Panter Spirit
I feel my spots today, although I can’t see them… how they press into the memory of something else inside of me.
It’s fleeting, passing by silently, like an eagle soaring above a steep crevice that falls away into a gorge, emptying its breath onto a still lake, covered in frost.
Quiet… Silent…
Like my hidden dapples.
Only the sun brings out their brilliance in rays of gold - with whisks of ebony responding.
I like the silent beauty they offer for those who are willing to slow down and observe - with out judgment.
It’s the invisible me - just barely visible - in the right light.
I feel my own quiet contemplation, reflective in my green eyes, sleepy in the afternoon sun.
Half mast and sultry - while peering into other worlds that no one else sees. I like it that way…
My vision encompasses both the solitary and expansive.
My heart beat slows down as my breath deepens.
My ribs expand and contract as God breathes through me.
I relax.
I can feel my flesh.
All of it - at one time.
What a gift - presence is.
Noises no longer distract me, for I can feel they are no threat.
And… I am not hungry.
I am satisfied.
Nothing beckons me.
Nothing calls my spirit.
No one knows my name, nor do I have one here.
And I like it like that.
When I am in this place of oneness with everything.
Shadows of leaves dance upon my brow and silk my across skin, rippling the light - waves of ebony and gold.
Ah… there I am.
I almost forgot for a second.
It’s fleeting, passing by silently, like an eagle soaring above a steep crevice that falls away into a gorge, emptying its breath onto a still lake, covered in frost.
Quiet… Silent…
Like my hidden dapples.
Only the sun brings out their brilliance in rays of gold - with whisks of ebony responding.
I like the silent beauty they offer for those who are willing to slow down and observe - with out judgment.
It’s the invisible me - just barely visible - in the right light.
I feel my own quiet contemplation, reflective in my green eyes, sleepy in the afternoon sun.
Half mast and sultry - while peering into other worlds that no one else sees. I like it that way…
My vision encompasses both the solitary and expansive.
My heart beat slows down as my breath deepens.
My ribs expand and contract as God breathes through me.
I relax.
I can feel my flesh.
All of it - at one time.
What a gift - presence is.
Noises no longer distract me, for I can feel they are no threat.
And… I am not hungry.
I am satisfied.
Nothing beckons me.
Nothing calls my spirit.
No one knows my name, nor do I have one here.
And I like it like that.
When I am in this place of oneness with everything.
Shadows of leaves dance upon my brow and silk my across skin, rippling the light - waves of ebony and gold.
Ah… there I am.
I almost forgot for a second.
Morning Moonlight
Cool water pours over me like an ardent lover’s tongue on a starry night.
Overwhelmed by deafening sounds gushing across my skin, this fluid lover caresses each of my crevices, titillating my soul into a subtle submission.
My eyes close against multiple sprays of uplifting wetness, fulfilling every fragment of my abandoned vision.
This liquescent magic reawakens me from somewhere deep inside, sensing my need for a miraculous encounter, indeed.
I relinquish myself to the undulating forces that press against my noble being.
Revitalizing sunshine warms my willing body, as it gently melts away the frost within my heart, still beating inside the tundra of my chest.
Coursing through fiery, turquoise veins, its golden light makes its way towards my epicenter of frozen feelings and lost dreams.
Ancient wounds lay exposed for my elemental counterparts to breathe upon, while restorative beats drum me into the present.
It is now time to let go of any need for arranging my reality in predictable patterns.
Spontaneous fractals emerge from my spirit and blur into blue water droplets, falling away from their serene source that continuously gives, unconditionally.
Fears abandon me, as nature’s orgasmic pre-emptive strike bears down on what’s left of my languishing sense of humanity.
The long-awaited tumble down is poignant and pleasurable.
I lick my lips in anticipation of my divine integration with ‘All that IS’, sinking into moments beyond time and I linger there indefinitely.
Overwhelmed by deafening sounds gushing across my skin, this fluid lover caresses each of my crevices, titillating my soul into a subtle submission.
My eyes close against multiple sprays of uplifting wetness, fulfilling every fragment of my abandoned vision.
This liquescent magic reawakens me from somewhere deep inside, sensing my need for a miraculous encounter, indeed.
I relinquish myself to the undulating forces that press against my noble being.
Revitalizing sunshine warms my willing body, as it gently melts away the frost within my heart, still beating inside the tundra of my chest.
Coursing through fiery, turquoise veins, its golden light makes its way towards my epicenter of frozen feelings and lost dreams.
Ancient wounds lay exposed for my elemental counterparts to breathe upon, while restorative beats drum me into the present.
It is now time to let go of any need for arranging my reality in predictable patterns.
Spontaneous fractals emerge from my spirit and blur into blue water droplets, falling away from their serene source that continuously gives, unconditionally.
Fears abandon me, as nature’s orgasmic pre-emptive strike bears down on what’s left of my languishing sense of humanity.
The long-awaited tumble down is poignant and pleasurable.
I lick my lips in anticipation of my divine integration with ‘All that IS’, sinking into moments beyond time and I linger there indefinitely.
Waterfall
Cool water pours over me like an ardent lover’s tongue on a starry night.
Overwhelmed by deafening sounds gushing across my skin, this fluid lover caresses each of my crevices, titillating my soul into a subtle submission.
My eyes close against multiple sprays of uplifting wetness, fulfilling every fragment of my abandoned vision.
This liquescent magic reawakens me from somewhere deep inside, sensing my need for a miraculous encounter, indeed.
I relinquish myself to the undulating forces that press against my noble being.
Revitalizing sunshine warms my willing body, as it gently melts away the frost within my heart, still beating inside the tundra of my chest.
Coursing through fiery, turquoise veins, its golden light makes its way towards my epicenter of frozen feelings and lost dreams.
Ancient wounds lay exposed for my elemental counterparts to breathe upon, while restorative beats drum me into the present.
It is now time to let go of any need for arranging my reality in predictable patterns.
Spontaneous fractals emerge from my spirit and blur into blue water droplets, falling away from their serene source that continuously gives, unconditionally.
Fears abandon me, as nature’s orgasmic pre-emptive strike bears down on what’s left of my languishing sense of humanity.
The long-awaited tumble down is poignant and pleasurable.
I lick my lips in anticipation of my divine integration with ‘All that IS’, sinking into moments beyond time and I linger there indefinitely.
Cool water pours over me like an ardent lover’s tongue on a starry night.
Overwhelmed by deafening sounds gushing across my skin, this fluid lover caresses each of my crevices, titillating my soul into a subtle submission.
My eyes close against multiple sprays of uplifting wetness, fulfilling every fragment of my abandoned vision.
This liquescent magic reawakens me from somewhere deep inside, sensing my need for a miraculous encounter, indeed.
I relinquish myself to the undulating forces that press against my noble being.
Revitalizing sunshine warms my willing body, as it gently melts away the frost within my heart, still beating inside the tundra of my chest.
Coursing through fiery, turquoise veins, its golden light makes its way towards my epicenter of frozen feelings and lost dreams.
Ancient wounds lay exposed for my elemental counterparts to breathe upon, while restorative beats drum me into the present.
It is now time to let go of any need for arranging my reality in predictable patterns.
Spontaneous fractals emerge from my spirit and blur into blue water droplets, falling away from their serene source that continuously gives, unconditionally.
Fears abandon me, as nature’s orgasmic pre-emptive strike bears down on what’s left of my languishing sense of humanity.
The long-awaited tumble down is poignant and pleasurable.
I lick my lips in anticipation of my divine integration with ‘All that IS’, sinking into moments beyond time and I linger there indefinitely.
Blue Sky, Black Water
Clear, bracken streams crisscross the landscapes of my thirsty heart, where turquoise blood fakes its way in, until I my face turns red like an Indian summer night.
Dark pools flood the space between my cells as I high dive off a ladder I have just begun to climb. Blue sky spins behind me, and I can feel its expansiveness with my eyes closed, while I practice backflips into the black water of my soul.
Now free of cold metal, my hands guide me soaring beyond my teacup target, and instead I splash down into a great sea inside of me.
Numbness creeps across my vision and I chase it away, determined to feel every moment; every sensation; every fleeting emotion trying to hide behind my courage.
Shame shutters in my chest, jumps through hoops in my hips, straightening down into my legs and charges out of my toes, seeking refuge in the shoes I never wear.
My fingers untie the laces, pulling them out each eyehole until they have completely unraveled from around the tongue and lie exposed on the cold concrete floor. I stomp bleach into them dry, stripping all dark colors out that I forced into them when I played in the dirt and filth, left over from days when I was not so innocent.
Blame has no place in my future.
Guilt needs to take up a new hobby, like baking or crocheting something pretty from its fractured patterns.
I have no space for these encumbering’s under my roof any longer.
My tracks are covered and I am not lost… anymore.
Clear, bracken streams crisscross the landscapes of my thirsty heart, where turquoise blood fakes its way in, until I my face turns red like an Indian summer night.
Dark pools flood the space between my cells as I high dive off a ladder I have just begun to climb. Blue sky spins behind me, and I can feel its expansiveness with my eyes closed, while I practice backflips into the black water of my soul.
Now free of cold metal, my hands guide me soaring beyond my teacup target, and instead I splash down into a great sea inside of me.
Numbness creeps across my vision and I chase it away, determined to feel every moment; every sensation; every fleeting emotion trying to hide behind my courage.
Shame shutters in my chest, jumps through hoops in my hips, straightening down into my legs and charges out of my toes, seeking refuge in the shoes I never wear.
My fingers untie the laces, pulling them out each eyehole until they have completely unraveled from around the tongue and lie exposed on the cold concrete floor. I stomp bleach into them dry, stripping all dark colors out that I forced into them when I played in the dirt and filth, left over from days when I was not so innocent.
Blame has no place in my future.
Guilt needs to take up a new hobby, like baking or crocheting something pretty from its fractured patterns.
I have no space for these encumbering’s under my roof any longer.
My tracks are covered and I am not lost… anymore.
Born to Drown
The trees seem friendlier today. Maybe they are always like this and I haven’t taken the time to notice. Each stands alone and yet they are a team, crisscrossing their branches and supporting wildlife together. Leaves litter the ground in beautiful mosaics of their fallen dead. So much beauty in death; at least when it’s not human.
I love the way sea foam, left from each ocean wave, forms trails for me follow as I run along the beach. My toes dig into the warm sand, made up of dead coral, pulverized until it really can’t get any smaller.
That’s how I feel sometimes. But I am not dead yet, although it feels like pieces of me are dying off all the time. On a cellular level this is stands to be true, no matter how happy or healthy I am.
Life seems to be made up of fleeting moments, that roll over and die, revealing the truth underneath for those willing to dive down and drown in themselves.
I used to think I was born to swim, but I know better now.
I was born to drown.
There’s something comforting about giving up the struggle and surrendering until all I can see are bubbles, floating up towards the surface. I like to imagine you can hear my screams when they pop.
But no one comes to my rescue and that’s a good thing, because really, that would just prolong my inevitable suffering. And I am done with that suffrage shit.
Freedom doesn’t come because a friend saves me. It comes when I least expect it, when I’ve rolled up on the shore, my teeth filled with of bits of dead corals and my ears burst with the haunting sounds of fractured seashells that dinosaurs crushed under their ancient weight.
Freedom comes when my lungs are empty of screaming and the grief has gone out with the tide.
Freedom comes when my head is quiet and my mind can no longer analyze if I made a good choice that day.
There is a reason they call it ‘Sweet Surrender’, even though it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
I am grateful for all of it, otherwise this thing we call life would bore me to death.
And that, my friend, would be a painful way to die.
The trees seem friendlier today. Maybe they are always like this and I haven’t taken the time to notice. Each stands alone and yet they are a team, crisscrossing their branches and supporting wildlife together. Leaves litter the ground in beautiful mosaics of their fallen dead. So much beauty in death; at least when it’s not human.
I love the way sea foam, left from each ocean wave, forms trails for me follow as I run along the beach. My toes dig into the warm sand, made up of dead coral, pulverized until it really can’t get any smaller.
That’s how I feel sometimes. But I am not dead yet, although it feels like pieces of me are dying off all the time. On a cellular level this is stands to be true, no matter how happy or healthy I am.
Life seems to be made up of fleeting moments, that roll over and die, revealing the truth underneath for those willing to dive down and drown in themselves.
I used to think I was born to swim, but I know better now.
I was born to drown.
There’s something comforting about giving up the struggle and surrendering until all I can see are bubbles, floating up towards the surface. I like to imagine you can hear my screams when they pop.
But no one comes to my rescue and that’s a good thing, because really, that would just prolong my inevitable suffering. And I am done with that suffrage shit.
Freedom doesn’t come because a friend saves me. It comes when I least expect it, when I’ve rolled up on the shore, my teeth filled with of bits of dead corals and my ears burst with the haunting sounds of fractured seashells that dinosaurs crushed under their ancient weight.
Freedom comes when my lungs are empty of screaming and the grief has gone out with the tide.
Freedom comes when my head is quiet and my mind can no longer analyze if I made a good choice that day.
There is a reason they call it ‘Sweet Surrender’, even though it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
I am grateful for all of it, otherwise this thing we call life would bore me to death.
And that, my friend, would be a painful way to die.
Little Lady
Bite into what exactly? The hollowed hallways of my forgotten refuge? No. It’s time to grind down into the chunky places of my pain. In my crackled and peeling life, flaking away like the landscape of rotting paint on weary shutters, I have discovered I quell all acquaintances to the fractionated fear that oozes out of my pores. I sprinkle drippings of selective essential oils to give me an inkling of recovery, but I end up barely covering the scent of my own scattered sweat beading off my brow as globules of frozen fear occupy my underarm pits. I heave to breathe while hoping no one notices the extra, not so fine, lines or grey hairs. For I haven’t still gotten it together; the beast escaped out of the subjectively subconscious cage to tear apart my happy home. And so it does slowly, from the inside, much like a heroin drip. First the liver pours out its bile and the vomit comes up close to the roof of the mouth, but then subsides again. It’s all wretch and no hurl. Over and under, I push it back down with red wine and sultry spliffs. I gag on the smoke as I choke on my own cowardness, smelling like a worn out whore on the Sunset Strip, raw and tattered from too much shagging on carpets lying under popcorn ceilings. You just want to tell her to go home, but she doesn’t have one, unless a fortuitous precipice counts. Lost and begotten by societal norms and yet fucking your husbands, she has nothing to do but lay on her back and forget her little girl hiding somewhere in the corner of a detention center. Scars litter her heart with razor cuts left by blatant shame and fighting cocks with no balls. Where is her mother? Dead. Where is her father? Dead. Where is humanity? Dead. It’s no wonder she hangs dead in the night while I sleep so comfortably. She is the one I have been avoiding. She is my muse, and I have just found her. Knees bleeding, puke dripping from both corners of her mouth. Every time she cries out for help I say, stuff a spliff in it, will ya honey? Don’t I pay you enough? Get off your ass, clean your self up and have fun, will ya? Have another golden glass of Voiugneir! What? No?! How about some tequila then, huh? What, You don’t feel like taking your clothes off in a drunken stupor? What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t you want to prowl around like a mountain lion from rock to stone and pounce on the next target? I hear nothing. Not a noise from her frigid lips. And then… she screeches out like a falcon that has just set its nest on fire. With flapping feathers, she stabs at bare tree branches to clasp onto as she flails down the face of a crag. For I am the one who has clipped her wings. I have hidden my purpose behind the clouds and told her to soar! The feat I gave her is impossible! She tumbles to the ground in slow motion. I am the one who forgot who she really is, forgot who really I am. I got lost inside of all this self-torment and past pain. Another death, is that what I am asking for? And yet she survives, so then I survive. Am I tripping myself up to crash hard into the grave of my dreams? One where there are no fried oysters, no sushi, no rainbows, no sunshine? Time to put down the peace pipe, pick up the talking stick and get in touch with my little lady. She could use an ear and some listening too…
Chocolate hearts
A Sandpiper runs across the grassy green landscape of sloping earth falling into gulches. It Stops and pauses, hunting for invisible friends to have for lunch today. No napkin, no forks, no bottle of wine pouring from the hands of Jesus. Instead, gnats and flies, eternally connected to the divine, practically worship that Sandpiper who frees them from their world of survival and reproduction.
“May I have this dance?” a purple moth asks the airless Sandpiper. “But of course! Let’s tango and salsa and then do the refried bean. It’s taco time!” and together they chase and run and flit and fly. “Oh, bye-bye, sweet world!” the moth whispers, as it feels the skyscraper tongue of the dashing Sandpiper lick the lavender powder off its wings in mid-flight. “Now, who shall have the next dance?” the Sandpiper wonders as it stalks upon the stalks of seedling weeds. Distracted by a flit of flurry, it doesn’t see the clouds puff along, heading to the coastline to give its blessings upon the ocean. Nor the lulling waves caressing the seashore of its native homeland. It has forgotten the taste of tiny hidden crab cakes lost between the grains of sand. Trading waves of rapture for greener pastures, comfort foods flood the yard. There is some Sushi under the trees! Beer battered fish and chips and dips litter the walking path stones. Mana’s German Chocolate cake is carried on the wings of butterflies. Cilantro Lime Shrimp rolls down the driveway. Did someone say kale? Oh well, who needs all that food anyway? One bite at a time I say. Except for chocolate nibs. Eat those by the handful! Especially on birthdays. Have you ever wondered why we celebrate birthdays? Is it just another chance to eat more chocolate while taking off our pitiful masks? We could just see each other for who we really are, if we only knew. But we forget this, so maybe that is why we have birthday parties. Let’s get out the turntable and ‘rub one off’ together, yes?
I love the saying, “Having children is like having a tattoo on your face. You gotta be committed.” I guess that is why I have mine inked in places hidden from the average persons viewpoint. I believe I would have done the same with kids, which is why I chose not to have any. My folks didn’t want kids and weren’t the greatest with me. They always seemed so stressed, so I made up that I was the source of their pain. I have no interest in passing that one on to another generation. I unplugged the lamp and remain childless. Instead, I take my lessons from my ohana family in a way that heals everyone on the stage, where we dance together in life, instead of running away from each other. That’s better than chocolate and wine, with bacon! OK, it’s almost as good anyway. I’m a believer. The beautiful thing is that we get to believe whatever we want when our parents are dead. The question is, CAN WE? Are the quilt patterns ingrained for life? Is the blanket to heavy to lift with a finger or a feather? I think the sandpiper know the answers. He just ain’t talking English. Maybe it’s time to learn Sandpiper. I wonder if he likes chocolate too? Maybe we can do a trade? Barter his wisdom for chocolate and I’ll even throw in some blueberries and banana chunks. Oh, what’s that Mr. Sandpiper? Hummm… He said he’d get back to me on Wednesday. I guess I can wait. What else am I going to do? I can make Chocolate Hearts that fly on fairy wings and then we will go from there.
“May I have this dance?” a purple moth asks the airless Sandpiper. “But of course! Let’s tango and salsa and then do the refried bean. It’s taco time!” and together they chase and run and flit and fly. “Oh, bye-bye, sweet world!” the moth whispers, as it feels the skyscraper tongue of the dashing Sandpiper lick the lavender powder off its wings in mid-flight. “Now, who shall have the next dance?” the Sandpiper wonders as it stalks upon the stalks of seedling weeds. Distracted by a flit of flurry, it doesn’t see the clouds puff along, heading to the coastline to give its blessings upon the ocean. Nor the lulling waves caressing the seashore of its native homeland. It has forgotten the taste of tiny hidden crab cakes lost between the grains of sand. Trading waves of rapture for greener pastures, comfort foods flood the yard. There is some Sushi under the trees! Beer battered fish and chips and dips litter the walking path stones. Mana’s German Chocolate cake is carried on the wings of butterflies. Cilantro Lime Shrimp rolls down the driveway. Did someone say kale? Oh well, who needs all that food anyway? One bite at a time I say. Except for chocolate nibs. Eat those by the handful! Especially on birthdays. Have you ever wondered why we celebrate birthdays? Is it just another chance to eat more chocolate while taking off our pitiful masks? We could just see each other for who we really are, if we only knew. But we forget this, so maybe that is why we have birthday parties. Let’s get out the turntable and ‘rub one off’ together, yes?
I love the saying, “Having children is like having a tattoo on your face. You gotta be committed.” I guess that is why I have mine inked in places hidden from the average persons viewpoint. I believe I would have done the same with kids, which is why I chose not to have any. My folks didn’t want kids and weren’t the greatest with me. They always seemed so stressed, so I made up that I was the source of their pain. I have no interest in passing that one on to another generation. I unplugged the lamp and remain childless. Instead, I take my lessons from my ohana family in a way that heals everyone on the stage, where we dance together in life, instead of running away from each other. That’s better than chocolate and wine, with bacon! OK, it’s almost as good anyway. I’m a believer. The beautiful thing is that we get to believe whatever we want when our parents are dead. The question is, CAN WE? Are the quilt patterns ingrained for life? Is the blanket to heavy to lift with a finger or a feather? I think the sandpiper know the answers. He just ain’t talking English. Maybe it’s time to learn Sandpiper. I wonder if he likes chocolate too? Maybe we can do a trade? Barter his wisdom for chocolate and I’ll even throw in some blueberries and banana chunks. Oh, what’s that Mr. Sandpiper? Hummm… He said he’d get back to me on Wednesday. I guess I can wait. What else am I going to do? I can make Chocolate Hearts that fly on fairy wings and then we will go from there.
It Surreal Trip
My chest warms like a glowing lotus every time I think about this last Sunday. Friend’s faces spill over the edges my heart, filling my warm bathtub across the lawn. Love floods my memory banks. I am loved because I love. I can see the past deserts of my lost soul, the dryness of my anger and how I used to drown in my own reclusive insecurity. I see my bygone life littered with chewed up mothballs, while yelling out for anchors to be thrown at my skeptical face. Creating the very existence I would later find myself running away from, I was soon lost in the deep wine barrels of my misery. When they were tapped dry, I would turn to one more dirty, bad girl martini, would somehow propel me into a more suitable universe, where my unlived dreams couldn’t find me. Cause we do dream up all this shit, ya know. It doesn’t matter how many balloons life sucks up into a clear blue sky, time can always spit out the rubber like a white whore’s hole. Oh, how I tried unfaithfully to protect myself from its demise. Life patterns scatter like acorns across the roots of a mighty oak tree, tiptoeing across the meadow, shaking, with leaves shuttering and lives dangling from its branches. As the smiles of our beloveds enlighten this ancient giant from deep inside as a radiating glowing sun reflective of life, we watch stars blaze across the sparkling midnight of its endearing glances. I fly out across our spinning globe in a wave of bliss as I reminisce of all my relations who have touched my life across the planet. Networks of relationships crisscross the globe, stringing light in all directions, building a grid of kindred souls in connection with each other, like dew on a spider web. I wonder how our mother Gaia is this truly affected by our travelling gratitude? Are we the invisible super glue that holds her together while she is being assaulted by smoke and mirrors? I wonder does the black monstrous megalith that created the TSA, is aware of this? And that is why they try to make travelling as uncomfortable as unconstitutionally possible? “Oh, fear not my weary children,” Gaia whispers, “For your TSA discomfort is merely a shadow of the atrocities you do not wish to see, if your focus is on complaining. Just know that behind every complaint, behind every judgment, is the fear of the truth. Call out the divisiveness hiding inside of your patterned fears and an illuminated path will once again reveal itself to you.” … Wow, I did not write that and yet I did. Thank you mother earth, for all the ways you speak to us. When we lend out hearts to the hope of such a connection, you fill the void with green and blues. I’m sorry that I forget about you sometimes. Please forgive me. I love you. I always have. Thank you.
Being Late
There once was a debate about how late you could be and still be free to show up on time. When you gauge tardiness against street smartness, one has to wonder who is right and who is left behind. I will not doddle on the subject, I just felt it needed to be said. That’s all. And they declare that there is no feat to small when climbing up the wonder wall. Who else is up there, you ask? No one you should concern yourself with my dear. Just a few sleazy lounge lizards who eat the gizzards of satisfied singers and perfecting poets who dare to dawdle on the serendipitous stage of life. Make right your willful wrongs in practical prose, but cut short the songs with strung notes of feeble ramblings that jack up the best country ballads.
What if the tick tock is on your side but you have become lost on the vague sea bordered by broken shorelines? Locate the cross-stricken currents that carry the wasted debris from radioactive land mines, caddishly called power plants, and you will return home once again. Don’t worry, all organic matter has already stunk and sunk to the depths below the blue. You just hold on to the half submerged Styrofoam pilings that used to clench the land with rivets and wood. Then when will you arrive? Perhaps on time for the universal galactic convergence! You know, the torturous star crossing that calls all people to head for the hills. What a feat that will be, heaving themselves off their big consuming multi-color asses, particularly a problem in Indiana, which is officially America’s fattest city! The great thing is that it won’t be crowded up there in them mountains. Most people won’t be able to hoof it first of all. They would rather die than go without their ding-dongs and foam filled Twinkies. So whadda say, cupcake? Got a date with desire? Or a soggy plate loaded with mashed GMO potatoes and grits? What I want to know is who really wrote this shit anyway? Perhaps some stray Chihuahua choking on a pot plant? Or the little illustrious lady who is late for her sister spa day? Whoever it is, I am done with this rant.
What if the tick tock is on your side but you have become lost on the vague sea bordered by broken shorelines? Locate the cross-stricken currents that carry the wasted debris from radioactive land mines, caddishly called power plants, and you will return home once again. Don’t worry, all organic matter has already stunk and sunk to the depths below the blue. You just hold on to the half submerged Styrofoam pilings that used to clench the land with rivets and wood. Then when will you arrive? Perhaps on time for the universal galactic convergence! You know, the torturous star crossing that calls all people to head for the hills. What a feat that will be, heaving themselves off their big consuming multi-color asses, particularly a problem in Indiana, which is officially America’s fattest city! The great thing is that it won’t be crowded up there in them mountains. Most people won’t be able to hoof it first of all. They would rather die than go without their ding-dongs and foam filled Twinkies. So whadda say, cupcake? Got a date with desire? Or a soggy plate loaded with mashed GMO potatoes and grits? What I want to know is who really wrote this shit anyway? Perhaps some stray Chihuahua choking on a pot plant? Or the little illustrious lady who is late for her sister spa day? Whoever it is, I am done with this rant.
I Have Always Been Free
I have always been free-er than most. Growing up I had a lot of free rein in what I wanted to do. I was a latch key kid and had many hours to find time to do things that only interested me. If I died today, I would be more than satisfied with my life. I have no regrets, although I would like to travel through the Fijian Islands and I still want to spend some time exploring the lost shallow reefs of the Maldives, where one can leave a trail of footprints stretching across narrow sand atolls, surrounded by a lapping tide, to watch a storm pass during sunset. I also would love to visit Seychelles and Madagascar, for no particular reason other than to take in their sheer tropical ancient beauty. I have always craved a certain amount of isolation, but only the type that is steeped in the deep tropics of cancer and other nefarious places, some not present on this earthly plane, but most are reachable by boat.
Their colors have always haunted me, the cerulean blue, the aquamarine sunlit crystals shimmering over quiet sandy beaches that are sprinkled with tufts of waving green leaves, flickering atop muted brown poles. I love balancing myself on the edge of rugged red cliffs while glancing down across the oceans sparkling mass. My heart warms when I think of this. Nothing else matters really, not right now. In my internal silence, this brings a question to me: Why am I not at the beach everyday? I think because I got THE beach bum filled up in my 20’s. Between riding horses bareback through tepid tide pools on Oahu’s North Shore to crewing on catamarans launching off Kaanapali beaches, I spent many years staring lovingly into the eyes of my cobalt blue existence through polarized sunglasses.
But now days I always feel like I am eluding my small self for the sake of something greater. I feel that I am scared to dive into the deep waters of my own being, fearing that I might drown in the intensive undercurrents that ripple though my soul. When I look inside, I see an expansive quiet black hole that just keeps getting bigger, no matter what dream I follow. Horses filled it through out my life by being my companion in many spontaneous bareback adventures. The freedom and power they lent me stays deep into my bones. But now I am at loss to find fulfillment for that aspect of my black hole self. Maybe there is none. I just want to have a smile on my face, be truly happy and have a good time. Why is that is hard sometimes? Eventually, I always seem to drift back to empty and meaningless days filled with the haze of dreams lost to the wonders of my soul. I guess that is what they mean by living in the unknown, for that is a daily journey that I take, whether I leave the house or not.
I have consciously or unconsciously asked for this life just as it is, or else it would be some other way, right?
I don’t know that I will ever get far enough away from myself to find the peace that exists deep within me. I prospect not, else I will be dead.
Their colors have always haunted me, the cerulean blue, the aquamarine sunlit crystals shimmering over quiet sandy beaches that are sprinkled with tufts of waving green leaves, flickering atop muted brown poles. I love balancing myself on the edge of rugged red cliffs while glancing down across the oceans sparkling mass. My heart warms when I think of this. Nothing else matters really, not right now. In my internal silence, this brings a question to me: Why am I not at the beach everyday? I think because I got THE beach bum filled up in my 20’s. Between riding horses bareback through tepid tide pools on Oahu’s North Shore to crewing on catamarans launching off Kaanapali beaches, I spent many years staring lovingly into the eyes of my cobalt blue existence through polarized sunglasses.
But now days I always feel like I am eluding my small self for the sake of something greater. I feel that I am scared to dive into the deep waters of my own being, fearing that I might drown in the intensive undercurrents that ripple though my soul. When I look inside, I see an expansive quiet black hole that just keeps getting bigger, no matter what dream I follow. Horses filled it through out my life by being my companion in many spontaneous bareback adventures. The freedom and power they lent me stays deep into my bones. But now I am at loss to find fulfillment for that aspect of my black hole self. Maybe there is none. I just want to have a smile on my face, be truly happy and have a good time. Why is that is hard sometimes? Eventually, I always seem to drift back to empty and meaningless days filled with the haze of dreams lost to the wonders of my soul. I guess that is what they mean by living in the unknown, for that is a daily journey that I take, whether I leave the house or not.
I have consciously or unconsciously asked for this life just as it is, or else it would be some other way, right?
I don’t know that I will ever get far enough away from myself to find the peace that exists deep within me. I prospect not, else I will be dead.
Dead Unto Ourselves
People die all the time. They are dying now, if they are not already dead. I will die, but I am not afraid of it, at least not yet, and maybe I will never be. But when people die, who have effected great change in their communities, that is a true loss beyond their meat suit and whether they ate organic foods or GMO’s. We are losing more than their simple human existence, which we all are part of. We are losing the momentum of change that they brought with their thoughts, ideas and actions. We will miss their bold love, endearing compassion and controversial forthrightness.
So I ask myself, what can I do to pick up where they left off? What pieces of myself do I reclaim so that I no longer lay scattered across the landscape, lost in puzzles of my own divisiveness? When will I stop being a victim of my grandparents surviving the Nazi wars in Germany, or their long forgotten, bad habits? How do I chain down my own negative behaviors while setting myself free to simply be the Greatness we all harbor, now, before I am dead? How do I get out of my fucking head?
Have you ever wondered about when you are going to die? Or how? I haven’t much thought of it myself. I have avoided using death as a strategy to motivate me in a new direction while dancing to some old tune. I just know it will come. I think most people are sleep walking through life anyway, and I wonder is it worth the twisting and screaming to be heard by them? And if so, so what? Will they mute the TV long enough to notice they should just turn it off? I can’t stand going over to people’s houses and the TV is just ON. Blaring to an empty audience, an empty room, an empty mind. Or it is blatantly booming news of non-events while hanging above empty lounge chairs on the patio, near the empty pool. This point begs another question to be asked; Why do people have things that they don’t use? What is the point? So that when they are on their death bed, they can think about the big empty home they lived in with Scotchguard’s spray-on plastic film protecting the unused couches. Would they reminisce about the good times they spent getting drunk on their now empty bar stools that sit submerged beneath the pools surface where the bartender is backed by a waterfall that leads to a grotto where there is a big ultra private Jacuzzi hiding back there?
Do you know what the wealthiest man in the world said when he died? ‘I’d gladly give up all my millions for one experience of marital happiness.’ J. Paul Getty walked down the aisle FIVE times. But when he was alive, he didn’t give his marriage the time of day whilst he held the ticking clock in his hands. How many more good friends have to die before I pick up my grandfathers pocket watch and smash it to pieces? What is this genetic pause button that I have hit? Where does all this hesitation come from? I have not been tortured in a Nazi camp or ever starved.
What ever am I waiting for? Perhaps I am waiting to die…
So I ask myself, what can I do to pick up where they left off? What pieces of myself do I reclaim so that I no longer lay scattered across the landscape, lost in puzzles of my own divisiveness? When will I stop being a victim of my grandparents surviving the Nazi wars in Germany, or their long forgotten, bad habits? How do I chain down my own negative behaviors while setting myself free to simply be the Greatness we all harbor, now, before I am dead? How do I get out of my fucking head?
Have you ever wondered about when you are going to die? Or how? I haven’t much thought of it myself. I have avoided using death as a strategy to motivate me in a new direction while dancing to some old tune. I just know it will come. I think most people are sleep walking through life anyway, and I wonder is it worth the twisting and screaming to be heard by them? And if so, so what? Will they mute the TV long enough to notice they should just turn it off? I can’t stand going over to people’s houses and the TV is just ON. Blaring to an empty audience, an empty room, an empty mind. Or it is blatantly booming news of non-events while hanging above empty lounge chairs on the patio, near the empty pool. This point begs another question to be asked; Why do people have things that they don’t use? What is the point? So that when they are on their death bed, they can think about the big empty home they lived in with Scotchguard’s spray-on plastic film protecting the unused couches. Would they reminisce about the good times they spent getting drunk on their now empty bar stools that sit submerged beneath the pools surface where the bartender is backed by a waterfall that leads to a grotto where there is a big ultra private Jacuzzi hiding back there?
Do you know what the wealthiest man in the world said when he died? ‘I’d gladly give up all my millions for one experience of marital happiness.’ J. Paul Getty walked down the aisle FIVE times. But when he was alive, he didn’t give his marriage the time of day whilst he held the ticking clock in his hands. How many more good friends have to die before I pick up my grandfathers pocket watch and smash it to pieces? What is this genetic pause button that I have hit? Where does all this hesitation come from? I have not been tortured in a Nazi camp or ever starved.
What ever am I waiting for? Perhaps I am waiting to die…
Now What?
What if everything is the opposite of what we have been told? Now what?
My heart feels one way, but my mind thinks another.
What if REAL Love is not really the butterflies fluttering around in your gut? Now What?
What if the whole world is really just a made up bunch of perceptions feeding off of conscious and unconscious emotions.
The weather forecast calls for rain, but it is clearly sunny, with a chance of chemtrails. Supposedly they don’t exist. Any mention of them is not to be found in the dictionary, but Wikpedia has a whole write up on them. Now What?
What if taking uncalculated risks is the sanest thing one could do and living a comfortable life is the most dangerous? Now What?
What if it’s true that the media only spews opinions and repetitive misleading information?
What if Congress passes a law that writing questioning questions is a sign of terrorism? Now What?
How old are most people that are running around in adult bodies? What is the average maturity age of the average person anyway? Is there an average?
What if taking certain naturally occurring drugs in order to learn things increases your chances of mind expansion and along with that, your knowledge retention increases? Now What?
What if missing your train to work leads you to riding on a stranger’s yacht to freedom?
What if being late really means that you are right on time?
What if there is nothing but perfection in everything that you do. Now What?
What if sitting in one place with no thoughts in your mind opens your life up more than heli-skiing or base jumping… or heli-skiing off of a base jump in a batman suit. Now What?
Would you go slower throughout your day and appreciate every flower that you happen to meet along the way?
If so, What Now?
My heart feels one way, but my mind thinks another.
What if REAL Love is not really the butterflies fluttering around in your gut? Now What?
What if the whole world is really just a made up bunch of perceptions feeding off of conscious and unconscious emotions.
The weather forecast calls for rain, but it is clearly sunny, with a chance of chemtrails. Supposedly they don’t exist. Any mention of them is not to be found in the dictionary, but Wikpedia has a whole write up on them. Now What?
What if taking uncalculated risks is the sanest thing one could do and living a comfortable life is the most dangerous? Now What?
What if it’s true that the media only spews opinions and repetitive misleading information?
What if Congress passes a law that writing questioning questions is a sign of terrorism? Now What?
How old are most people that are running around in adult bodies? What is the average maturity age of the average person anyway? Is there an average?
What if taking certain naturally occurring drugs in order to learn things increases your chances of mind expansion and along with that, your knowledge retention increases? Now What?
What if missing your train to work leads you to riding on a stranger’s yacht to freedom?
What if being late really means that you are right on time?
What if there is nothing but perfection in everything that you do. Now What?
What if sitting in one place with no thoughts in your mind opens your life up more than heli-skiing or base jumping… or heli-skiing off of a base jump in a batman suit. Now What?
Would you go slower throughout your day and appreciate every flower that you happen to meet along the way?
If so, What Now?
Jump
Why do men behave like little boys? I mean, they can run a business, drive a car, provide for their loved ones, but what is up with the little boy act? Is it so I won’t hurt him? But he knows this, I’ve proven that time and time again. Is it left over from all the women who came before me? Who ignored his heart or devoured it with a croissant at breakfast while sipping their morning tea? Or am I somehow emasculating him to where he feels the need to hide behind the little boy, so I won’t hurt him further?
Today, the grey clouds hide my true mood. I look a bit sullen with the slow scattered rain and flash flood warnings that alert my mobile phone. In the darkness of my chest, between pulsing blood and shallow breath, my heart yelps out for drastic change! Let the rains fall and the rivers fill. I just want to cry but the tears won’t come. I want to dive in and be swallowed by the whirlpool that beckons me to jump! I stand above these rushing torrents, swirling into a pulsing vortex, looking like the heartbeat of the planet itself. JUMP! It yells. JUMP! JUMP! I hear its call from deep inside my chest. What happens if I jump? Will I be swallowed up and drowned? That might not be such a bad thing when I think about it, not really. I crave such passion from my partner, so maybe that takes a bit of courage on my part? Maybe it is me who is acting like a little girl? Maybe I am not willing to dive into my true emotional self and swim in my own waters. I did not jump in with both feet in my marriage, I stayed a safe distance from the swirling mass of my vulnerability and never really let go. I was so scared of the pain I might endure if I really relinquished control. So scared from those strange men in my childhood who tried to take me and make me theirs when I was far too young. I let go of the chains that I have bound myself up in and wash clean the wounds that lay open as I contemplate my jumping into the salty abyss. I am ready to heal through my hell and straight into heaven, all which is before me right now. I am done envying those panty-less women who can bring them selves to orgasm just by rubbing their legs together in a pair of jeans or the subtle self-pleasuring bookworm in the park, whose gentle laughter between the pages, no one even notices. I desire deep connection to my true orgasmic self, the kind that does not rely on my partner being a grown up or not. Today is a good day to die. I’ve got a date with a cliff. Bye bye…
Today, the grey clouds hide my true mood. I look a bit sullen with the slow scattered rain and flash flood warnings that alert my mobile phone. In the darkness of my chest, between pulsing blood and shallow breath, my heart yelps out for drastic change! Let the rains fall and the rivers fill. I just want to cry but the tears won’t come. I want to dive in and be swallowed by the whirlpool that beckons me to jump! I stand above these rushing torrents, swirling into a pulsing vortex, looking like the heartbeat of the planet itself. JUMP! It yells. JUMP! JUMP! I hear its call from deep inside my chest. What happens if I jump? Will I be swallowed up and drowned? That might not be such a bad thing when I think about it, not really. I crave such passion from my partner, so maybe that takes a bit of courage on my part? Maybe it is me who is acting like a little girl? Maybe I am not willing to dive into my true emotional self and swim in my own waters. I did not jump in with both feet in my marriage, I stayed a safe distance from the swirling mass of my vulnerability and never really let go. I was so scared of the pain I might endure if I really relinquished control. So scared from those strange men in my childhood who tried to take me and make me theirs when I was far too young. I let go of the chains that I have bound myself up in and wash clean the wounds that lay open as I contemplate my jumping into the salty abyss. I am ready to heal through my hell and straight into heaven, all which is before me right now. I am done envying those panty-less women who can bring them selves to orgasm just by rubbing their legs together in a pair of jeans or the subtle self-pleasuring bookworm in the park, whose gentle laughter between the pages, no one even notices. I desire deep connection to my true orgasmic self, the kind that does not rely on my partner being a grown up or not. Today is a good day to die. I’ve got a date with a cliff. Bye bye…
Cages
Caged like a tiger on Tuesday, awaiting the catch and release orders. Found disappearing into nothing, I saw a scar hidden in the bushes of my freaking mind. Freak out when in doubt so that you really can’t handle what is about to come crashing your way. Sitting on the sidelines of my own peep show, I notice the puppet is pissed off and lecherously tired of the sizable hand up its ass. Can I request a rewrite by tonite? Gnashing my teeth and grinding my hips I sense the flow is rushing some other way. How do I get back on track? Is it even possible to needle my way back through the turf of tears that I quench with tired drinks and smoke that stinks of tobacco? How do I get out of my own way and do the two-step with God?
The Feast
I hear spider webs bouncing against the onslaught of rushing raindrops. Tiny tears of God playing lavishly with its own creation, caught up in the fledgling wisps of spun silk. The air cries out in thick damp bellows, wandering aimlessly amidst the flying fern’s spores. Trees laugh up at the sky, asking for more sodden downpours of madness while basking its branches in the liquid sunlight. The mystery is with us today, giving rise and play in a most serendipitous way, leaving us all wanting to see beyond the edge of the horizons fall. The invisible stars circle us like buzzards, effortlessly spinning in all directions while awaiting the inevitable last breath of our parched planet. Lofty goals of men are lost in an aimless greed that will speed and spawn folly in the end of a haze of days with no expiration date in sight. Oh the plight of many who protest these times, lost in the rhymes of poisonous politicians who give their own children the elixir of death without regret. An yet, I stand in unconditional love, bashing up against an empty shore where shattered remnants of Japanese fishing balls end their whoring upon the sea, caught in the tumultuous tides that drag them all South of International borders and time lines on an imploding globe exploding with passion and rebellion and then expanding beyond its own breath into the hungry stars awaiting their next feast. As my consciousness finds release in words that never cease to amaze me, I am bewildered by the thief who creeps in, past the hollow moon and steals my hungers. You cannot imagine the torment in my giving away these treasures. When will I awaken from this self-inflicted dream? Each day the depth of illusion grows fuller inside my growing belly as I turn a blind eye to my aggressor. Wake UP! Wake UP I say! Don’t waste another tormented day giving in to the sin of others. Demand clear vision and I shall most hastily have it served on a plate of pate’, made from the finest livers of demons, devils and saints. Love can carry me high above the radiation fallout and Japanese fishing balls that litter our sandy salty shores. And I will eat it all, smiling and crying and then feast on gooey, chocolaty, s’mores until I simply can eat no more...
The Three R’s
Have you ever had days that were full of Resentment, Resignation and Regret? Perhaps on some of those days you don’t know it, but your face surely shows it, to everyone along the way, you have met. You might think it is just an inkling of the sadness sprinkling across everything that you do. But this melancholy has a root and runs in tandem with random displays of lethargy and soot. You might feel a glass of wine is what you need to cure this bad seed, but the point is mute. Once you are sober and left with a hangover, it rises again like an unwanted friend who pukes on your couch and then walks out of the house when the party is over. But it doesn’t really ever leave…
Resentment, Resignation and Regret are three things that set the tone for a bet with the devil. But once they are each painstakingly met with unconditional love, in order to forgive and forget, they can fade forever like a once most famous starlet or an incredible sunset.
Resentment, Resignation and Regret are just awaiting release from your grasp of the past. Think of it like this: Resentment is the captain, Resignation is the boat, and Regret is the ship’s flag. Now follow along, will you?
Let your Resignation list like an old boat on its side, one that can only be brought to safe harbor, by loves unwavering tide. As a ghost ship it appears, full of things long thought dead, as it circles the bottomless quay in your head.
Now open the channel and flood the straights, as a whirlpool draws this floating crate down through your heart’s open gates. Now, once the waters have stilled and the winds are calm, I suggest you befriend this scary looking Captain Resentment and then gingerly move on.
Let the Resignation drop anchor in this protected heart shaped bay, and heave over the side, all its baggage and dismay. Let love wash the decks with true delight and then open the hatches to let in more sunlight.
Free the crew that are trapped below, and feed them bread made of love’s dough. See the smiles return to their faces as they dream of new places to go.
Now take down the wet, sorrowful flag of regret. Build a pyre and burn the material mascot in Love’s eternal fire. So we are left to sing a song, and wish it well along its way. Back to creation, back to source, with all this energy and remorse.
You are now free, and so is he, and so is she, and me.
Resentment, Resignation and Regret…
Resentment, Resignation and Regret are three things that set the tone for a bet with the devil. But once they are each painstakingly met with unconditional love, in order to forgive and forget, they can fade forever like a once most famous starlet or an incredible sunset.
Resentment, Resignation and Regret are just awaiting release from your grasp of the past. Think of it like this: Resentment is the captain, Resignation is the boat, and Regret is the ship’s flag. Now follow along, will you?
Let your Resignation list like an old boat on its side, one that can only be brought to safe harbor, by loves unwavering tide. As a ghost ship it appears, full of things long thought dead, as it circles the bottomless quay in your head.
Now open the channel and flood the straights, as a whirlpool draws this floating crate down through your heart’s open gates. Now, once the waters have stilled and the winds are calm, I suggest you befriend this scary looking Captain Resentment and then gingerly move on.
Let the Resignation drop anchor in this protected heart shaped bay, and heave over the side, all its baggage and dismay. Let love wash the decks with true delight and then open the hatches to let in more sunlight.
Free the crew that are trapped below, and feed them bread made of love’s dough. See the smiles return to their faces as they dream of new places to go.
Now take down the wet, sorrowful flag of regret. Build a pyre and burn the material mascot in Love’s eternal fire. So we are left to sing a song, and wish it well along its way. Back to creation, back to source, with all this energy and remorse.
You are now free, and so is he, and so is she, and me.
Resentment, Resignation and Regret…
Internalize This Candy Heart
I am lounging in the lap of love within my own heart. I am swimming across the languid sea of my own internal intensity, following a light that is brighter than the darkest night. Bring my skipping soul in alignment with the safety of my ever-present beautifully equipped mind, jumping through vortices that stand congruent with the infinite creation. Swing out of limitation to shout out to the angels of your intentions. Let them support you in everything that you do, whether belief is with you or not. I feel honored to be the messenger of blessings and blissings for all to hang upon their dreams in a hall of mirrors and Christmas lights. It is a time to celebrate! Life is a gift and all you need to do is be present. That is why life is a present. Can you feel it in your sacred space of heart? Can you feel the deep yearning and turning away from the old comfortable ways that slowly roast you like kalua pig, wrapped in banana leaves and smoked under ground? Although the beast is soo tasty and nothing is wasted, how do you feel when the feast is over? I know I feel full and hollow at the same time. I want to fill my lungs with lovely wisps of smoke taken from the great sages.
Windswept rainbows lull on the playground of my heart, singing songs to the midnight dandy who gives away candy to children of all sages and wisdom keepers. Sparkling sunlight hits the bottom of my soul, where no one dare go, except today I traipse across the heartstrings until I can stand no more song. This is not a sing a long, but a slow ballad from a long forgotten land where time stands still on the tip of a pin needle and as sharp as the eye of a shaman. Nothing gets by unnoticed. Post signs for a lost world to be found once the last cloud has hurled its weight mightily down upon the crowd awaiting recognition for strange artifacts drowned during the last ice age. When you go home, will you be alone? Will you huddle in a secret corner of your home kept exclusively for the visits of martyrs and saints? Wonder at the emptiness as you stare at the walls falling down on you. Crying will not help here. You have to let go of the fading light and submit to your darkest plight and plunder all your might asunder. Let go. Surrender to your fear of fear and hear nothing tapping upon the windowpane as the nightly rain washes your sins away. Pray if you must, but then let go of all exponential expectations and disturbing reclamations of power before it all goes sour beyond the eleventh hour. You know what to do.
Windswept rainbows lull on the playground of my heart, singing songs to the midnight dandy who gives away candy to children of all sages and wisdom keepers. Sparkling sunlight hits the bottom of my soul, where no one dare go, except today I traipse across the heartstrings until I can stand no more song. This is not a sing a long, but a slow ballad from a long forgotten land where time stands still on the tip of a pin needle and as sharp as the eye of a shaman. Nothing gets by unnoticed. Post signs for a lost world to be found once the last cloud has hurled its weight mightily down upon the crowd awaiting recognition for strange artifacts drowned during the last ice age. When you go home, will you be alone? Will you huddle in a secret corner of your home kept exclusively for the visits of martyrs and saints? Wonder at the emptiness as you stare at the walls falling down on you. Crying will not help here. You have to let go of the fading light and submit to your darkest plight and plunder all your might asunder. Let go. Surrender to your fear of fear and hear nothing tapping upon the windowpane as the nightly rain washes your sins away. Pray if you must, but then let go of all exponential expectations and disturbing reclamations of power before it all goes sour beyond the eleventh hour. You know what to do.
The Aura of Winter
As winter began once again, as it always does in mid November, I broke into a light sweat, almost as if running from something. But I was holding still, barely breathing and now having just become aware of my shallow breath, took a deep inhale of fresh tropical fragrant smells through both nostrils, smelling the greenery that surrounds me in my paradise.
Memories flood my mind of another winter, not so long ago… but far more cold and dreary in the trickery of a mans merely human heart.
This not-so distant Thanksgiving of two years ago, which I found to be a dull and languid feasting of Butterball flesh, was mostly a non-event, at least on the surface of my awakening life that encircled me in chivalry and smiles.
But a wicked storm was brewing underneath an expansive sea, influenced by the tortured heart of a woman who could not see her own power until it was unleashed upon her mirror (an unwelcomed gift from the Universe) for she was no longer the fairest of them all.
Her rage grew ambiguously, conjuring a spell that drew her lost man nearer, closer into her wild web of demise, despite the wretched smell of unrequited love laden with rotting emotions through sultry eyes.
A knot wells my stomach and strangles my throat as I recall the dark tempest that crept back into my life, blowing gales of curses untoward me, losing piece by piece the bright loving man granted to me by God itself, for I now found his light to be flickering in and out, much in like the sad way a dying candle’s glow eventually extinguishes itself.
I could feel this murky shadow pulsing upon my unconscious, with the same swiftness of a tsunami, quietly pulling the ocean towards its gathering mass, shelving the unsuspecting marine life to gasp in the silence of their own deaths as their life force literally drains away from them. Then as soundlessly as the liquid went towards the call of its creator, a massive wave now comes forth times a hundred fold, now drowning the beached fish twice with a resounding and finite force as it unleashes its enormity of power onto the damp landscape. Death floats to the surface to be seen by all with fearful awakened eyes.
But I say to you Aura, you temptress, you witch, you whore; drown in the very stench that is you… no more. Be gone from him with the wiles of your lust, be gone from his every twitch. You are no more part of his suffering. Or mine.
You cannot stand the immensity of this infinite force that you cannot coerce and it never will be mastered under the face of evil or the wicked ways of darkness, for its light is revealed to be far more brighter than the darkest night. I erase you from my blood’s memory, releasing all pain into the steadfast grace that took me out of your nightmarish space and put me in a heavenly place while I was surrounded by your hell.
I was never your competition, no force to come against with your manipulating displays of jealousy as you rolled yourself asunder, under the very waves you created in your plunder of the human heart. You could never have won this fight for I was never participating in your war.
Pull the light of day through the crack of dawn and be blown away by the brilliant lovebird’s song, as soft waves gently lap the shore of my heart and I now know that writing or speaking of you will no longer make me fall apart. This is The End.
Memories flood my mind of another winter, not so long ago… but far more cold and dreary in the trickery of a mans merely human heart.
This not-so distant Thanksgiving of two years ago, which I found to be a dull and languid feasting of Butterball flesh, was mostly a non-event, at least on the surface of my awakening life that encircled me in chivalry and smiles.
But a wicked storm was brewing underneath an expansive sea, influenced by the tortured heart of a woman who could not see her own power until it was unleashed upon her mirror (an unwelcomed gift from the Universe) for she was no longer the fairest of them all.
Her rage grew ambiguously, conjuring a spell that drew her lost man nearer, closer into her wild web of demise, despite the wretched smell of unrequited love laden with rotting emotions through sultry eyes.
A knot wells my stomach and strangles my throat as I recall the dark tempest that crept back into my life, blowing gales of curses untoward me, losing piece by piece the bright loving man granted to me by God itself, for I now found his light to be flickering in and out, much in like the sad way a dying candle’s glow eventually extinguishes itself.
I could feel this murky shadow pulsing upon my unconscious, with the same swiftness of a tsunami, quietly pulling the ocean towards its gathering mass, shelving the unsuspecting marine life to gasp in the silence of their own deaths as their life force literally drains away from them. Then as soundlessly as the liquid went towards the call of its creator, a massive wave now comes forth times a hundred fold, now drowning the beached fish twice with a resounding and finite force as it unleashes its enormity of power onto the damp landscape. Death floats to the surface to be seen by all with fearful awakened eyes.
But I say to you Aura, you temptress, you witch, you whore; drown in the very stench that is you… no more. Be gone from him with the wiles of your lust, be gone from his every twitch. You are no more part of his suffering. Or mine.
You cannot stand the immensity of this infinite force that you cannot coerce and it never will be mastered under the face of evil or the wicked ways of darkness, for its light is revealed to be far more brighter than the darkest night. I erase you from my blood’s memory, releasing all pain into the steadfast grace that took me out of your nightmarish space and put me in a heavenly place while I was surrounded by your hell.
I was never your competition, no force to come against with your manipulating displays of jealousy as you rolled yourself asunder, under the very waves you created in your plunder of the human heart. You could never have won this fight for I was never participating in your war.
Pull the light of day through the crack of dawn and be blown away by the brilliant lovebird’s song, as soft waves gently lap the shore of my heart and I now know that writing or speaking of you will no longer make me fall apart. This is The End.