger to Venus but he'd continue
to redirect her elsewhere like
Cassiopeia or the Pleiades.
Wizards of his platform are keen to
the distractions of sensual energies
prowling in their curiosity toward
physical communion and in respect
to his knowledge he kept his cool
amidst her sparks. For the
commingling of positive and
negative forces could neutralize
the culminating charge and she
might be sent back to the court of
the king before gaining her wisdom
bolts of lightning.
Nonetheless, her affinity for him
tickled his strong multi-chambered
heart and fueled several spells he
conjured for the commoners.
She intuited this happening and it
made her breathe deeper and
expanded her very own heart. Her
initial initiation then complete.
She giggled at the feeling that
bubbled up within her when she'd
sneak back to her own designated
domain of the castle wondering
what her regal parents would do if
she were caught.
Princess being her title and
renegade being her soul, she cared
not enough for their formalities to
keep from scurrying to the
esteemed tower of the wizard. Who
each time greeted her in silence
and direct stare. Her breath
undulating deep and fast as she'd
scaled the tall continuum of stairs
to his lookout. And as she'd stare
back into his deep violet pupils she
was certain they were vortices to
open fields and secret chambers
where colors beyond her current
perception did reside.
Once, as their eyes were
entranced, the wizard placed his
palm upon her shoulder and his
other palm atop her head. It was
the first time he had touched the
princess with both hands and she
felt the tingling of seven stars
chime up her spinal chord. Her own
pupils finding their own sheen of
magenta.
And they stood there together on
the cobalt floor 'til the sun peered
in through the periwinkle stained
glass window in the west quadrant
and at that junction he descended
her to a large velvet cushion upon
the floor where she lie solitary for
several moments in time to
integrate the rekindling and
brewing dream of the Eternal
Spring...
She did not speak for nine days
following this event but the gushing
wynds spoke in her place. Upon
the ninth night she dreamt of her
future prince, of his name and his
demeanor. Therein she passed to
him a wand with a sacred scarab
upon it and just as he was looking
up to gaze into her eyes, she
awoke with a start.
In immediateness, she sprinted the
stairs to the pinnacle of the wizard
and cried in his arms, uncertain if it
was for joy or sorrow.
courtship of the high wizard upon
his conductive turret. T'wasnt a
love spell that drew her to his deep
violet pupils, but pupil is what she
desired to be. Accomplished
wizards know not to cast love
spells in the first place. But she
had caught scent of his
electromagnetic currency and she
dreamt of accompanying him in
pointing a finger to the moon and
the stars and Jupiter.
And so he took her into his turret
and beneath his wing. And his
power was so provocative and
great that she'd try to point her
finger to Venus but he'd continue
to redirect her elsewhere like
Cassiopeia or the Pleiades.
Wizards of his platform are keen to
the distractions of sensual energies
prowling in their curiosity toward
physical communion and in respect
to his knowledge he kept his cool
amidst her sparks. For the
commingling of positive and
negative forces could neutralize
the culminating charge and she
might be sent back to the court of
the king before gaining her wisdom
bolts of lightning.
Nonetheless, her affinity for him
tickled his strong multi-chambered
heart and fueled several spells he
conjured for the commoners.
She intuited this happening and it
made her breathe deeper and
expanded her very own heart. Her
initial initiation then complete.
She giggled at the feeling that
bubbled up within her when she'd
sneak back to her own designated
domain of the castle wondering
what her regal parents would do if
she were caught.
Princess being her title and
renegade being her soul, she cared
not enough for their formalities to
keep from scurrying to the
esteemed tower of the wizard. Who
each time greeted her in silence
and direct stare. Her breath
undulating deep and fast as she'd
scaled the tall continuum of stairs
to his lookout. And as she'd stare
back into his deep violet pupils she
was certain they were vortices to
open fields and secret chambers
where colors beyond her current
perception did reside.
Once, as their eyes were
entranced, the wizard placed his
palm upon her shoulder and his
other palm atop her head. It was
the first time he had touched the
princess with both hands and she
felt the tingling of seven stars
chime up her spinal chord. Her own
pupils finding their own sheen of
magenta.
And they stood there together on
the cobalt floor 'til the sun peered
in through the periwinkle stained
glass window in the west quadrant
and at that junction he descended
her to a large velvet cushion upon
the floor where she lie solitary for
several moments in time to
integrate the rekindling and
brewing dream of the Eternal
Spring...
She did not speak for nine days
following this event but the gushing
wynds spoke in her place. Upon
the ninth night she dreamt of her
future prince, of his name and his
demeanor. Therein she passed to
him a wand with a sacred scarab
upon it and just as he was looking
up to gaze into her eyes, she
awoke with a start.
In immediateness, she sprinted the
stairs to the pinnacle of the wizard
and cried in his arms, uncertain if it
was for joy or sorrow.
Point A to Point See
I want upbeat street smarts.
I want to get jiggy on ice skates so it's all graceful and tasteful and onlookers say - aww look at their love, it's genuine and deep and they can keep each other warm over the cold below.
I want silly looks that conjure chasing.
Chasing through the yard and into the garden and on to rolling.
Rolling over each other on the grassy null and into the stream.
The stream we can drink from, it's so fresh and pristine.
I want big long numbers.
Ones the stars say have been multiplying for eons.
Exponential.
So there's plenty of fuel to combust for centuries.
And beyond.
Time that is.
I want love dipped in chocolate.
Barrels of love with tight seal.
And chocolate like cookies right out of the oven.
Not smothering, yet covering my whole being.
His whole being.
Us just being.
And then there's wet and cold stone only because we want to melt and see what that dream's like.
And saucers flying because our fantasies ring from a different galaxy.
One where tribes circle strong in love and develop life in honor of the Great Ping.
Because the sound of Everness finds everything to ricochet off of.
Eventually.
Light years.
Those are big numbers.
Songs.
And the best ones makes ripples on and on and over and under and all around.
How many sparkles does it take to recharge your ancestral chivalry?
As many as it makes when you kiss my palm.
Perpendicular to the other.
Parallel to the One.
It's all wavelength at that point.
All the way.
I want to get jiggy on ice skates so it's all graceful and tasteful and onlookers say - aww look at their love, it's genuine and deep and they can keep each other warm over the cold below.
I want silly looks that conjure chasing.
Chasing through the yard and into the garden and on to rolling.
Rolling over each other on the grassy null and into the stream.
The stream we can drink from, it's so fresh and pristine.
I want big long numbers.
Ones the stars say have been multiplying for eons.
Exponential.
So there's plenty of fuel to combust for centuries.
And beyond.
Time that is.
I want love dipped in chocolate.
Barrels of love with tight seal.
And chocolate like cookies right out of the oven.
Not smothering, yet covering my whole being.
His whole being.
Us just being.
And then there's wet and cold stone only because we want to melt and see what that dream's like.
And saucers flying because our fantasies ring from a different galaxy.
One where tribes circle strong in love and develop life in honor of the Great Ping.
Because the sound of Everness finds everything to ricochet off of.
Eventually.
Light years.
Those are big numbers.
Songs.
And the best ones makes ripples on and on and over and under and all around.
How many sparkles does it take to recharge your ancestral chivalry?
As many as it makes when you kiss my palm.
Perpendicular to the other.
Parallel to the One.
It's all wavelength at that point.
All the way.
Try a Chill Pill
What did you do the last time someone confronted you spouting judgements and harshness your way? Did you show them your fangs or growl and hiss heated words back at them? Maybe you got all worked up and your heart was racing and you imagined using your new found adrenaline to rip the sun visors out of their car - that'll show 'em.
Well, next time try a chill pill... Easier said than done, I know, but the 'virtual' chill pill may serve you well. If some holier-than-thou person comes at you firing hate or judgements (which, by the way, are not holy in the first place) look at them in the eyes and take out an invisible chill pill from your pocket or pretend pocket and slowly place it in your mouth without changing the nonexpression on your face.
Perhaps you could visualize your neutralizing chill pill as a color, say a cool blue or sea foam green. This will help the pill take effect. If this ethereal medicine is working its magic, you will stand there poised and unswayed while the other not-so-chilled person finishes their rant. (And it is important to let them get it all out so they can exhaust their fuel.) At the culmination of their monologue you can say with cool freshiness on your breath, something to the effect of "I hear what your saying and I'll consider it all, thank you." Even if you wanted to jump in the ring with them like they want you to, and wrestle your point of view into their thick skull, the calm considerate words will confuse them and ultimately squelch the fight in their flight.
Yes, next time try a chill pill. Let's say you may even want to carry a tin of mints with you that you dub as chill pills. You could hold the tin in your hands and chant "chill pills, ever glorious, calming and cooling chill pills" upon them in any multiple of three, with eyes closed. Then have them near for times when you need to divert your own cortisol level from rising too high. Like in the car when you're already running late and some leisure tourist pulls out in front of you on the road. Instead of crinkling your forehead and yelling profanities that you learned in junior high, bust out your minty chill pills, take a deep breath and insert. You may still be late but teeth gritting may be lessened and your breath will smell good when you apologize for the lateness.
Next time try a chill pill. Like when your Mother-in-law is coming over for dinner and she just has to bring that yappy lap dog with the tiny bladder again.
Next time try a chill pill. Or two or five. When you're watching your child out the window teaching them self skateboard tricks in the parking lot while you're in a school meeting.
Next time try a chill pill. If you see your ex at a party with their arm around someone you both met together at the club just a week or two before your break-up, fight the urge to accidentally on purpose spill your chocolate martini onto both their laps, but instead take a chill pill. And dance like you just don't care...
Pretty soon, with enough successful chill pills, the world will be easier to digest. And taste better too.
Well, next time try a chill pill... Easier said than done, I know, but the 'virtual' chill pill may serve you well. If some holier-than-thou person comes at you firing hate or judgements (which, by the way, are not holy in the first place) look at them in the eyes and take out an invisible chill pill from your pocket or pretend pocket and slowly place it in your mouth without changing the nonexpression on your face.
Perhaps you could visualize your neutralizing chill pill as a color, say a cool blue or sea foam green. This will help the pill take effect. If this ethereal medicine is working its magic, you will stand there poised and unswayed while the other not-so-chilled person finishes their rant. (And it is important to let them get it all out so they can exhaust their fuel.) At the culmination of their monologue you can say with cool freshiness on your breath, something to the effect of "I hear what your saying and I'll consider it all, thank you." Even if you wanted to jump in the ring with them like they want you to, and wrestle your point of view into their thick skull, the calm considerate words will confuse them and ultimately squelch the fight in their flight.
Yes, next time try a chill pill. Let's say you may even want to carry a tin of mints with you that you dub as chill pills. You could hold the tin in your hands and chant "chill pills, ever glorious, calming and cooling chill pills" upon them in any multiple of three, with eyes closed. Then have them near for times when you need to divert your own cortisol level from rising too high. Like in the car when you're already running late and some leisure tourist pulls out in front of you on the road. Instead of crinkling your forehead and yelling profanities that you learned in junior high, bust out your minty chill pills, take a deep breath and insert. You may still be late but teeth gritting may be lessened and your breath will smell good when you apologize for the lateness.
Next time try a chill pill. Like when your Mother-in-law is coming over for dinner and she just has to bring that yappy lap dog with the tiny bladder again.
Next time try a chill pill. Or two or five. When you're watching your child out the window teaching them self skateboard tricks in the parking lot while you're in a school meeting.
Next time try a chill pill. If you see your ex at a party with their arm around someone you both met together at the club just a week or two before your break-up, fight the urge to accidentally on purpose spill your chocolate martini onto both their laps, but instead take a chill pill. And dance like you just don't care...
Pretty soon, with enough successful chill pills, the world will be easier to digest. And taste better too.
Chime
What if I can never relive my teenage years? That's what I'm afraid of. That day to day rhythms won't rhyme with beeswax candles and wild grape vines. I'm afraid that the woods will forget my scent and call me paraffin. That survival needs will fog up my windshield and I'll miss the turnoff to fossil beds that have held my secrets and washed them down stream time after time.
And what does the angel kisser say? Let it all go. Blast it out in radial arms so the Great Spirit can glow in incandescence where the void bellows open from the release... So I do. I let go the blind monsters that hid in elastic lining. I flatline their horns and whiskers and stand in the nothingness for a beat of one before calling in the chimes that ring on the breeze of a cool summer spring. Refreshment from the red and sticky... And palms up and palms open and psalms sacred. And deep like velvet, free like silk. And neo.
And breathing in gratitude now, and praying to be recruited by the beyond stars. My high score of Thank You's may be approaching a token...
Mystery is the seed that has grown a jungle I enjoy but sometimes I want to climb the vines and peek at the flowers before they've even bloomed... Once a future flower sent me a seed on the breeze and I'm keeping it in my locket 'til it's time. But the thing I wrestle to the ground 'til something goes ow, is time. Because I don't know if it's 8:33 post meridian or if it's the eleventh hour. I don't know. And I don't know why I need to know other than anxiety bobbles in the knit. Maybe I can reverse stitch and undo those knots or maybe the pollen of the future flower will have the power to melt my rehearsed skip a beat.
Water is a flame that melts the stone and makes love of the dissolved sands.
Time. Please rhyme with
chime.
Thank you.
And what does the angel kisser say? Let it all go. Blast it out in radial arms so the Great Spirit can glow in incandescence where the void bellows open from the release... So I do. I let go the blind monsters that hid in elastic lining. I flatline their horns and whiskers and stand in the nothingness for a beat of one before calling in the chimes that ring on the breeze of a cool summer spring. Refreshment from the red and sticky... And palms up and palms open and psalms sacred. And deep like velvet, free like silk. And neo.
And breathing in gratitude now, and praying to be recruited by the beyond stars. My high score of Thank You's may be approaching a token...
Mystery is the seed that has grown a jungle I enjoy but sometimes I want to climb the vines and peek at the flowers before they've even bloomed... Once a future flower sent me a seed on the breeze and I'm keeping it in my locket 'til it's time. But the thing I wrestle to the ground 'til something goes ow, is time. Because I don't know if it's 8:33 post meridian or if it's the eleventh hour. I don't know. And I don't know why I need to know other than anxiety bobbles in the knit. Maybe I can reverse stitch and undo those knots or maybe the pollen of the future flower will have the power to melt my rehearsed skip a beat.
Water is a flame that melts the stone and makes love of the dissolved sands.
Time. Please rhyme with
chime.
Thank you.
Still Smoking
Does your partner smoke cigarettes on a regular basis?
Leave them, or threaten to leave them. Let them know that if they don't stop smoking in a month and a half, you're gone. You'll no longer support their habit with your presence.
Does your father smoke tobacco?
Let him know you don't want to watch him die a slow agonizing death. Take him to a house somewhere where the Hospice nurses are there with the family everyday, the family of a man who smoked marlboros more than he drank Water. Let your father witness, second hand, the sunken in face, the discomfort of constipation from all the pain meds, the anxiety, the challenges of walking to the next room over. Tell him to look into the eyes if those loved ones who know he's leaving the planet too soon. My father left the planet too soon.
Does your neighbor smoke?
Ask them not to smoke upwind from your house. Let them know you don't like the smell or the non-health benefits. Make them have to think twice about their addiction when they step outside to get unfresh air.
Does your niece smoke camels?
Tell her how bad it is for her skin, how it will give her wrinkles earlier. Tell her it will stain her teeth too and give her a not-so-pretty smile. She's probably really into her image right now, maybe it will help her quit. Inform her that the tobacco industry targets young people, in their sneaky little ways, to make them think smoking is cool, in hopes to get them hooked for life.
Do you smoke chemical-laden tobacco on a daily basis? Do you know why you smoke? Do you know why you wouldn't stop smoking?
You can go ahead and up your chances for the most common diseases like cancer and heart disease, we've all gotta go somehow... Just want to let you know for your family's sake, that watching a loved one decay like a Holocaust victim while tobacco companies' pockets grow deeper, is nothing short of morbid.
Leave them, or threaten to leave them. Let them know that if they don't stop smoking in a month and a half, you're gone. You'll no longer support their habit with your presence.
Does your father smoke tobacco?
Let him know you don't want to watch him die a slow agonizing death. Take him to a house somewhere where the Hospice nurses are there with the family everyday, the family of a man who smoked marlboros more than he drank Water. Let your father witness, second hand, the sunken in face, the discomfort of constipation from all the pain meds, the anxiety, the challenges of walking to the next room over. Tell him to look into the eyes if those loved ones who know he's leaving the planet too soon. My father left the planet too soon.
Does your neighbor smoke?
Ask them not to smoke upwind from your house. Let them know you don't like the smell or the non-health benefits. Make them have to think twice about their addiction when they step outside to get unfresh air.
Does your niece smoke camels?
Tell her how bad it is for her skin, how it will give her wrinkles earlier. Tell her it will stain her teeth too and give her a not-so-pretty smile. She's probably really into her image right now, maybe it will help her quit. Inform her that the tobacco industry targets young people, in their sneaky little ways, to make them think smoking is cool, in hopes to get them hooked for life.
Do you smoke chemical-laden tobacco on a daily basis? Do you know why you smoke? Do you know why you wouldn't stop smoking?
You can go ahead and up your chances for the most common diseases like cancer and heart disease, we've all gotta go somehow... Just want to let you know for your family's sake, that watching a loved one decay like a Holocaust victim while tobacco companies' pockets grow deeper, is nothing short of morbid.
Get to know your woman's cycle By Carla
Ok guys, and by guys I mean male humans and in particular guys who are currently a husband, boyfriend, fiancé, lover, call boy or boy toy. Hear me when I say- get to know your lady's cycle. And I don't mean her bicycle that you might watch her all straddled up on as you see her hind quarters riding in the opposite direction because somebody ate the last piece of chocolate in the house and it was -you guessed it- her time of the month. Yes gentlemen, know your lady's cycle. You may not have known that she is circling it in her calendar every month to keep track of the ebbs and flows that accompany this bloody event, but I suggest you do the same- circle that date. And if you don't know the exact date, ask her, but very politely in case she's approaching that date, because you wouldn't want to do anything that could remotely offend her around that time, fellas, 'cause you'd get a clear example of what they mean by a mountain out of a mole hill. Listen up. Know your girl's cycle. But don't be naive thinking there's nothing to worry about for a whole 28 days or so 'til that projected date comes around again. Oh no, it's called PRE-menstrual syndrome, boys, not post-menstrual. I mean you gotta prepare like a week in advance. Practice that "yes honey" and that "you were right dear". Trust me, it will make your life a lot easier. Get to know your woman's cycle. And if you're doing it right guys, you'll have it down to an art. You'll have the massage oils warmed up, the pillows just right and the bed made, the bath tub full of hot water with candles lit, and chocolate- like seven different kinds. You'll have planned ahead making play dates for the kids for three days straight, give or take. And smiles, lots of smiles as you breathe before you speak. Even when she crinkles her forehead and says something about how you said you'd pick up your dirty clothes off the floor but never did, just smile, and throw in a "sorry honey". Then go pick up your dirty clothes- and if you really want some brownie points- go do the laundry, she's gonna need a full supply of clean panties. See, you gotta get to know your lady friend's cycle. If she says "leave me alone," she means it. Give her space. Let her sleep in, make her breakfast in bed, warm up a scented towelette for her (think lavender, it's calming)....But the most important thing to remember is... If she's gorging on a pint of rocky road ice cream at light speed, all you need to do is say, "Hon, what kind of chocolate would you like to go with that?"
Open Wide
If I were inspired
I'd talk about leaping
taking chances on spontaneity
Making the stars watch our movements and affinities and conjunctions
And jump and spin off the last board on the bridge
And off
And not look back
because other people's doubt or disbelief could slow the wheels
Write your name on the dew of roses so I can smell your thoughts a thousand
years from now in a French rose bush
Laugh at lust
and devour the misgivings of your blood relatives
shit it out shiny
Laugh again
at high speed but not racing
Potential growing as belief exponentiates
And then let it go
as butterflies' wings beat to the rhythm of wisdom we can only remember from a
childhood dream
before the wool
Glass vases
relaxing into the single flower and spinning fractals off your smile 'cuz you
just don't care
And you care about everything
so you let it all go
Trust trust
And running and spinning again and moving faster than thoughts can travel to
catch up and give second guesses
They can stay behind in their cookie cutter sneakers and safe words
No apologies
Just wind sculpting our hair
and lips slightly open and ready to kiss
And Time is in the house of the Sun
and ready to kiss
Lights met
Attraction of surrender pulses pieces together
As we learn the Cosmos have lips
And open wide.
I'd talk about leaping
taking chances on spontaneity
Making the stars watch our movements and affinities and conjunctions
And jump and spin off the last board on the bridge
And off
And not look back
because other people's doubt or disbelief could slow the wheels
Write your name on the dew of roses so I can smell your thoughts a thousand
years from now in a French rose bush
Laugh at lust
and devour the misgivings of your blood relatives
shit it out shiny
Laugh again
at high speed but not racing
Potential growing as belief exponentiates
And then let it go
as butterflies' wings beat to the rhythm of wisdom we can only remember from a
childhood dream
before the wool
Glass vases
relaxing into the single flower and spinning fractals off your smile 'cuz you
just don't care
And you care about everything
so you let it all go
Trust trust
And running and spinning again and moving faster than thoughts can travel to
catch up and give second guesses
They can stay behind in their cookie cutter sneakers and safe words
No apologies
Just wind sculpting our hair
and lips slightly open and ready to kiss
And Time is in the house of the Sun
and ready to kiss
Lights met
Attraction of surrender pulses pieces together
As we learn the Cosmos have lips
And open wide.
Seriously Though
Don”t take life too seriously. Ya know, life is gonna throw you some curves,
don’t try to over compensate in your swerving patterns and get all kinked up in
your cog work. You gotta spin with the curve and come out laughing.
Invest no attention in the heavy mind behind the screen. He’s lost his humerus
bone and can only gesture by sharp kicks and you don’t wanna stick around for
that.
Don’t take life so seriously. I mean, seriously, you gotta choose your battles
wisely. Does finding the lid off the toothpaste really matter? Is getting
worked up about what she said he said really worth the stress? Who cares if
someone wears vertical stripes with horizontal stripes or a dress that leaves
little to the imagination? So what if you had a double chin in that one photo.
Does it really matter?
While you’re busy taking an hour and a half trying to figure out what she meant
by that or worrying about if he really cares for your new found inspiration in
decoupage, life is happening. Flowers are blooming, train stations are filling
up and emptying out, clouds are forming into temporal masterpieces.
Oh well if you said the wrong thing at the wrong time. Your foot doesn’t taste
all that bad, does it? Get over it- seriously! Laugh it all off, cuz life is
just a big joke anyway. If it wasn’t, then tiramisu would actually be healthy
for us and fruit wouldn’t hang so darn high up in the trees. And there’d be a
reason why guys have nipples.
It’s all a test, all of it, to see how readily you can shrug off the matters and
strip it all down to what truly matters... Love in your heart and a laugh in
your belly. Oh, and good tequila.
Seriously.
don’t try to over compensate in your swerving patterns and get all kinked up in
your cog work. You gotta spin with the curve and come out laughing.
Invest no attention in the heavy mind behind the screen. He’s lost his humerus
bone and can only gesture by sharp kicks and you don’t wanna stick around for
that.
Don’t take life so seriously. I mean, seriously, you gotta choose your battles
wisely. Does finding the lid off the toothpaste really matter? Is getting
worked up about what she said he said really worth the stress? Who cares if
someone wears vertical stripes with horizontal stripes or a dress that leaves
little to the imagination? So what if you had a double chin in that one photo.
Does it really matter?
While you’re busy taking an hour and a half trying to figure out what she meant
by that or worrying about if he really cares for your new found inspiration in
decoupage, life is happening. Flowers are blooming, train stations are filling
up and emptying out, clouds are forming into temporal masterpieces.
Oh well if you said the wrong thing at the wrong time. Your foot doesn’t taste
all that bad, does it? Get over it- seriously! Laugh it all off, cuz life is
just a big joke anyway. If it wasn’t, then tiramisu would actually be healthy
for us and fruit wouldn’t hang so darn high up in the trees. And there’d be a
reason why guys have nipples.
It’s all a test, all of it, to see how readily you can shrug off the matters and
strip it all down to what truly matters... Love in your heart and a laugh in
your belly. Oh, and good tequila.
Seriously.
Freckles Have Feelings Too by Carla
My freckles want to be on a farm blending in with the sheep and romping in the mud. Seeing freckled faces in country magazines is not enough anymore. My freckles need a calico bonnet for the garden that complements my gingham apron smudged with peach muffin batter in the kitchen. The smile lines my freckles contour are meant to be more well defined. There are flowers ready to dapple the face of the Earth and reflect my freckles in their stamens and anthers. The constellations on my cheeks are tall trees, both deciduous and coniferous and I am looking for the right shade of eye shadow to bring the wings of the birds alive that live in those trees. And my hair longs to spiral and bounce as it evaporates the spring water it’s been leisurely washed in. City water no longer gives it the sheen it dreams of. My feet have grown too tender, remembering days walking freely on the fertile Earth in all her carpeted offerings. My fingernails have never been this clean for so long, they’ve almost forgotten what fresh mud tastes like. Concrete and asphalt and meticulously pruned yards have their place but this neighborhood couldn’t possibly hold my pupils forever, for they carry a vision of freckled apples on juxtaposed trees and they conspire to bring this sight to reality. And my freckles want to be painted golden by the sun as I breathe in clean country air and absorb the sounds of frisky birds by day and whiporwills at night.
Utopia
What if it were illegal not to dance and we knew each other by our rhythm? And waffles didn't make us fat so it is tradition to eat them in high stacks on every new phase of the moon? And that's how we count time- by the moon... and waffles. And roller skate friendly sidewalks and grocery stores are state mandated. I would have an otter farm and cuddle a different one every night. I'm quite sure David Bowie would be president and rule the land in verse and style. Every school would teach hot air ballooning and paragliding along with all the songs of the birds. And rose bushes don't need thorns because there is nothing to be protective against. I would design shirts with pockets especially fashioned for holding a flask and bouncy balls, because one easily leads to the other. And every roof top has a patio and garden because... duh. And porpoises hire humans to put on underwater circuses with yellow submarine as their theme song. And the water out of the tap is actually drinkable and it comes in different flavors like lemon water, sparkling and cucumber mint. And birthday parties and baby showers are funded by the state and come equipped with cupcakes and slip-n-slides and musical party favors and bouncy balls. And everybody gets paid the same amount as long as they do something that benefits all... except waffle chefs, they get a just a little more dough...
May it be America the Beautiful
May the light of truth shine brightly upon this country we call united. May it’s highest wisdom be crowned in the strongest gold that cannot be broken down. May the state of affairs that govern the affairs of the states be upheld by honorable, altruistic, caring and sharing means, as greedy money mongrels that have had their claws sunken into the political pockets be dis-integrated and washed away clean. May the highest vision of the founding forefathers reign through the Capital, setting in as the capital ideas and practices. May the hidden agendas of the power-hungry, over-fed, narcissistic, wealthiest bastards be exposed in the light of day undeniably, for all open eyes to see. And may all eyes be open, as we have been blind as a society far too long. May we as individuals, work peoples, tax payers, homemakers, know our own power and stand aside no longer, but stand up instead. May the so-called powers that be, be no longer powered by primitive practices like oil and coal dependance, as they step up and step out of those beds they’ve lied and lain in so that we as a people can lead the way in the evolution of energy consumption turning into energy generation hand in hand with Nature on this planet. May the proper steps be taken by the proper people in proper positions to crumble the lies of false prophets and put an end to massive slavery and unjust and idiocally needless poverty, making the way for the Highest Power of Love and Truth to cast out the darkened shadows and usher in light being...
Color my vision
I dream in dripping color I wake to matte beige It's a temporary disease My ship is out on the water, you see, Making it's rocking way to me When I sense the rope being tied to the harbor, My steps toward it will become like a bag of jellybeans bouncing in a child's hand Then my life will begin No longer will I merely peer through the window to the green pastures of success and accomplishment No more will I sit watching cornucopias speed by in their electric cars For I will have flowers in green fields and vehicles that shit bubbles of clean air For now, I walk on carpet that I didn't select and look at white walls bare of excitement But when my ship comes in, These stark naked walls will not be able to contain my exuberance and color will burst from their seams This carpet will absorb their spills and flowers of delight will spring up I will dance in them, Not half-heartedly, nor in the wonder of who's watching, But with limbs outstretched because I broke my own mould And my worries have shed like old worn out skin My new skin is the cloak of dreams become reality as pretend puppets are discarded from my hands My colorful dreams are my houseboat As I float Freely
Slowly Now
I told myself today,
Walk at a pace that reverberates to your cells that there is ample time for all
the wondrous and mundane activities you'll ever want to do.
Possibly, this will fool my brain into believing it,
and by way of trickle down effect, Actually achieving this.
It's possible.
Maybe even probable.
My hopes,
My dreams,
Are they dreaming Me into reality because they're the ones with a life force and
I'm the chosen vehicle?
These birthing pains,
Surely they will ease and I will be refreshed in a world pristine to the touch,
spiraled into the ecstasy of transcending the clouds that once muddied my
footsteps home,
True Home,
Where the heart is,
Where the strength of the creative mind forms realities of altruistic progress,
And hand-in-hand harmony.
Oh heavens,
I can go for that.
Walk slowly now, amble, I tell myself.
All is not what it seems.
Slow down so the highest of dreams can fix upon you,
Settle over you like a weightless carriage, preset to be on track for the most
delicious possible voyage called your life,
One...
Casual...
Step...
at a time...
Walk at a pace that reverberates to your cells that there is ample time for all
the wondrous and mundane activities you'll ever want to do.
Possibly, this will fool my brain into believing it,
and by way of trickle down effect, Actually achieving this.
It's possible.
Maybe even probable.
My hopes,
My dreams,
Are they dreaming Me into reality because they're the ones with a life force and
I'm the chosen vehicle?
These birthing pains,
Surely they will ease and I will be refreshed in a world pristine to the touch,
spiraled into the ecstasy of transcending the clouds that once muddied my
footsteps home,
True Home,
Where the heart is,
Where the strength of the creative mind forms realities of altruistic progress,
And hand-in-hand harmony.
Oh heavens,
I can go for that.
Walk slowly now, amble, I tell myself.
All is not what it seems.
Slow down so the highest of dreams can fix upon you,
Settle over you like a weightless carriage, preset to be on track for the most
delicious possible voyage called your life,
One...
Casual...
Step...
at a time...
Proud
I'm reading a book about shamans. According to Hank Wesselman, a lot of the population have the innate ability to do shamanesc things, such as communicating with beings in and of Spirit.
Well, it's not the first time nor probably the last, but I received word from the Spirit realm last night in dreamtime. What I felt like was an angelic presence spoke to me very clearly saying, "He went to heaven." She even repeated herself. Then as though she was handing the mike over to my father who's in Spirit, she said, "...and he's..." (passing the mike to my Dad), "PROUD". My Dad said the word proud very poignantly and deliberately and clearly so to be sure I heard it.
It means a great deal to have my Daddy bridge our worlds in this way. One word. Big message. Huge deal.
I tried so hard to be his shaman of healing when he was in flesh but felt terribly discouraged by my failed attempt. Now, fortunately, he is reaching me through the veil between our worlds. Drawing open the curtain just enough for a telling glimpse. I trust the curtain will continue to open and reveal more and more the direct connection we can have...
He's proud. Proud to be in the Light of Spirit. Proud of me on Earth. I told him I want him to be proud of me but I'm far from being complete with what I want him to be proud of me for.
The last project he did for the company he worked for was to oversee the construction of a bridge in Ocean Isle, North Carolina. Now he's with different company, angelic companionship and he's building a bridge from Spirit to Earth. Rainbow bridge of light and beauty. I admire his work. We work together- Earth child, Spirit father. And we do well. The birds are our cb-radios and the wind carries the connection.
I'm proud to be your shaman on the Earth plane, Daddy. I'm proud to be your daughter, forever... PROUD, out loud, PROUD...
10-4
Well, it's not the first time nor probably the last, but I received word from the Spirit realm last night in dreamtime. What I felt like was an angelic presence spoke to me very clearly saying, "He went to heaven." She even repeated herself. Then as though she was handing the mike over to my father who's in Spirit, she said, "...and he's..." (passing the mike to my Dad), "PROUD". My Dad said the word proud very poignantly and deliberately and clearly so to be sure I heard it.
It means a great deal to have my Daddy bridge our worlds in this way. One word. Big message. Huge deal.
I tried so hard to be his shaman of healing when he was in flesh but felt terribly discouraged by my failed attempt. Now, fortunately, he is reaching me through the veil between our worlds. Drawing open the curtain just enough for a telling glimpse. I trust the curtain will continue to open and reveal more and more the direct connection we can have...
He's proud. Proud to be in the Light of Spirit. Proud of me on Earth. I told him I want him to be proud of me but I'm far from being complete with what I want him to be proud of me for.
The last project he did for the company he worked for was to oversee the construction of a bridge in Ocean Isle, North Carolina. Now he's with different company, angelic companionship and he's building a bridge from Spirit to Earth. Rainbow bridge of light and beauty. I admire his work. We work together- Earth child, Spirit father. And we do well. The birds are our cb-radios and the wind carries the connection.
I'm proud to be your shaman on the Earth plane, Daddy. I'm proud to be your daughter, forever... PROUD, out loud, PROUD...
10-4
Enjoy Your Vacation Daddy [2 days after]
I was mad, horribly mad, that I couldn't do a thing to stop my father's physical body from lending it's energy to the cancer. I was enraged at all of existence, self-aware of the depression I was in and clinging to it like it was my life-support, feeding it like a cancer. I was distraught with sadness that my genuinely awesome and gorgeously humble father was suffering his way into leaving us. How can life have meaning when someone you love so deeply is alive but barely living? It hit me hard with severe impact, such a heavy blow to my heart. I had to rehydrated more often to keep up with all the liquid I was loosing from my eyes. Washing my face in tears anytime I was alone. So we came back to the "land of flowers"- Florida, to be with him while we could still experience him with our five senses. Seeing a man who could build a house and run a marathon and mow a field and race a horse and fix my car and work his ass off, in what seemed like all in one day, go to being a man who got winded walking to the next room was devastating to the little girl in me. But being there for him, with him, giving him foot soaks and back and head rubs and serving him food and reading to him and listening to him to record his stories, well, there was some therapeutic quality in it for me. I felt light like helium every time the baby would make him smile. I got to tell him bits and pieces about what I felt the "other side" is like and it always made me feel better on those days like I had shared something that needed to be out there for him to do with what he pleased. I thought for sure that when he passed that I would plummet even deeper into a sorry state of darkness. I tried to prepare my mind for it. But something else happened... Being an Earth angel and loving my Daddy's soul into Spirit was such an extraordinarily potent event that I think a part of me actually followed him to what we call Heaven. Yes, he took a piece of me when he went. And I can feel that piece, at peace, profound peace. A peaceful joy. A clear consciousness. A laughing rainbow. An expanse of Love. And I catch myself feeling guilty for not being a moping sad clown. Sure, I cry in and out of the day and miss him like crazy, but he's here or I'm there, because I sense him, not with the five senses anymore but on some higher plane. It's subtle yet profound. And I am extremely grateful. The Grateful Dead play dancing bears and lightning bolts in my head. My Dad is amazing and beautiful and blessed to be free. He is my Dad and always will be. I don't have to worry. My darkness is shedding. When I think about him I see him smiling and I hear him saying, "Thanks for trying to keep me around, but this place is awesome". And he soars about, free of gravity, enjoying his vacation.
IT'S ALL GOOD... [2 DAYS BEFORE] BY CARLA
"Two to four weeks," she said. Well, she firstly had said a month, or not. Then we learned from Chasity, the Hospice nurse, that some of the signs of the transition period, as they call it, are hallucinations- especially of people who have passed already, and going in and out of awareness... what we know as awareness anyway. Of course, I knew this as I witnessed it in Betty in the days before she left her body. She saw people flying in the sky and said she wanted to fly with them. Bless her soul. She called out to her Daddy. She was even surprised and questioning when she saw her own son on the other side that had taken his own life days before, unbeknownst to her. "Robert? What are YOU doing over there?" she said. He must have shown her because several moments later she said, "Oh, I see the whole picture now." Thank you, Betty, for preparing me for what is on the table now for my father. I bet you'll be one to greet him kindly like the southern belle you were, when he crosses over. Dad may not know what he's in for but I have some good ideas. I'm not completely unexperienced in the spiritual realms. Been there a time or two in meditations, dreams and visions. I don't need to worry about him, he'll be just fine. Better than fine, spectacular and well taken care, I know. Who will be his first guides - his own father, the one he was named after? His mother? They have some patchwork quilts to piece back together. I'd say there's some kin folk in the Cherokee line up gonna show their faces somehow. His Great Grandma of the Great Spirit lineage may have some words of light to bear. He may be wondering if there is an afterlife. I know there is, and I trust fully in this. He'll come to me when it's all said and done. He'll shine his light for me and I'll shake my head yes. Yes Dad, I knew you could do it. I knew you'd prove to be a shining member of the Eternal Sunshine Club. Now sparkle some of that essence to me and the family, help us to follow our dreams. I know I'll not get to smell the top of your head again in this life but you better waft some magic angel twinklings our way. We're still gonna have these bodies to lug around while you're free on the breeze... Just remember, you're the best to me. The very best.
hurry up, this is the mainland
The sounds are taking on that echo they do when it's almost time to leave for a big event. Like when you're in a hurry getting that last minute mascara on or feeding the cat and running out the door as the clicks from your dressy shoes are sounding out a hurried beat and making clock sounds and those ticks and tocks are moving faster, compounding your hurriedness even further. All the noises you can hear are closing in, making the rooms feel like they're getting smaller and smaller 'til they shoot you out the door by built up pressure and you're off- thrust into the outer realms and on to the big event, hoping you've not forgotten anything important, trusting everything is able to take care of itself while you're gone. That's where it's at right now. On edge and on the edge of everything. This edgy feeling throws me back like the time I threw my plastic brush at the door after my mom shut it, breaking it in two, such a hormonal adolescent. I didn't know to take deep breaths back then and I'm trying to remember now. My mom inadvertently taught me how to get in a flustered hurry when I was younger and still to this day for that matter, whenever transition times are at hands. Well it's definitely transition time right now around here and I'm feeling those hairs of anxiety starting to stand on end. I have to be careful so that I can remain calm in any moment to hold space for my loved ones and myself as well. We're all going thru it. Cancer exempts no one. And there are so many clocks ticking. Count downs we don't really want to see where their progressions are. Timelines that cross and underline certain events. And I want to rip all the clocks off the walls and throw them onto the concrete, watching them burst into fragments- because I couldn't stop time or go back in time or even slow it down long enough to get some reprieve. And I'm mad at those clocks for ticking on out of control- out of my control. Just a slave to time, damn it. There's no slow motion button on this ride. It feels like only fast forward... Guess I can't beat 'em, so I'll go learn an Irish jig and try to keep up.
Lazy Creek Paddling
He has always been my silent guardian. A warming fire emitting sweet woodsen perfumes he always surrounded me with, protecting me from the outside, burning the fires of love like a favorite stuffed puppy on the inside. My father, my grounded mountain, sporting the super-hero regalia with his powerbelt that contained the power of having everything and anything that was needed in any situation. I had no worries in his presence. He carried me around in a hermetically sealed glass chariot. I couldn't see it but I knew it was there. I completed him. He- the father mighty and strong, able to build immaculate fairy fortresses out of moss and flower petals and strawberry milk, for me- the child, the soft wind that filled the chambers of his constructions, materializing in and out as gossamer tree sprites are wont to do. I was always content at home while he went off to earn money for all of us, grinding the oil of African-American slaves' hair and cigarette butt litter from corporate blood hounds into drivable roadways. I didn't know these roads were a means to an end, an end that would reach out of the bushes, unexpected, and carry on slowly like a bubble being blown of bubblegum, gradually, delicately, so as not to pop so quickly but draw it out to the inevitable point of shattering, spattering bits of heart balloons from every special occasion everywhere... I didn't know because I wasn't supposed to. I needed to enjoy every lemonade flavored carry on his back to the fullest, every pot of gold tattooed lullaby he sang to me to absorb into my angel food cake being, and to be able to once again revel in this. He brought me home a diamond quality treasure he found roadside on that stepping stone to black hole pathway. The small seashell purse was a gift from a magic place where invisible game board pieces put humans in the right place at the right time to score simply profound lost treasures. I adored it and kept the twinkle in my eye inside it. Daddy's girl. He'll always be my heart mechanic. His tool belt of super powers will live on etherically in its light-body form and sparkle the way home for me. The home he built. The home where I keep my most precious treasures.
Ignorance
One of the best teachers I've had in my life was my 9th grade science teacher. Mr. Weber taught us a lot of things that weren't written in the school books - one being that once a pot hits the boiling point it's not going to cook any faster on high than it will on the lower temperatures that will sustain the boil. And on somewhat of a more profound level he taught us that there is a big difference between stupidity and ignorance. Being ignorant of something does not imply that someone is dumb, it means they simply have not come to know something or about something. If you didn't know you could turn the stove down and cook at the same speed with less energy spent, it doesn't make you stupid, just means you were ignorant of that little factoid.
The wisest of humans know they are severely ignorant, which, ironically, is a very intelligent knowing as it is. Wise men and women are humbled by the immensity of the all-pervasive Universe that they cannot relate to with merely the five senses. And even what they can deduce through sight and touch and such, only gives a glimpse as to what is really going on. Native Americans called it the Great Mystery. We aren't supposed to figure it all out, the intrigue fuels our inquisitive minds as we ask ourselves- "what IS it all about?!". Einstein said something like, "when you stop learning you die". He was less ignorant than most on a lot of matters but also knew that he himself knew hardly anything, and that's what kept him wanting to know more. He knew a lot but was not a know-it-all.
Avoid know-it-allism. A know-it-all cannot be taught anything new which leaves little to no room for renovation on the house of your mind. If we choose to ignore someone or something based on a preconceived notion that we already know or even know better, then we may be ignoring our way into ignorance. If you walk right past someone or something in ignorance because you think you know better or you think you are better, you may be turning your nose up to an opportunity to learn. To learn something about life, about someone else or about yourself.
One of the Four Agreements is "Don't Make Assumptions". Assuming things about others can block us from a True Reflection. Assuming that something is going to be a certain way may set you up for disappointment. By being open we invite in an essence more closely linked to Truth. We say to the Universe- "I don't know it all already and i am willing to be enlightened". In this respect you may find yourself having a revelation within a conversation with a child or find out a girl you dismissed because you didn't like her shoes has had similar experiences as you, with great insights to share. Pay attention. Everything has something to teach in it's own unique way. Arrogance is a built-in cop-out. Curiosity is a genuine and caring way to enrich your own Book of Knowledge.
The quest for Higher Knowledge has many pathways. And Mysteries unveil themselves to the open-hearted on those roads to the Ultimate Truth. Don't be stupid. Realize your ignorance and seek out morsels of the Great Mystery.
C.U.
We enter as individually wrapped pieces into the open inviting cauldron. We secure ourselves to fluffed pillows and wooden vessels that will hold our squeamish squirms, our empathetic tears, our high-pitched spontaneous laughter, our anticipations and precipitations. And as we one-by-one, page by saturated page unwrap our inner selves, we meld as one rotating entity. Rotating on a central axis. Facing each other as we face our own fears and sneers and joys and boy toys and what have you. Well, what have you today for this collection of expression? We look in to the center of the circle, of our self, of the ways of the world and we see what links us, where we fit together, or not. Where we revolve in a familiar fashion. We are the radial arms of the ground waters emerged to the vulnerable surface. Sometimes it is in a cool running spring flow, at times a hot gushing geyser, or even the overflowing bucket-fulls of the hand dug well, sharing its flavorful essence, none the less. The waters of our inner worlds meet on this open platform. You must be strong and courageous to attend and tend to these rich flowings. For the subterranean pathways these souls have trekked to emerge where they are today are not mildly or gently trickling over smooth and easy stone, but splashing and crashing over jagged edged rock, getting entrenched in slippery clays and sinking muds. No, this watering hole ain't for the faint of heart. I should know, I immerse myself into this thing every week. And it takes me a good while after I leave to shake off the drippings that are spread from every direction. It's like after walking on certain carpets, that static electricity that clings til the charge gets grounded and neutralized. Those emergent waters of emotion and sweat made into ink and pixels on the pages, well, they find their way into my dreamtime as well, still scripting themselves and telling more of their riddles and rhymes and topsy-turvy story lines, fueled by their undercurrents to reach the shores of my sleep... These precious women know how to go there. There, to where it is. What it is that makes them who they are. Who they are is woven into their streaming lines. They bare it, they share it, that which they carry. So out there with what's in there. It's inspiring and conjures so much in me. I wonder if I'll allow myself to get down that deep and share what's under there where the secrets seep... So Collectively Underground I keep.
