Lilith Rising

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She is livid mad

Crazy bad

Kick your ass kind of badass Wo-

man

But ain’t no man a fan

Of this kind of Black-Red

Sick-nisssss (I mean that in the Present Tense –

Sick as awesome not sick as bad)

Just ask the First Man —

Adam

How he couldn’t stand

The Original Kick-ass lass:

The one we know as

Lilith.

How he moaned and bitched like a little bitch:

“Ooo, waaa….God made a mistake —

‘Cause this woman won’t Subjugate”

Subservi-ate made Her irate

‘Less Than’ was nothing she would tolerate

So God banished Her to the Other Land

But She was the Wrong One to ban!

Shoulda took that Adam-Man off his

Ladder, man —

Made him mate with matter, man

But he shoved Lilith in the Shadow-Land

And by His command…

Another woman up God’s sleave!

Mix, carve, blow…

Why look!

It’s Eve.

Oh, so willing,

Oh, so sweet

So ready to just

Lie Beneath

And take what Adam did bequeath

She’d lay there silent,

Just receiving

The entire time just believing

She must be doing the Right Thing —

By never, ever

Speaking

Adam praised God’s “Good Girl” work

Secretly feeling like the biggest jerk

For all the while he was fucking Eve –

It was Lilith he was seeking.

Epilogue:

[And all the men wonder today

Why a woman won’t just speak up and say

All the things that she is feeling

But deep inside an Ancient Fear

That we’ll be Sent Away for speaking

There’s that Usher song, you know… the one that says:

“Want a lady in the street but a freak in the bed…”

But the Freak is the one who won’t Lie Beneath…

The one We All left for dead.

She wonders now, as she breaks out

And leaves her Shadow Land

Who is strong enough to Share my bed…

Is there Such a Man?]

Bright Red Dress (a.k.a. Anima)

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She wears the Bright Red Dress, dances on marble table-tops

 

Has that perfect laugh — Head tilted back

 

You know the kind.

 

Yes, she’s That Kind

 

The kind they like to put in slow-motion

 

On the movie-screens

 

The kind who gives the teens

 

Wet dreams

 

And makes men stiffen in their theater seats

 

As they squirm over to one side

 

So the wife won’t see

 

The hard evidence of their fantasies.

 

Yes, she’s That Kind –

 

Her smile blinds,

 

Those wide big eyes

 

Blink innocently

 

While what they think is underneath – unbridled sensuality

 

Simmers through transparently

 

Because it ain’t necessarily

 

Her own sensuality

 

But I won’t bore you with

 

Such Things.

 

They all imagine she’s Untouchable

 

While fiending oh-so-desperately —

 

To touch her ever-endlessly…

 

Projecting every wanted woman they have ever seen

 

Unconsciously on that Bright Red Dress

 

She happens to be wearing.

 

Betting to themselves deep down, “I know her and she knows me.

 

And if I could only win her over, she’d see we’re meant to be.”

 

Oh, how they think Know her!

 

And there is some magic quality.

 

I’m not sayin’ she don’t have it —

 

It just ain’t the Realest thing.

 

‘Cause they all think she’s the Virgin Mary

 

And Madonna —

 

Goddesses Sophia and Innana —

 

Some twisted kind of Freudian mama

 

That they secretly beg to Keep.

 

Sweet souls just projecting onto her

 

Their hopeful, true-love dreams.

 

Nothin’ wrong with this except

 

When the woman removes the dress

 

She hopes the men who said

 

She was the greatest thing since whole-grain bread

 

Will be able to, instead,

 

Love the regular, plain ol’ “me.”

 

You know — the very real wife beside them

 

In the theater seat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Path of Heart

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It doesn’t have to be Some Big Thing

You do today.

The Inner Judge that Pushes you

Also Leads Astray.

The Thing inside that Punishes

The Thing that ever-states,

“It doesn’t matter what you want,

Just do exactly as I say.”

We all have that Thing inside us

We may call it by different names

But the Harsh Advice it gives us

Always sounds the same.

It Beats Us Up with Expert Reasons

Harvested in self-harm, for

When a child falls or stumbles —

Does it help to also break his arm?

So when this Thing attacks you

It helps to know He’s there

It helps to know His twisted Tricks

It helps to Stay Aware.

When the Punisher has got the whip

And He’s giving you your twenty licks

Look again and understand

The whip itself

Is in your hand.

You can choose to Notice that!

Call on a different inner part:

Let your Warrior take over

And choose the Path of Heart.

The Bullet Rose

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Did you know…

There is a name for a rose that never blooms?

It closes so tightly in on itself that it cannot open.

They call it the Bullet Rose.

It never gets the glorious, torturous Break Down that screams, “Yes! Yes I am alive!”

Instead its petals are like arms crossed defiantly over a chest refusing to let any feeling in.

And isn’t that the Real Tragedy?

Because something happens in the breakdown:

It is the undefinable Mark of Chaos;

A mark that becomes clear-cut only by its utter Confusion where

All

Falls

Apart

Going into total Dissolution;

Caterpillar liquifies

Suffers to become butterfly

And so, too, do I.

I know by now It is coming.

Ah but I fight it, I fear the pain.

“Not again

Not again.”

But yes.

Again.

That is where Acceptance comes in

And having a memory that can hold onto knowing

That the Break is never The End.

We either evolve or regress or worse yet…

Stay fixed;

Hiding too long in one place

We erroneously believe is safe.

Like the poor Bullet Rose

That never gets the Beauty of the Break.

Nor the Resurrection that is only faithful moments

Away.

Rebirth

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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.

This Is God

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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.

 

Mysterium

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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…

 

Inception

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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?

The Choice

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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.

Gift of The Madwoman

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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.