I find my own Heart
Waiting
Brave
Beating in warrior rhythms
Slow and steady
Waiting for me to return to it
And I have
The reunion
Is a true
Re-Union
I am solidified
In this liquefied ever-changing Whole
Humbled and Empowered
At the same time.
I no longer question.
Simply, I just
Know.
I am in The Chrysalis
I sit in meditation
How do I begin to tell you what it feels like
To be in the womb of the Great Mother?
How do I begin to describe this warm, pulsating energy
I am dropping down into
As I am lifted up at the same time?
I have never been more sober
Nor felt more high.
I am in a soft Orange-Red place.
I feel myself release into Trusting.
And then I
E X P A N D, oscillating out into Everything
And there is no more “I.”
How do I tell you I have actually
Experienced being One with the whole
Universe?
That “being one” is not an idea
But a sacred Act of Allowing
Allowing yourself to Feel so completely
That you lose yourself.
Only…it is not scary at all.
Not like I imagined.
My sweet ego thought about the end of my life and pleaded,
“But, there’s no one like me! I don’t want to die! I like who I am.”
Now I Know
Beyond a shadow of a doubt
Death is nothing to fear.
White light vibrating energy moving through me
In waves and spades
As sunshine parades through my soul
It may be
That I may be whole.
I followed It last night
I didn’t fight
I drew instead so It revealed
Who It was, in symbols
My respect, my surrender
My willingness to give in!
And say, “I don’t know …
But show me.”
And, oh, It showed me in those symbols
As cymbals played in my head
And every other kind of instrument;
In Aliveness gyrating in my skin
Could not even consider sleep
Nor did I need a place to rest my head
“Awake! Awake! Awake!” It said,
“It’s time to Live and grow in ways
You can’t imagine
Yet.
I come to tell you that you have reached the place —
The very one —
That reaches still another one.”
And I felt no regret at this!
But only gentle tenderness
Feathers whisking up my skin
As if to say “Alive again!”
The night before, something died.
Now something New
Begins…
They all talk about that historic plane
That flew through the eye of the hurricane;
The brave pilot who faced that massive twister
Air and debris spinning like the Inception top
Crazily —
Teetering —
On the brink of sanity;
Or, perhaps…
Gone right on past?
It’s hard to tell at The Edge like that.
Either way, I have to say —
I ain’t no eye of the hurricane.
I am, instead, the air and debris –
The stuff that makes up that Wild Thing.
Spinning-spinning-screaming-spinning
(Perhaps too occupied with”winning?”)
The ego fights so I go on spinning…
Round and round and round I go…
So close to the center
(So very far though!)
And I long to be the historic plane;
The brave pilot who pierced the peaceful center;
For I have long known the dangerous Exit
But tell me, pray, tell me:
Where do I enter?
Drunk on love feelings, oxytocin, and wine
They stumble, giddy, out into the dark night street
An “oops” wine stain on a white shirt followed by a giggle
As he offers “let me get that for you”
And his hand brushes her breast
A blush lighter than the wine spreads across her cheeks
Soul-gazing stares and “no one gets me like you do” thoughts
And the mutually used — over-used word — said to friends
“It’s like…we have this connection..”
The long make-out sessions where “we can’t have sex yet” she whispers
“Trust issues”
He’s okay with it
A gentleman can handle the Blue Frustration
And she sees this
So then, one day, they do.
About 3 months in – maybe 6 (if they’re lucky)
The buzz wears off and he starts to think “she seems pretty needy, emotional, complex…”
And she starts to think “he is closed-off, overly practical and frankly, kind of boring…”
They each long for that Original Night that seemed to last forever
Where everything just clicked,
Fell away…
And they saw only the Good Soul Essence
But it is a different night.
No more fantasy
No more drunken romantic-movie-like illusions about Princes or Goddesses.
They stand facing one another
Truly naked for the first time
Each one must decide
If they want to love a human being
Or an ideal
If they want the thing they say they want:
Actual True Love.
She is buzzing, buzzing, out-of-control
The dream-car screeches as she blasts rock n’ roll
Taking sharp turns at kill-me-please speeds
Some small, unheard voice inside of her pleads —
But the driver is sober.
Ha!
She’s just fucked in her mind —
A pissed-off Beehive –
Roiling inside.
A clueless kid prods it with a long wooden stick
As if length gave him safety.
Oh, what a cruel trick.
Angering, angering…
On the verge of attack.
This horned mass of stingers —
No protection from that.
(The mere thought of it makes the Madwoman laugh.)
Revenge bubbles imminent,
The Beehive? It cracks.
Out comes the raging, buzz-buzzing mass.
She can’t see the road now –
Blacked out and Blind.
The child drops the stick —
He’s been stung from behind.
Swarmed like a piece of ripe, bloody meat,
The child who Tricked
Now becomes Treat.
The driver, she crashes —
Is thrown to the street,
Head cracks like the beehive
Death her final defeat?
As her life filters out of her…
The child —
He breathes.
For once she is dead
The bees turn and they leave.
But the gift of the Madwoman
Burns bright and alive:
For the Ignorant Child
Has now become
Wise.
He is The Shovel Man.
The one who goes out on icy evenings
Lifting up the heavy, brown dirt with his metal instrument,
Loading it onto Whatever Might Be Growing There.
Killing it swiftly.
Wiping it out.
“You do not deserve to live. You do not deserve to live. You do not…”
He heaves His Instrument up and down again
Masturbating mechanically.
Robotically.
No humanity left; which is sad –
Because he had some once.
Motivated now by Survival Instinct gone horribly awry.
“I must go on. Only I. Only I. Only I.”
And this is how The Shovel Man spends his days:
He wakes.
He looks.
No. He watches.
Any seedling that pops up;
Any bud that dares rear it’s tiny head;
Any expression of anything at all –
He snuffs out.
He is part God, part Man and all Fear.
And he no longer notices that with each pile of dirt
Upon each baby feeling
He murders, also,
Himself.
I keep seeing these “Live in the Light”
“Let’s Get Back to the Garden of Eden”
“Love is the only thing there is”
Posts.
This One-sided way of living in the world
Is Everywhere.
And I get it. I do.
Very few want to Face Our Stuff.
But here’s the thing about the Shadow:
Ignore It and It will choose you.
When will we understand that Life is Whole?
If we “Live only in the Light”, do we not Cast Out all the beauty in Darkness?:
The rich, fertile soil from which emerges the Commanding Rose?
The comforting depth of the shielded womb?
A pitch black midnight sky paired with the kind of breeze that empowers the Soul?
The emotional suffering which can lead us to Rebirth while alive?
And if we cast out All Those Things which Grow – which begin! – in Darkness…
Do we not also cast out Light?
“Getting back to the Garden of Eden” is a wish to go back to
Ignorance.
The Apple of Knowledge never eaten, the “Paradise” of Unconsciousness.
Our desire for unconsciousness can be seen in all of our shadow behaviors –
Overeating, over-drinking, smoking, cheating…
The spiritual addiction of “Chasing the Light” –
By Refusing Shadow…we create more of it.
It seems to me we must live fully in All that is
NOW.
Yes, revel in Life! In Joy! In Beauty!
But do not forget where these are born.
And as the heart may soar with Happiness, so must we also
Dig our hands through the dirt and pain and gunk of life
Drawing up the dark, moist clay
That makes Creation
Possible.
I am tinged green by these Summertime, Wintertime
All-The-Time means
The Ad Man has of slamming us against the Shame Bricks
Slicing us through and through
Again and Again and Again
With their never-ending selling
Telling us what our own Souls are
Lest we start to think that ought to be
Our own self-discovery
Lest we start to think
Well, damn
Lest we start to Think.
We all wonder where the Rage comes from
As it jumps out of the shadows into a
Darkened, crowded theater
Spewing bullets into infants
Where there ain’t no caped crusader
Just blood and chaos
Followed by The Bachelor Host Chris Harrison
Expressing “Everyone here at ABCs deepest sympathies…”
“And NOW…”
— Announcer Voice! —
“Back to the Bachelor Pad!”
And messages from our euphemistic Sponsors
And Un-Reality Housewives masquerading as reality so much that it has become Reality
With their Fake Everything
Now Mentors to the 12 year old girls
Who come into my office Anorexic or smelling like vomit
Jabbering on starry-eyed about The Kardashians who in turn say,
“We’re just business women.”
In the business of selling an image of…?
“Normalcy. We’re normal.” Robot-Kim insists with her unmoving 20-something face
And inflated lipscheeksbuttpocketbook
GIVE ME A BREAK
When will we STOP?
Put our wallets away.
Go visit our neighbors?
Unglue ourselves from whatever electronic device is controlling us this instant?
Take back what we have
Sold.
I want a fast car –
A Jaguar
And a werewolf-vampire boyfriend.
I want a close-up when I wake up
That shows perfect lush lips and long, curled lashes
As I slither out my California King in silk and lace lingerie
Slipping artfully pedicured feet into cashmere slippers.
I want to inhale imported Italian espresso as I pad to my pristine
kitchen —
The one my top-chef cooks in.
I want to look out my various-home-windows and gaze upon oceans,
And skyscrapers, and the Leaning Tower.
I want to wear buttery-leather skin-tight pants and stilettos that feel like flats
Because they’re made by Someone Fancy.
I want to be naked on one of those faux-fur rugs that feel better than the real thing –
All sprawled out in front of a glowing fire on a stormy night
Waiting to be seduced by my other-worldly boyfriend whose millionth kiss
Feels like it were the first kiss
Every Single Time.
I want the thick anticipation; the rich, shaky kind of energy to vibrate between us
Like Commitment was an Illicit Affair.
Instead, I sit in my 500 square foot apartment with the broken A/C
And wonder if I should make the effort to brush my teeth tonight.
ariaphoenix 