poetry
Carbon wings releasing upwards
Allow, for Death refreshes
Tears soften
You fly, alone
Amidst the silence, a heart hears its own name
Called upon to step forward
Onto this living boulder, again
This consciousness shall guide me through Pandora’s landscapes.
A thirst for life and a cup full of love, for pouring, will lie behind this face.
Deeply, I long to hear and see the soul— any other mode of encounter is a blurred name, a miscarriage, a tragedy.
I will mend this throat and mind together, finding the true body’s voice, in spite of the winter’s barren silence.
Tending to the wilting plants and breathing deeply within this furnace.
There are spirits, gods, viewers, visitors.
Remember your motives.
Remember Death!
The spiritual emergency
The Karma
I am being summoned to resolve
Is that of Dissociation.
It takes strength to love this much
It is love whom asks us to stretch our capacities
This is the language of change
The language is change is love
A heart meditating in motion
The magic within the wedding of two opposites
In the unison of work and non-work
In the nothingness of the doing
In the offering of nothing cloaked as love
Effortlessness
Wu Wei
I am looking into the archetypal patterns of this universe
Into faces and spirits all around me
Seeing from within, I recall their familiar nature
Like ripples of song across her ocean body
Ever-generating the mirage of change
Heat rising in concentration
From the belly of the heart
I am pregnant with an inner eye
Who knows a bodily truth
Forget ideas
Ideas are senseless
Against this body of truth
The only thing which ‘makes sense’
Is the nakedness of the body
In its authentic centering
Extending the ultimate ‘This’
Through the unity of peace, and peace alone
For peace is capacity
True Yin
Giving, the ultimate receiving
My ultimate fate lies within my heart
Oh, heart of darkness
The wet warm womb
Fertility is so much more than you know
Listen to the fertile seeds within yourself
The visions of heart and spirit
There were bundles of matter,
to which form asked:
“How are you doing in there?”.
Harmonic bile oozed from cavernous pores.
There was dissonant freedom,
a textural band shot through space, penetrating the membrane— waking, wake up, fast.
Consonance.
There was balance, not a state, but an act of real time.
Behind the lids of closed eyes, standing.
The rain convinces you that you are melting, liquefying.
Panicked in an ocean of peace.
Rising backwards, disintegrating.
There was sensation in the empty elevator, where one's mass was so present, their bones tickled softly.
A child at a fair, roller coasters left and right. Experimenting with sensation, pushing physical limits.
“Can we ride it again? One more time, please!”, The young Eros begs his Mother and Father.
“We’re sorry, we’ve run out of tickets. It is time to go home, time to be bathed and tucked into bed.”
There was night. Warmth. Darkness.
Embraced in his bed by non-living material.
There is no end to this.
Ringing echo, unanswered question.
A gust of sound so eerie the cave itself perspires.
Quivering earth.
Lulling, droning, bodies of chant
Produced by no all.