Dreamed of Crimson
last night.
The color of blood,
a symbol of pain –
Crimson on the streets;
streaked in the snow;
steeped in the Ground.
crimson on our hands,
we reek of it,
blinded and choking on it.
redemption can only come by it.
Dreamed of Crimson
last night.
The color of blood,
a symbol of pain –
Crimson on the streets;
streaked in the snow;
steeped in the Ground.
crimson on our hands,
we reek of it,
blinded and choking on it.
redemption can only come by it.
In BeLoved relationship
now –
menopausal,
modern elder,
refined lines,
silvered hair.
More touch craved.
Intimacy curated.
Explorations of re-membered Souls.
Wanderings taken through dilated minds
and in bodies made soft, delicate
by the passage of time.
With gentle intentionality,
fierce penetration
catharsis
synchronization
of Hearts broken wide open repeatedly.
Conversations – rich, infinite, deep
while the wondrous sea
teases our entangled feet.
Meandering walks in The Untamed Woods,
silently communicating
as Kindreds are wont to do.
Nourished by
succulent food,
mystical tonics,
wild-crafted wines,
quiet evenings spent
luxuriously entwined
in sheer awe of The Big Sky.
A taste of Blessed Divinity at play:
you were always coming my way,
and I
preparing for you,
my wildest dreams
come true.
human, you are multitudes –
elegant in essence,
an imperishable scent
and eternal resonance.
malleable and unpredictable;
always
shifting and morphing;
at once,
growing and dying,
unfolding and numbing,
emerging and regressing,
ordinary and exceptional,
embryo and silo;
an assemblage, one and the same –
yet, each unique, many different names.
human, you are
mystical, whimsical
curious, mysterious
practical, laughable
horrible, beautiful
radiant, tarnished
emotional, rational
gifted, stupid
immensely generous
and abundantly selfish;
transcendent and resistant,
so richly nourished
and yet stunningly famished:
trickster and teenager,
sages and fools –
humans, you are all
multitudes.
i am tired, Lord.
hold on.
hold on for what?
for Me.
i don’t know that i can…
you can; you have.
i am tired, Lord.
I know; hold on.
.
why are we
in such a hurry –
always –
to leave,
to fix,
to judge,
to eat,
to “live”?
.
what is the origin
of the discomfort
to truly lean in,
to listen,
to stay,
to sit,
to be Still
in commUnity?
.
Alas, the contradictions
of a splintered humanity –
we say we crave
companionship,
that we are
profoundly lonely,
yet we tend to
scatter soon after we Gather.
we seem to be able
to contain only so much
life,
love,
time,
energy,
words,
presence,
silence.
.
why?
I forget –
often –
just how much I am privileged
and blessed,
allowing The Darkness to rise
and My Light to then subside.
Ironically,
gratitude never ceases,
it remains steadfast,
knowing this resurrected Shadow shall too pass.
Surrendering,
I will remember:
we fall down,
become lost,
and are –
eventually –
re-found.
Letting go,
I slowly begin to dissolve
that desperate,
terribly frightened façade.
Breathing deeply
and in-tentionally,
re-leasing lineages of conditioning
and very old stories,
the tight knots
in heart and belly
begin to relax,
they unwind.
I return –
once again –
to some humble
Presence of mind.
I am
as God
created
Me.
The part
that is
Eternity.
The true Me,
not the one
confined to
this body
nor defined by
human imagery
and idolatry.
Rather,
I am free
formless in
my essence;
a Spirit–
in
of not
this world-
no beginning
nor end.
Just playing
at it
again
and
again.
The next incarnation of Me,
I foresee
three darling babies
to whom
I am
doting, dutiful mommy.
Each said man-child
from my womb
shall come,
manifestations
of a long-held covenant
finally
exhumed.
In this other Life,
to an extraordinary Soul,
I will serve many roles:
His first lover,
babies’ mother,
forever friend and wife.
A beautiful home
together we build,
me and my boys,
filled with the Love and Light
we pray and persistently will-
cups so runneth over
that unto the world
our joy spills.
It is Monday,
a blank page,
a clean slate.
The day to exfoliate,
slough off the old skin,
the things that weigh down
and only deaden.
It is Monday,
the start of a new week,
bringing with it
opportunities to seek
the Light and beauty
in all we meet.
It is Monday,
a day of reflection
to answer the questions
for self-manifestation.
We ponder in silence
asking our God for His Guidance.
My Lord,
what to sow?
who to know?
when to go?
where to grow?
why so slow?
It is Monday,
the time to do over
to try again
for that four-leaf clover.
Another chance
to alter one’s circumstance,
to self-enhance
and awake from long trance.
What does it take
to penetrate
the walls you make
for protection’s sake?
How do I get
to you
into you
through you?
What am I to do?
I come,
you run;
I confide,
you hide;
I offer space,
you then hesitate.
What does it take
to penetrate
your mind
your heart
your body
your soul?
How to release
some of that control
to which you hold
as if it is gold?
A body so tight,
a mind attuned to fight
or flight.
Yet, underneath,
I see a spirit
seeking an invite,
desperate for a way out.
When you are ready
to let me in,
to be the feminine
to my masculine,
I’ll come running.
When you are
no longer so scared,
I’ll be there.
When your mighty walls
finally
crumble and fall,
I offer myself
at our beck and call.