Pick me swiftly

Lift me with the skill of your own unique art

I don’t care what Art it is

Only that you Own It

Draw me, paint me if you please

But first you have to reach me

And for god’s sake, dear man –

First you have to see me

I have no use for pedestal

I have no use for gutter

I may take on the role of Muse, but I won’t be your mother

Do not call me witch, or I’ll use my Witch on you

Leave me off your labels, and I might let you in my room

Honor What Lives Now in me, don’t make it such a fix-ed thing

I am ever-changing

I am Real

I want to be Felt

I am fleshed out and if you don’t know what I’m talking about

I think it’s best you go

I am so sick of your many projections

“She’s probably, like…”

Like what?

Like something you just made up?

What’s the matter little boy,

Couldn’t ask for directions?

Are you too afraid to Actually Know?

When we get through the requisite highs

The heat that meets in the beginning

Can you handle the requisite lows?

I want to know you have What It Takes

Do you have what it takes?

Do you have what it takes to make it through the wretched and hellish, the dark and demeaning?

To scorch your soles on the burning fire and find The Thing with meaning?

Do you?

Did you hesitate?

Then it might be too late for you

You’ve got to Know

Because I do

I’ve been through it all and back again

Intimate with Soul

As enemy and friend

I know exactly what it takes

To discover, to suffer, to die, to create

I will no longer entertain

The fearful, stuck or weak

The He who cannot honor love

The He who cannot reach

I am reserved for the man who can open his eyes

See me fully and stand in his power

Just as I stand

in mine

Not Bad


You are not bad

Why, my child, whoever told you that?

I think They must not have known what they said

Would you listen to me, instead?

You are not bad

You are not the reason for all the yuck of life

Life just comes with yuck

Wish that lesson would have stuck

“You are a child of the Universe…

No less than the trees or stars…”

And they too, are not bad or good —

They, my child, just are

You are allowed to Be

You are allowed to stumble through life

Deep in the mess of it

In fact, I encourage it

What other way is there

But to fight through

Reaching your worthy fingers into the rough ground to spread roots

And rise

Or burn for thousands of years and burst

Dying-Alive at the same time

You are made up of a million things

In this human being

But you are not wrong

And you are not bad

Could you, would you let go of those rigid notions?

“Out beyond the ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field.

I will meet you there.”

Perhaps we are meeting now

*Quote 1 from Desiderata 2 by Rumi