Monday, December 20

What is Fearlessness?

What is this thing called fear? Why does it constantly control us? What is the reason we fear the most authentic truths of existence?

Always wondering what someone else will think of us? Asking ourselves "should we just be real, just speak our truths?"

I hear someone say "Ask yourself, are you allowing everything to be as it is right now?" Are you grasping? What are you trying to change, and more importantly, why?

Stumbled upon this today: the point of the question is not to find the answer, but to find the truth. Ask the question to find the truth. And before you get an answer, you already know.

What could be more perfect than the coming together of a cosmic nature to create this moment in time?

Wednesday, December 1

Hikes of Insight

She awoke one late afternoon
during a high desert hike
holding the company of rose quartz
in the midst of a sniff of a Ponderosa Pine


She rubbed her ochre browns
unsure of the reality held in this glorious setting sun
of oceans in deserts
hiding behind trees
appearing to be open
beholden
she grew into gleaming
beaming ... like Venus does in the late fall, early morning skies

Chasing the moon
she's chasing the waning crescent back to her self
17% full now
but mostly
she's full of radiant love and belief

Back to all there is under this fading fall moonshine

She awoke
in love
believing

She awoke
in love
relasing

She awoke
in love
not clinging

Believing
releasing
not clinging
its a manta now

By falling into the dream
you become the dream
because you are the dream
because you are beauty incarnate
you become
and listening to the wind proves this
over
and over
and over
again

Tuesday, November 30

Self Reminder

But does the blossoming flower not trust that it will eventually open?
That all through the fall months they gracefully prepare for stillness
And during the winter months simply enshrouded in complete stillness
Until spring comes and breaths a sense of aliveness back into them
Like sleeping children...
They begin to awaken
To be met with all the anticipation and joy of an early summer's rays...

Friday, November 26

Hermitage Ramblings

Moondragon gate: she passes the threshold only to return.
Now here she sits under a shale fossil filled overhang. No rain. No rain.
Just a subtle sense of a slow flowing creek heading due east.

Like me? Seems like.

No center. No periphery.  Just boundless space opening into endlessness

No rattlesnakes. Left now with the company of bear scat & dancing native grasses. Its those truths that hold her attention.

And what a fall indeed.
What a reflection. They have a lace like quality to them. Serene in their poise, gentle in their making of love, swaying in union with all of existence. A sweet type of perfection.

Certainly spinning in an orbit of True Love ...

Monday, November 22

UJI Time

8 legged spiders
dancing towards the edge of an adobe wall
prove to me that time is an illusion
one of our biggest defeats as humans

Trying to catch time on a clock
is like trying to catch oceanic mists with a net
on an early morning
Pacific Northwest style

Cause i am time
you
are time too
and so is that fly, just standing there staring at you, as they rub their legs together
as if sharpening knives

Its in these spaces that we bloom into the flowing seasons
here
now

This time-being is all there is
ever expanding into boundless eternal realms

Friday, November 12

Autumnal Inquiry

What is it that keeps you attached?
And how do you fall when you finally let go?

What kind of wind is the kind of wind it takes for you to let go?
Is it a strong wind? A tender soft wind? A downpour creating a pressure even gravity can't resist?

What is it about that cottonwood branch, those other leaves that keeps you there?

When you finally do let go, do you dance towards your decay?

Do you spin and twirl with the vortex of the changing seasons?

Do you say goodbye?

Do you look up at the others waving as you leave, or down towards your eventuality?

What happens if you fall into a creek?
Do you get caught on the rocks as you pass, or do you continue on your path towards the oceans of time?

Do you anticipate the browning of your skin or envy those still painted green?

Do you ponder what'll come in your wake, or lucidly awaken to the passage of time?


Bare now.

Now. A time for stilling. Now. A time for Inward Reflections.
Ponderous of all there is under last years blanket of fall.

Flow. Flow. Awake. Awake.

What else is there to do?

Thursday, November 11

Speaking of Cultivating Fearlessness

One's got to move beyond 
like the Heart Sutra teaches
like we chant every single morning without exception:

"Gate, Gate, Paragate, Para Sam gate Bodhi svaha"

And as we move beyond
as we slip between the creaky rusted gates of beyond 
as we move beyond the confines of beyond 
we learn to believe in ultimate expanding possibilities of everything and nothing 
all at once
together
woven into a web of cosmic boundlessness
into this
a serenade of evening songs
Regina Specktor style
exploding atoms of interconnection 
unfathomable physics
excellence penetrating everwhere
orbs of light reaching even the most darkened of galaxies

As we learn to move beyond
we learn to become weavers of a whole new cycle of time
we learn to listen to the joyful release in those fallen autumn dancing leaves outside our cracked open windows 
we learn to crochet a whole new bliss into a morning after sorrowful moments

Cause after-all
aren't they just stories we tell ourselves?

And if its true
if its our perceptions that cause our reality then why stop here? 
Why stop at all? 
What about healing from the dream? Meeting in the dream? Realizing its all just a dam dream!
How can we teach one another about fearlessness?
How can we cross that threshold and enter a new space?

How about we begin by standing on top the tiny snow globe of our lives and take a swan dive into the sunsets of eternity?

So mote it be 
that our reality is a reflection of our projections

Onwards
only
from here on out I'm projecting love
without reason
compassion
with wings
understanding
beyond myself
and connection
to the myriad beings 

I'm working to cultivate a garden of trust
and truth
infused with belief and night time cups of chamomile tea
and yes, here i go
prepping up for this jump
beginning this crossover beyond fear 

Gate gate paragate

And somehow
it all seems possible
cause there's this manual i've stumbled upon in the attic of my mind
call it from lives past
perhaps intuition
call it whatever you'd like
but i can taste it and its infused with release from fear of judgment 
like that owl book sitting next to the Himalayan salt crystal upon my night stand

and it speaks of worms and compost
its even got a green commons that is big enough for us all to celebrate the dawning of this moment 
spinning in this vortex of togetherness
now vibrating
we're dancing alone in our solitude
and i'm rejoicing and reclaiming what has been ours all along
senses wide open and hearts pumping truth through our veins

Tuesday, November 9

Into the Abyss

How do you say no to yes?

And what do you do when you feel a truth so pervasive that you have no where to go but back into the surging cosmic spiral of everything and nothing?

And what about the times when there's something of grace drizzled upon it all, a lure, like a hook, do you turn and run towards it? Away? Where's the return? Where's the safety zone?

What makes intimacy groundless?

Who holds transparency?

I wonder, of the most impossible, of the most inconceivable of all: How to proceed beyond fear...

Saturday, November 6

Dancing With Her Shadows

Once upon a time she imagined love
like for real love
like the kind where you are held in liminal space of darkness and trust
and together are suspended within swirling shards of light
like prisms
like absorption
until
it all shatters into yesterdays and yesterdays crumble into years past and those years past drip into eons ago
eventually
its all just consumed by fire and spit out into the surging cosmic dance of everything and nothing

Its been a while
since she's been held
like for real held
seemingly from a time beyond those shadows of lights cast aglow
thrown down upon her from antiquated street lamps
like pacific northwest drops of rain clinging to her hair
she tiptoes out from between her lovers warm thighs
into those early misty morning moments of bicycle crossings
she's dancing across eerie city bridges



Maybe that's where it comes from
that longing to be seen
which is received like no other
she's relived of lonesomeness and longing
while her lover sleeps and dreams

Gathering the sum of theirstory
in a time of petrified wood and dinosaur bones
thoughts caress her with seismic nostalgia
bloodied fingers reminiscent of oceanic depths
pulled out from deep within the raw caverns of her body
now its him
and he's tiptoeing out of her early mornings into a dance of boundlessness known as zazen


Beyond black or white 
its beyond days and nights
of turning back clocks and calling it fall
of moonless nights in Scorpio
galaxies descending upon us in ways of light years
countless backhoes digger even deeper into this vagabonding soul

So while she sat there emboldened in that mirror
between the dancing flames of candlelight and self reflections


she began the recapitulation

But i wonder
what is it she is trying to fill exactly?
it is porous? sharp? tender? whole?

And what could he possibly have to offer that wouldn't be just like the others
that of tenderized, salted pulpy hearts and lies full of promise
now
hiding behind grandmothers in this desert-land of dancing balls of fire
falling low
on the western horizon
clouds obstructing sanity

She's learning to cultivate organic matter in ways she's never believed
and the voices sing her to sleep with dreams of morning tinder

"...Just grow yourself my darling dragon
just don't let them contaminate your soil
just keep a safe space in place of that recoil..."

And besides, who needs any of it anymore anyway when you got the milky way right outside your front door?

Disappearing now into this darkened new moon night
she's tap dancing across a river of magpies over a bridge of stars

Finding in her own kind of oceanic sunrise
a humbling sunset in the gleam of speckled brown eyes

Saturday, October 23

Until Next Time

Its kind of, well, its some kind of beauty really.
That ultimately there's a deepening of this knowing self. Of dreams. 
Of not climbing into that self-carved, bottomless grave.
Of finding Zen, and practicing yet again.
Its of knowing self worth and holding it up to the eternal sky.
Its seeing that freckle reflected back in a hazel eye.

She's contemplating various states of aversion and clinging 
yet still
she's searching for a middle way.

Free, like that night creature silently hunting up above.  
Though still warm and pulsating from those star-filled, new moon nights, 
ambitious now
she's releasing love's heart.
And now those nights are fading into full moon mists above mountains mornings, like these.
She's aiming higher
and higher
and higher
like a balloon full of hot air
she's studying buoyancy
and yes
she's rising.

But for now
she's aiming for
Yin
receptive
open. 

Sensing a internal yearning now to be filled
she's learning to fill that open
with her own discovered breath.
In and out. Simple. In and out. Warm and penetrating, like drops of dew
like moaning. 
Like open
she's open.

Sitting on top granite and vanilla pine,
she leans her warm, pulsating body into the changing seasons of time

Autumn
    
              Si g hh hhhhhhhhh

She longs to be filled deep in those crevices of that broken open sigh. Between the G's and H's and the I's. She longs for the gray to grace the stretches of her mind. 

She sits to become completely full of this inside.

Inside this body

                                                                                                 

Inside this mind

Sunday, October 17

...and with each in breath
imagine
becoming
free...


(those nights
where the sky is sexy
filled with dusk
and superimposed heavenly light
those autumn nights of setting flames of radiance in the sky
makes me hot
yea, it makes me hot for sleep
for dreams
lucidity and illusion
for love
and life
joy
poetry
             yea.
it makes me hot for myself
and that timeless connection between me
myself
and the high desert new mexico sky)

Wednesday, October 6

Polkadot Landscapes

Cold
wet skin
resting ever so gently against darkened damp grass and unethical gravel
scatters briefly
from the encounter
only to return
again

silent drips from the responsive rain
infusing sage and womenfolk's stories
responsive
like the moon
responsive
like me to you

coiled stone snakes
wrapped around these wrists
from Seattle my love.
While Poland stands along the fading lines of Chamisa's autumn bloom

not real.
not real.
not real in real time



So
what is it about Earth's reds and oranges touching New Mexico's endless sky that brings life to this surface?

Tuesday, October 5

Sunday, October 3

Answers in the Milky Way

someone said this time is about experiencing pain
suffering
rejection
sounds like zen
sounds like running

to where?
back to the recoil?
back to the lack?
back to what?

what about penetrating the complicated connections and dependencies
in here?
still full of disappointment
disillusionment
but still
she's standing on the vacant street corner of fruitful desire

what are you here to take of?
not him
not me

fuck it
i'm going outside to watch the milky way

coming home to myself
wanting to back away from all i know
all who know me
but feeling distance here breaks this heart
again

i wonder what becomes of severed limbs and scar tissue...

Wednesday, September 29

Wax in Water

Dreaming in the dark on the edge of this
changing season of auburn barley miso soup, nori sesame rice balls and vermicelli sunomono. Setting suns before 7. Ours.

still
there's a craving there
and
somewhere
the questions are still unanswered

even when she stands alone under this fading smoke-filled pinkening sky
she sheds multitudes of this:
a sentient being inside

searching
out-loud
to herself
she's searching in same way of those needles from cedars and pacific madrone's shedding layer upon layer
reaching out towards the salt
reaching out towards the cliff
before berries
or bloom
she's searching

and this
at the half moon of autumn's first round
a deep
deep longing for that kind of stability that comes from years of practice
a deep stability that comes from years of deep practice
but the further she goes down into that labyrinthine rabbit hole
she's finds not much else but her minds eye immersed in the dizzying gray boundless waters of illusion

she's hugely confused by feminism now
greatly confused by sexual preferences
and gender identity
but mostly
mostly
she's confused by all those years of constructing an identity at all
clinging to those foundations she built

built
from a strong determination to be someone worth striving for
and now here she is
being told to throw it all towards the wayside
but instead
she's just sleeping by the wayside
lucidly looking for it all to make sense
shattered piece by piece
broken heart by heart
deluded story by story

spent!
she screams
i'm fucking spent!

its useless
she hears herself mutter quietly to those spiraling winds of time
its useless

but wait
wait my dear love
wait

she hears a whisper so low it sounds like ants marching through space

wait
its the eastern wind carrying raven upon their breast
wait
and listen
beyond bounds is sense
beyond sense is truth
a life worth striving for 
is inherent in all beings
for all beings belong

so
she sighs
okay winds of time
okay heart busted open
okay raven of the light
okay autumn of the fall



i'll wait
she says
i'll wait
and just keep facing those faces and those walls
i'll wait
for the melting to commence

drips
like wax
dripping
like water
into the timelessness of surrender

Saturday, September 18

What's Worth More than an Open Heart?

Born
like people in this world
juxtaposed against a precarious history of numb
superimposed over stable
conquered
our hearts have been
conquistador style

Still 
we can rise

Still 
we can awaken to our hearts
beating inside
we can awaken to our lives
to our partners
our commitments
and communities
to ourselves
the changing seasons 
and seashores

We are humans
but we can be more
we can be warriors riding the darkness well into the morning
and heroines
trading in our made up masks for something more real

Still
I ask you what you need
and as I look you in the eye
I'll send in a busted open heart as backup
just in case this portal closes
again

There's something I want you to know
something I've needed to say
since our last conversation on this precise moment in translation
in that foreign kitchen that time 
on that narrow street
in that city of height
under the guise of breakfast
what I've wanted you to know 
is that
when your facing a wall of a human of stainless steel made of iron and ore
its especially hard
even with a busted open heart 
no matter the gender

And that when you open yourself to those who are just as broken as you are
thats hard too
and it hurts to see them turn and walk away from love
but its worth it
cause then there's not one regret to state

Cause there was that nanosecond of an opening
and written in braille in that ice cold core 
was molten iron
I felt a raw heart 
wide open

But now back to broken
now back to 'shut'

But still
I'm telling you this:
we can rise

Still
we can fill a void in this world of cerebral attachment  
heart disembodiment

Wondering what it is you need

What do you need?
What do you need?
What do you need to open?

Is this is all a game in vain?
Am I the blind fool? 
Something I've missed?


So what fear? I'm not going to listen to you anymore. Just open. Open. I'm only going to listen to this center. Open.









What about Mr. Elliot Smith who impaled his own heart with stainless steel? How sad. That an opening like his led to his death in this cold shut culture

So, what can we do?

What will we do before we find ourselves in our graves?

Do you want a life gone by unnoticed for a fierce type of bravery
in this culture full of stones?

Saturday, September 11

Cross of the Martyrs

The moon hangs low over Santa fe
a mere ten feet from the gleaming cathedral
over Guadalupe's tear and a smile

Fading summer's Scorpio is in the sky tonight
and before me a procession of light
of fire
of peoples passing by
and cultures
blending
into a continuance of the whole

Preserved in our hearts
a manjushri welcomes us
blessings bestowed
invocations for true integration being called upon
in this time of ministers threatening to burn anther's bible
this
a time for peace
I hear voices in the crowd
rising up to meet the stars
a post 9/11 peace
persuing patience and partnerships
a time for love and unity
of nonseperation
deeper connection

Gathering along this stream
I feel as if I'm one of them
and I am
as they are me
as we begin the ascent to the cross on the hill to pray for peace to prevail
on this
the eve of the burning of the Koran
as if their book is not sacred
as if its a bible that flew into the twin towers in downtown Manhattan
that late fall
before the first snowfall
as if the US is on the top of this
our connected world 
that somehow a map can be made
with borders
and boundries
and seperation
even though we all live inside this floating circle

I close my eyes for a moment and listen to wind
asking for guidence
for direction from the spirits of the land
and in that next moment of eyes wide open
I grab hold of her hand
and his
and  join in the stream of the chant
in Spanish
then English
for justice to be truly
understood

Tuesday, September 7

A Lovers Reflection

What was it about that swan dive across the mighty pacific that took me closer to myself
yet further away from any truth i would've perceived?

Something about heading due west...

What was it about New Orleans that called you deeper into babies and intimacy?

There's something about our chosen directions that speak to me now.
Something about growing beyond our confining walls
You heading south
deconstructing childhood dreams
Cinderella style
Me heading due west
to die
alone
Phoenix style

Still
I'm trying to rise from that ash
from those times
from that anger
full of aspen style roots
and passion
and letdowns

I sometimes still wonder about those time we'd sit on the rocky distant ledge of understanding and try to dance ever so delicately
sinking deeper and deeper into those myths we'd woven

There never really was a sense of truth inherent in our connection
was there?
it was mostly smoke and mirrors reflecting something deeper then we'd allow
a fairy tale of sorts
of two lovers
wary
and torn
broken and worn
steering by a culture of fear

Its been 4 years baby
4 years in the making
4 years since I last called you mine
and now you've furthered your kin
and here i am
stating blankly at this riveting early autumn desert night sky
looking for Venus but only finding Jupiter

Still
I'm thinking of you
wondering what planet that could possibly be in this twinkling cloudless blanket above me
positioned oh so cleverly in the south of the east of the south
of the sky
arousing
astounding
bewildering

Separate now
finally
i'm separate from you
and those days of oppressive humidity and wild ferns untended to
are  now extending into a boundless nature

The difference now
is that i'm finally tending to those wildflower gardens we never got around to cultivating
and get this baby
they are blooming in a deep interior kind of way
in colors i've never known
with a fierceness of tender arousal

I hope yours are too
my darling familiar
I hope yours are too..

Wednesday, August 25

Burnside. Still Dancing

remember that time we skated towards the sun
after that seemingly endless night of tin cans and boiling silicone
we greeted the day with bloodied fingers from lifting manholes to climb yet even deeper down
all the way until we were under that graffiti sprayed bridge
jumping off the ramps with the confidence of a child





remember the bandaged faces yelling across the crowd
over the burning red white and blue's
run faster
run faster
faster baby
run faster
still
they caught up with you
leaving us asunder
we found one another just in time in the midst of that famous claim-to-fame kiss in front of the protesters and police
i still think there's something so radical about two womyn kissing in cuffs in front of an angry crowd and homophobic cops


remember that time we followed the river to the edge of itself
where we found ourselves standing in front of the multi-tiered submarine
that swaying pier held us there for a while
before plunging us into the exploding 4th of July waters of the Willamette
but still
so desperate were we for the moon to rise
so desperate to meet understanding face to face 
in those eyes
on that skin


remember that time we laid in your closet for days
like children hiding from the world
tucked away between twisted blankets and pillows
ordering take out for days on end
emerging into the light very selectively
mostly just to pee
something about the darkness kept us there
we were living vicariously through our dreams


what about the time we sat outside that wobbling tree-painted trailer
sitting on your plastic paint splattered buckets we used to collect water when the rains came
lighting our cigarettes from the charcoals in the Smoky Joe 
camels
american spirits
lavender and sage hovering about
SE 42nd and Madison
hazy days
summer time breeze
yellowing walls
merging into fall
leading to fleece covered doors
and leaking sheds
reflecting brick and winter's gray
the lovers embrace
the lovers goodbyes

remember when mornings came too soon


rain
rain rain
its raining
again
baby its raining
get the buckets and the ladder, lets head on out and splash in the timelessness of this moment

what about that time we laid under mosquito netting with the cockroaches and rats in that gutted abandoned building in the lower ninth ward
we were crossing the street between gun shots and marshal law
young white military men
and that gorgeous parrot, in the tree, untouched
mocking all the destruction in the face of Katina


or the time we found ourselves 2600 miles deep into the pacific, prism overhead, calling upon our collective need to transform light
meandering about lonely dirt roads and backs of pickup trucks
Scorpio was in the sky
it was there we could be found jumping on the trampoline to get closer 


remember standing outside my bedroom window throwing stones
come out come out wherever you are
come out
come out before the dawn
come play with me
lets skate again towards the sunrise and dance precariously in the shadows we leave in our wake

Preferential Mind

waterfalls carry away pain and sorrow
they also cleanse and purge
bringing with the falling waters
a deep sense of connection to flow
joy
to letting go
surrendering
once again to life's gifts
and all there is

mountains speak in languages not verbal
transcending alphabets and cultures
they stream down
full of myriad beings
present
listening
caring
teaching us all how to bend with the wind

full moons bring a deep urge of letting go
again
of releasing
more
again
of trusting in the light of the dark
seeing the shadows more clearly
turning your back
saying goodbye
and walking away from the smoldering embers

fires
sigh,
well mostly they take me to my knees
how can one possibly compete with something that can bring anything to ash
reminds me of drawn dragon hearts
being carried away by the wind
to start all over
once again

i prefer flame
dreams
water
and truth
earth
complete transparency
fierce love
sky
fearlessness
salt
and me
yea
i prefer me just the way i am
too

Monday, August 23

Of Time, Flowing. That and Love...

its like those crickets outside this screen door
when they come together in harmony
a perfect flow
they are as one
for a brief moment
and in that space
they find unison
non separation
no duality of any sorts
just a deep deep connection

until

the next breath
and on the exhale
a shifting of resonance occurs
sending all back into the mobile stream of impermanence

Saturday, August 21

Fuck You Mr. Waking Mountain

I thought a lot about you while facing that adobe wall
flooded with images
desires
regrets
fantasies
stories
playing over and over again
fooled again
by this:

delusion

i miss you. don't know why. your a fucking pathetic walking mountain. a tender, angry, absorbing, withdrawn, romantic, shut down, deeply reflective, dark, creative, sinewy, untouchable, distantly close, magnetic walking mountain.

boy, oh boy, am i projecting again...

still
i want to feel your earth mix with mine
moist and dewy
like pacific northwest ferns
opening to the coastal winds
full of all the promise of where we left off
still
i want to mix with you in my core
see you wrapped up in colors of organic plum
behind my hair
feel you in my ears
nails under skin
hear the multitudes of stories in all these layers 
meeting somewhere deeply with mine

but still
i say fuck you.

fuck you mr. walking mountain
fuck you and your untouchable face.

Thursday, August 19

Flooding Pictures

Superimposed on a sheet of photographic paper
a spare moment of internal dialog fills the blank space
once void of course
now forgotten
left to the stars to manage a more complete ending

anti-climatic
like puckering pursed lips
waiting
patiently for solitude to kick in

looking down at supple sepia nipples
she feels a chill take over
a soft touch
from a gentle breeze
delicate
and willowy
she sways
like a goddess
like the cottonwood
full of curves and light
as the shadows dance on her hips
her trunk
like the path of water
to the stream
finding its way
over the rocks
and through the green
back to the source
and this
as the stars align
again
to some higher cosmic order of chaos
seemingly merging with some sort of higher purpose

she stands up
and away she walks
graceful
hopeful
trusting in this
the process called life

Moving Time

There is light all around. Its found in places untamed. There's even a piece of it in the concrete creations of F stops, Neptune Avenue's, traffic lights.
Total dissolution. Situations where your lost completely, searching for a deeper, more pervasive meaning - an understanding of ocean waves pounding rock to stone, stone to sand.

So what's this then? Of darkness enshrouding an impenetrable reality - one of stars falling and beams flying into untold places of walnut flooring, once a walnut tree breathing in themselves the timeless depths of perception.

Flying again, she breaths in the misty vapors of the Atlantic ocean, sunrise. Beaming blackbirds flying. There they greet the pastels taking over the muted ocean color of pre-dawn's artistry.

Its the essence of survival resting on top of this consciousness. Time, that is. Moving.

Thursday, August 12

How do you define liberation when a path seems to open from beginning-less beginnings?

Queen of Hearts

Something tells me that that the last card is going to be an Ace...

Wednesday, August 11

Its Love That Makes The Universe

Whats the difference between sense and sensibility in a realm beyond sense? Beyond thinking, or knowing. Just complete surrender to:

THIS

Its like trying to hold onto truth when your bathing in the scalding waters of delusion - one arm reaching up and out, up towards eternity, out towards landlessness, believing that somewhere beyond - Gate Gate Pāragate -  beyond the deep waters and moonless skies, truth still exists and fear has no ground to stand upon

There's only open
Open OPEN
only Open
and more
more Open

Tuesday, August 10

Crafting

Crafting a creation of some other vision
one in which the truth of dying dolphins, drowning in oil, covered in impermanence
leeks out

Saturday, August 7

Glued to the Dream

Sampling tastes of these spaces between fractal moments
she finds its got a slightly bitter bite
one we're not so accustomed to
we're just all so hooked on sweet and salty

when did moments like these ever make sense?

there she is
again
she's standing on that Eastward facing bench
looking out towards release
karma
totality
exhaling the vacuum of this earthly plane
West. Following the setting sun.
circling around
the wind calls to her
she's watching those mountains connect pastels with primary's
right before her very eyes

still
she feels an urgency
to wake up from this dream
to wake up from this
a set
an illusion of something perceived as real
but that sky
those mountains
even the post modern ponderosa pine
just standing there observing the world
they could all just start melting
and that
would seem as real as this  
a scratch
in the fabric
like yellowing
antiquated photo's
stored next to cactus and moss

well
she thinks to herself
if this was someones creation
it might as well be mine this time

well
perhaps
this is the work of some far off galaxy of stars
now
descending upon us
gleefully painting us a scene
that seems to make no sense at all

or
perhaps this is just a dream
and here she's stuck
between the worlds
months ago she arrived on some unexplainable trek

time to unpack
more action
less words
explore this realm a bit
see what it has to offer
see where it takes her next

http://www.mountainsmagnificent.com/rocky-mountains-ponderosa-pine/

Thursday, August 5

From Here, Where?

Explosions on the outside
fingers this edge
tracing
ever so gently
the line that rests between here
and
addications
wondering what's beating so hard against the wall
Iraq
Pakistan
Afghanistan
Palestine
Detroit
Santa Fe
Old growth grandmothers
standing tall
yet watching her kin fall
You
Me
Us
Them
all of it
leading into this precise moment of impermeable translation

somewhere along the path of migration
an institution of separation arose
and hail fell like never before
the size of fists
thrown up in the air
busting at the veins
the size of lightning
crumbling alongside thunder

and then this
silence falling on pressure treated wood
on adobe
on you
on me
on Us
on Them
all of this
all of this
all of this is real

or not

for whats behind the veil now shows as vividly
as cloudless light on stones on a stifling summer's day

the exploding sky is at it again 
taking note during dreams
noticing where we become more part of the whole
where the lines blur from us to them
bottles in 12 year old hands
lies mingling with truth at the bar
on the stoop
in the temple too
still
there goes that 17 year old
cradling needles in her arm
seeking release from God's army
seeking release from mandatory military truculency
from pain
the path
it all fades off into the setting sun
anyway

where do you become more mixed into truth?
what colors do you see there?
what becomes after the glow? the high?
and how is that more real than this? than real itself?

no anima
no sense
just dripping
drops dripping desperately on concrete
checking us all into a collateral checkmate

12
13
seventeen
again
somehow
it became seventeen
and seventeen became 2010

whose idea was this anyway??

losing my mind. Nah. 

anyway
back to reality
here's to alarm clocks
to holding down a job
hitting a bell
in the epicenter of this 21st century catastrophe
amongst the house raids and cluster bombs
false borders separating real people
the lower ninth ward's of Katrina
legal lynching
death row
rape crisis lines
voices
speaking again
pretending to listen
concrete jungles taking over wild spaces
taking over childrens' minds and running
like heroine
running
running
back to the grind
back to the grind
back to the grand illusion of ground
stability
and sound
euphoria
we're sleeping now
sleeping
still
we're sleeping

yet
even alongside this roadside bomb
this leeching dumpster of capitalist disgrace
rotting and spent
full of ultimate collusion and delusion
is the our chance to wake up
wake
up
from this dreamless dream
and see things as they really are

one last question...
what will we tell our seventh generation when they ask us
"what were you doing then?"

Wednesday, August 4

Snapping Strings of a Discordant Tune

while flying through the sky
gazing out the window as we chased the setting sun
i discovered there's much too much
still to be understood
got me thinking about the time i walked away from that rising heat between us
and haven't say a word more

outside that night the milky way came to a complete standstill
mocking those moments languishing between us
as we sat there contemplating the vastness 
so above
as below
yet sensing no falling fire there
just unspoken words
seemingly shrouded by fear
unable to articulate those feelings of vastness within

by fear
by fear
we're all so controlled by fear

even at momma Atlantic
i was reminded of such blissful times
of Mr. Gibran
walking mountains
bedtime stories
twisted blankets
rose quartz stones
sourdough
and sleep

then came the waves crashing
waking me up
carving a real history into those stones of delusion
of reason
of you
sitting by my bedside
of me
watching you
watching me
with a smile
and a tear
under the glow of that soft yellow lamp

its time to let this go
i hear some rational voice say
let it go
move on
surrender to this
and this
and yes
that too
cause its all gone
back to where it is
all part of a rough history
untamed
and silent now

still
alongside some dumbfounding discordant tune
somewhere high in the San Juan's of Colorado
is a heart
broken
perhaps two
superimposed over that violently broken guitar
in a fit of rage
deemed reasonable by some
but to me
its something i want no part of
been there
done that
won't do it again

and just for the record, there are other ways of "cutting off the conversation..."

so now
this inner feminist and Buddhist are battling
one says "fuck him, he's violent, he's crazy, he's completely unstable and even more undeserving of this love"
while the other is saying "so sad, he's so broken, so wounded, so hurt, he just needs love, unconditional love and radical acceptance..."

again, this just leave me to ponder reality
wondering, whats the middle way

i guess thats what i got to keep me company these days
wonderment
that and my dreams
the ones he's still somehow part of
somehow
although
i'm still not even slightly sure how the main character turned into a man
a boy really
just a wounded broken boy
one that's truly looking for love
but too afraid to remain open

its kinda funny
actually
i never thought it would end up this way
unrequited
somehow
in this mystery of time
of corruption and deceit
of delusion
confusion
but now
i'm realizing it was mostly projections
that led me astray
of believing something someone was not
and me too
cause even i run when things get too hot

so why then
is it so hard to let go?
its a multitue of things
but i still hold onto that letter
you know
that one letter of love that sent me flying into places i've only ever dreamed
cause its every girls dream
manufactured as it is
to be sought after by a prince
but there was no prince
there is no seeker
just me
removing the veil 
seeking truth
and transparency

so
what am i doing?
withdrawal
i hear that voice say
withdraw
withdraw
and
sleep
sleep my dear dragon girl
and dream of love's truth
the kind that will set us all free
the kind that above all else
prevails
and is real
beyond fear
beyond fear
yes
there
is
a
place
of redemption
beyond fear

turning that lamp around 
seeking it from deep within
cause that's where it rises from
within
so above
as below

Tuesday, July 27

The Miles Between Us, Part Two

stupefied
still a bit by the abundance of delusion i let in
now looking more clearly past the smoke and mirrors of those cold winter days
inhaling the clearing air
of breath and mind in this space
like while at the ocean
at sunrise
alone
with nothing but a shell and a smile
and some blackbirds to welcome me

diverging from that desolate dry desert path
i awoke one morning and noticed that under it all
i was actually filled with surprise
like surprise of the sort where you awaken to warm sunny summer days and laughter
light
joy
meditation
a cool morning after a sticky New England July night
huevos rancheros
and strong family connections


now allowing this reality set in
perceiving things as they actually are
learning from my fall
that it was just a deep teaching is all
of simply seeing someone as they are
seeing through the delusion of what you'd hope them to be
of what i should be
of who i am
and who you are
of growing older
and wiser
humbler
creating space
a place for more depth to arise

so today
this self worth is blowing me away
like those early summer dandelions
after their bloom
flying on the wind
directionless and content
seeding themselves in the fertile soils of her body
yet this morning i'm no longer spending breath
wishing for a renewed connection
just a continued growing
a healing
facing a deeper more penetrating care
one that comes from within

gave that rose quartz back to the mountain today
for some reason i feared doing that
thought it meant letting you go
realized thats exactly what i needed to do
she took it back with an open heart
and i trust that one day yours will be too
transform the pain infused in that heart into true love
for you
for you
by you
of you
for you

still wondering what to do with that crow
took it down from the wall
along with that drawn dragon heart
thinking i'll set them both on fire
watch them fly up higher and higher
with my intentions
like my self-worth
seaworthy
like my growth
like
i'm so ready to open
bust open
no more grasping
just surrender to this
to me
to all there is

on this full moon in Aquarius
three days prior to my 30
i say goodbye
i release you
and
up up up up up up
i fly
and away we go
into the disintegrating imaginary capsule of time

its too bad i can't even say thank you
though part of me wishes i could
and part of me does
thank you
cause there was hope there
of an open
open
open
heart
save for a short moment
but
mostly now
i'm just becoming more aware of these growing miles between us

Tuesday, July 20

Sandtray

She began her morning in a sinking blue lake surrounded by white sands. In that time she saw four images standing there, or perhaps floating, she's still not completely sure. Nonetheless, she began the timed descent into meaning.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was a bloodied set of bones. Eyes gorged out. She wondered what happened. Figured it must have been unearthed. There was something in there about the rawness of it all, of blinders and misconceptions. Mostly it comes down to delusion. But doesn't it all anyway?

Then there was this box. It was black and had four tiny little teacups inside. Alice in Wonderland style. Wishing now for the Mad-hatter to appear. Something about the memories of healing came out towards the end, but in the interim it was mostly sealed shut. This box has deep sunset red designs on it, swirling about like the sacred geometric patterns that were later pinned into her spine.

After that a person appeared. They seemed a bit disillusioned and quite hidden. All wrapped up in some natural fabric, they decided to find rest on top that box. A Pandora's box. Now with a mummy on top. The look on their face is hard to describe. It seemed as if they had finally found peace in the shroud. Eye's remained shut. Closed tight to all else but the immediacy of their experience.

The fist that stood guard in front of that box was full of rage. It just stood there, as if it had always been part of the story. Part of that scene. And it was. It was just more hidden is all, more repressed is more like it and now it was just showing up. Just showing up.

When the vagina appeared, the conversation ceased. It was like all thoughts were now on that. It seemed unusual at first, and she didn't want to acknowledge it. Just too much shit coming up here, now. Just too much. That's when the person wrapped in natural fabric decided to make their way on top of the box. Just keep it closed, don't worry. No violence here.

More swirling designs, landing into nothing, yet becoming whole. Tears falling. Patterns breaking. Seeking. Mostly seeking now, to find her way out of this created mess.

Monday, July 19

When your short on answers, dream

Finding ground in a sea of fire of floating skulls and bloodied feet
never felt so fitting
watching it
dripping
like wax
fallen from the rainbow sky

creating illusions out of reality
wondering about dreams in this waking time of moths and snakes
meandering about
searching for their kin
their way
their truth

standing on this side of time
one can see that there are realms of multitudes
incarnate within each and every moment

"she straddles conventional boundaries and eludes definition"

Isis
Astarte
Diana
Hecate
Demeter
Kali
Innana

Who? Me?
Madrone. Writer. Bayan. Lover. Phoenix. Dragon. Christina. Radical. Marie. Feminist. Prew. Daughter. Origin. Artist. Nardelli. Fighter. Ryushin. Studier of the Way.
 
  1. ...But none of its real anyway...

epic
is how I'd describe it
rapid unraveling
is how it feels

Sunday, July 18

Explosive Impermanance

Trying to grasp something never carried me beyond
gate gate paragate
its like there's always a bridge to cross
and as I'm standing over the nebulous waters of the Chama
i can still see Scorpius reflecting back into the timeless realms of ancient Greece
somehow
even through these muddied sands of time

deathless now
she's standing amongst the banyan grove of truth
surrounded by the skulls of the dead
bowing
heart first towards the morning light
cause even he makes his way up and over that great cycle floating in the middle of nothing
even he makes the effort to surrender to movement
every single day
he comes to shed light on yet another pervading dark time

limitless possibility seems to rests in the space
of sleeping children
awakening to impermanence
to doubt and trust
and fear of this
running amok the shiftiness of sand
on the ocean of this story
down hill
into the crevice of the mother

just now
a smile forms on her breast
and in his heart
an opening crashes into the boundless potentiality of it all

Saturday, July 10

Bare Bones, Bare Skin

Its a letting go
of one memory
and then the next
and even though their fragmented
like the drops of water
falling
from the bucket her and joey used to swing incessantly in circles as kids

she's becoming bedfellows with the depths of desires as they fade away
and as the ripples disappear into the shadows
she finds that this is a possibility for her 
too
its not just magic for all the others to do

cause there once was this person
a person called me
who fell deeply into spaces too tight to possibly comprehend
BREAKING
once again
BROKEN

OPEN

OPEN

OPEN

so 
it was not until this sunrise
after a long night of watching the moon move and the sky shift
above those sleeping eyes
that the notion of moderation quickened inside
and amongst that morning glow
she herself began to grow
but this time she started blooming from the inside

and then she awoke
from that dreary dream of desolation and despair
of clinging and aversion
one full of gloom and fear
it was through this that she realized 
truth is just a scratch under her precious olive skin
so soft
much too special to let just anyone in

siting here now
she reflects on her
and her
and her
and him
and once again
yet for the first time
she sees it

like for real
she sees it

that there's always love

that there's always skin

and when its bare its best
like in the desert of simple
of open hearts and fearlessness
like in the most splendid moments of bliss
of bodies
skin to skin

its there
under it all

stripping it away now as fast as she can
she's pulling it back
until she uncovers bare bones
under bare skin

here she is 
again
yet for the first time
like this
she herself
begins
again

Tuesday, July 6

Forgotten Languages

He came to me in the dark of the night
under the street lights of Guadalupe
speaking in languages I've never known
bestowing blessings upon me unlike any other
then shunned
by the same world that took his away

I told him he's better then this
that deep down his language is preserved in his heart of hearts
and in his soul of souls lives an old wise man
full of survival and power
a shaman
a healer
a leader of worlds stolen
I told him that in the collective body of his indigenous people
lives truth
and that's one thing they can't take away

He came to me
slurring
limping
heart wide open
outside of this barbed-wired heart one night
speaking in tones of purity and insight

And even through his drug of choice
the messages were clear
and in them I realized that
intentions speak louder then any words

I've wondered about him since
prayed for him and his people
felt immense gratitude for his blessings and presence

And somehow
even amongst all the shit
of stolen lands and ways
darkness surrounding survival
somehow
someway
he gave me more then I could have ever asked for