May we always seek each other,
find one another,
and see every arrival with clarity.
Tag: Creative Writing
Seven Prayers, #2
May we, you and I,
come into awareness
of our powers
of intellect,
our every thought
and imagining–
may we know them as gifts, sacred.
Seven Prayers, #1
May the experiences that deliver us
to the brink of breaking
be held as opportunities for evolution.
Dear Heart
Dear Heart,
(a letter to my heart and any other heart in need)
The absence of romantic, sexual, intimate love that you are currently experiencing is not a sign of your inadequacy, nor of your unworthiness. You are worthy of healthy, whole, reciprocal love. One day you may find it, or perhaps it will find you. Take a moment to remember you chose this path, and there is purpose in it. Solitude and loneliness are great teachers. Take a moment to acknowledge the abundance, the multitude of forms, of love in your life. Love is all around you just waiting for you to notice, to enjoy, and to pass on. Conjure all you have to give your phantom lovers–your fierce passion, your warmth, your softness, your playfulness, your strength, your pleasure, your touch, your humor, your fantasy, your special sauce, your everything–and let it rain down on your being in a quenching, nourishing, ecstatic flow. No one else owns your love. Though others may ignite and inspire your love, it is yours and it belongs only to you dear heart.
I am drawn
(for my unsung muses, and in honor of eros)
I am drawn to you
as I am drawn to water,
to river and ocean.
Your allure,
it seeps subtle, into flesh and bone,
into thoughts and dreams,
knowing not boundaries of distance, nor time.
Your allure,
it electrifies my senses.
It awakens the unspoken.
I long to immerse my body in your waters,
to swim your strong currents,
to be held in moments of stillness.
I yearn to feel permeated,
to cleanse and be cleansed.
I could surrender to your waters,
so cool, deep, and dark,
so soothing
to one who burns.
I could let your waters take my life.
But we are not adversaries,
and I am not here to offer up my life.
We are energies capable of joining, elementally–
magma flowing to meet oceanic waves.
We together would be
a crashing, transforming,
warming, cooling,
sighing, steaming union,
creating future fertile ground for regeneration.
Parts of Her
Parts of her are held.
Parts of her are held together.
Parts of her are held together by stories.
Stories inhabit her cells
shape her thoughts
form her identity
radiate her heart
haunt her spirit.
She belongs to some,
and some belong to her.
Others have traveled from beyond.
All are interwoven,
all are calling,
all are longing,
some are begging–
to be recalled
to be told
to be heard
to be released.
If she tells,
who will listen?
If she tells,
who will believe?
If she tells,
who will keep her stories?
Will her telling be a mending?
An unraveling?
Or, will her telling be an unraveling and a mending?
She understands her questions are ancient–
that there is no knowing,
that there will be no reassurance.
The answers will come
when she begins–
and as with all beginnings,
her voice must rise from the dark silence of the unknown.
I Am
I am a child of heat and friction,
of love and lust,
of laughter and wisdom.
I am a child of golden summer sun,
of amber harvest moon,
birthed in mountain shadow,
in a land of dense coniferous forests and fertile foothills,
a land carved by snow melt and river flow,
a land where the wild meets cultivation.
My heart forged in molten lava,
simmering quiet and deep within Wy’east–
local legend of unrequited love–
I too burn hot and constant.
I too love long and fierce.
My spirit is kin to the fox.
I spend nights shape-shifting,
traveling keen and swift and silent.
Ancestry from the north, from the west–
a bloodline of labor through the seasons–
I call upon your guidance in my prayers.
I am a newborn,
I am time-worn.
I am learning–
how to tend and temper my fire,
to cleanse and free my waters,
to listen and to be of service,
how to reclaim and to be claimed,
how to love and to be loved,
how to create balance in the midst of chaos.
Desires
I want to feel the cool damp caress of night on my skin–
the density.
I want to feel the intimacy created in the absence of light–
the hush.
I want to breathe the darkness of earth–
the intoxication.
I want to drink the medicine of night–
the renewal.
I want to linger in tree-shadow with you,
then bathe our flesh in moonlight–
the fantasy.
I want to lay under the cosmic sea,
as you name the stars–
the communion.
I want to know we exist
outside of my dreams–
the fruition.
In the Eternity of Your Absence
In the eternity of your absence,
I encounter layers of myself.
My divinity, my demon.
My dreams, my desires.
My goddess, my god.
My nature, my essence.
My suffering, my pleasure.
My past, my present, my future.
I encounter the borders and boundaries of me and everything.
In the eternity of your absence,
I learn the contentment of solitude,
and where the edges blur into loneliness.
I hear and see with newfound clarity.
I feel the burning pulse of my longing.
In the eternity of your absence,
I learn that my body
hungers for your body,
while my soul seeks you who sees and feels beyond–
the you who knows your power,
your root of creation,
your divinity and your demon.
In the eternity of your absence,
I admit, it is high time to take off the masks,
to remove the uniforms,
to break the chains of patriarchy.
This undoing of gender is revealing,
we are multi-dimensional star-beings
housed within sensate earth bodies.
In the eternity of your absence,
I know my root of creation–
how it illuminates destiny’s path–
how desire and intuition intersect.
I learn to distinguish the depths,
of my power,
and the purpose of attraction.
Lest We Forget, a poem for autumn
Early autumn days of waning amber sun,
eyes drawn to the weaving dance of contrasts–
light and shadow dancing through the trees,
shadow and light in a lover’s eyes.
Light and shadow.
Life and death.
Shadow and light.
The raw beauty of the world calls us to awaken with every new day,
lest we fall asleep,
lest we forget.
Summer’s flowers transformed,
hanging full and ripe.
These silent offerings,
willing to satiate hunger,
await the pluck of tender fingers.
A most primal, humble act of love.
An exchange accessible to those paying attention,
to those willing to act,
to those willing to fulfill the need to be seen,
to be known,
to be complete in purpose.
The raw beauty of the world calls us to awaken with every new day,
lest we fall asleep,
lest we forget.
Mid-autumn days of misty gray skies,
of flaming yellow, orange and red,
brown decay and evergreen endurance.
Harvests now gathered,
shelves lined with abundance,
and yet, questions linger–
like open, outstretched hands,
half-drawn circles,
tables set for company–
Will you enter into the natural exchange of love for love?
Will you dine in honor and gratitude?
Will you step into the circle offering your conscious, humble self?
Will you remember your purpose and do what you came here to do?
Everbearing 