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5150, pt 1

it is cold outside

and i am running

running down the streets of riches

running to find a home

running in hopes that they’ll chase me

running

it is cold outside

and it is night beneath the ivory towers

a trash can, my cloak

i rest, heaving

i have no fucking idea what i’m doing

and all sorts of paradoxes are writhing around in this skin

it is cold outside

and i rest

heaving

they told me i was better

they told me it is time to go home now

home to the fake fiance

home to the subterranean aching grief

home to the abyss

of him

i filled my body with your sustenance

i can stand now, without collapse

but the size of his loss still echoes gunshots

forever within

they told me i was better

and so i ran

past the voluntary unit doors

down the pleasantly colored carpeting

nodding to the nurses, on my way to the cafe

no one noticed me slipping out into the blackness

no one noticed me pushing my speed

no one noticed

and i

was running

sweat pouring, terrified and elated

months and months of observational exercise restraint

was running

momentary freedom aside

the thoughts they chased me, consuming

running

why

running?

running from the only place

i’ve ever felt at home

running from the ones that hold me together

running from the walls and curfews that protect me

from Her

from Him

running

i am running

so that they’ll know i’m not okay

so that they’ll keep me longer

god what a fucked up case of trash i am

so that they’ll keep me longer

please

chase me

find me

see that i am not

okay

but here i am

behind this reeking steel

heaving

body coursing with panic and survival

and no one’s coming

and it’s cold

and i’m not running

and the academics grimace as they walk by

and i’m wondering if it’s all fucked up

if i’ll turn

and run back

and tell them

while they look at me crazy

and say

well,

your insurance thinks

you no longer

are on the edge of dying

so we’re sorry

but it’s time

for you to go

i am seventeen

and i have cupfuls of prozac stashed

and i want you to save me

and i want to be locked up forever

and my mother is suicidal

and my boyfriend is far beneath the earth

and somebody tore me open long ago

and i’m sitting here by this refuse knowing

if you let me go i’ll be dead

so no

i will wait here

and i will feel that hunger

until you find me

until you hold me

and it is

warm

inside

again

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Ingal, The Kitchen Witch

As I have mentioned before, I am deep in the throes of editing and planning to publish a trilogy called, “The Kitchen Witch’s Way.” This is a series about Regina, a skeptical woman who has tried everything to get over her eating problems and who has found herself at a place of despair and meaninglessness about it all. She’s found Ingal, an old woman healer that purports to have some new ideas about treating eating disorders, and Regina is giving it one last shot by going to meet up with her and hear what she’s all about.

Upon meeting Regina, Ingal makes sure to clarify with her what she is, and is not, here to provide if they work together. Regina has had previous dialogue with Ingal asking her about how “treatment” works, how working with a Kitchen Witch could possibly do anything different than all of the providers she’s seen. Ingal speaks to her in this moment as she’s arrived at the mountain property about this topic. I’m still working on her character, but I’d love to know what you think about her voice!

“Welcome Regina. How was the trip? So good to finally meet, me lass!

Now, do you have that paperwork for me? Have ye signed the agreement? It’s a very important, that you know this work isn’t about fixing you. That I am not here to do that, nor am I trained in such matters. That I be a bit different than the therapist, or the dietitian, or the doctor, or the treatment center, or the meal plan that you have undoubtedly consulted with and worked with for many years.

Nay, I be one who’ll help you explore the spiritual side of your journey, who is not here to fix you or help you to get over or get rid of the eating problems. No, I’m not here to help you get rid of anything!

Me dear, I be here to help you explore why the “problem” has come, the perspective of why it’s right, and of why it may not be backin’ down…so that you will listen to what it has to teach!

I be here to walk you through the deeper journey of understanding of illness. Why has a’ the spirit of the illness come? Why it’sa chosen you and why it ain’t given up until you get its message? These be the questions.

Now, as ye read on that there paperwork, if ye have a physical emergency or a psychological or traumatic breakdown, I be here with you, but let’s be real. I know you have access and know very full well you got to go to your treatment team for that. But for me and you, we be explorin’ the meaning. We be explorin’ the sacredness. We be explorin’ the possibility of what you’ve been dealing with…being something not wrong, but right.

Mind ye, skeptical beauty, that this is an exploration. An experiment in seeing what might happen if we re-story your journey in this way. I don’t claim to have the answers, but I do think you may be tired of knockin’ on the same doors over and over again. That you may be seeking something deeper than all that’s come before. Not that it’s wrong or unhelpful, it helped you get where you are. And you are here! You be at my door, you be at my crossroads, because you want to look through a different set a’ goggles. That’s what we’ll be doin’ together, and seein’ what that unfolds.

Do you understand? My lass, do you want to join me? If so, let us begin!”

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Death Goals

It began innocently

As a childhood dream

To become a veterinarian

It began

As an aim

For life

This quickly dissolved

In seeing, ironically,

The popularity of using said professionals

To kill for convenience

Her target then moved

Easy breezy

To deep love

Committed to death do we part

This, ironically,

Ended in death almost as soon

As it started

These botched goals under her belt

The girl was feverishly taken over

Leaving the life goal behind

And instead aiming

For the goal

Of death

Starving her way to some place

Some peace, some hopefully ever after

This (somewhat) accomplished,

Lying in her hospital bed

Revived

She had a new goal

A life goal

One to vanquish the evil foe

To help others to find joy again

Free from the dark force

That sought to shackle them

Climbing, goatly

Up that ladder

Immersing herself in the System

Ironically, she saw

That which purported to help

In turn, was actually in the business

Of killing souls

The top, the goal not being what

She aimed it to be

The girl promptly hurled herself

Off the mountain, to die once more

Awakened on the islands

The life goals became smaller

Battered grand aims

Bringing her to her knees

Sipping Ensure at midnight

Feeling music sway her body

Waking to the sound of crashing waters

She made these

Tiny, whispering urges

Her life goals

The girl wasn’t sure she’d survive

So everything became a life goal

But also, a death goal

Her choices became

Rooted in the question:

“What would I do if I died tomorrow?”

The answers, minute by minute

Were her life

And death

Goals

Each day

Growing stronger

Seeing that, yes, today will bring another breath

She saw that maybe

There were broader horizons

And she dreamed of bellydance troupes

And playing bass in a rock band

Of building bohemian caravans

And serving tarot to heavy metal festival fiends

These became her new goals

Her life goals

Her death goals

Bushwacking her way through

All sorts of obstacles

(Including her penchant of slipping over to the other side)

The girl checked them off her list

Then, growing bolder

She aimed for living in clothing optional intentional villages

Onto ancestral pilgrimages in Sweden

Catapulting herself into working for Metallica

Then the scariest and most thrilling

Writing, publishing and releasing

Her spilling-the-guts memoir

Terrifying!

But also, death-goals-type

Amazing

Soon, the aim became less

And the presence became more

And what she did, mostly

Was surrender

And breathe

The things she’d dreamed of

Came without her aim

Backstage with Slayer

The house in the woods

The job at the apothecary

(The chronic pain gift was delivered for contrast)

And eventually the only aim

Became breathing

Presence

Serving

Serving her mother in her death passage

Serving her customers in their health challenges

Serving the person on the street

Who just needed to be looked at

As a human

These

Became her only death goals

Now, however

The girl has felt a rumbling

A strange and pulsing desire

To put the words of an inner/outer wise one

To the page

To carefully craft the words that helped her

Weaving them, leather bound, this grimoire

So that they can serve into posterity

The girl knows not

When she may die

But the clock is ticking

And she’s glad to be racing it, writing

Wondering

Will she succeed?

The aim to serve

The desire to write

The strange cackling wise one

Urging her on

Breathing…

These

Are her only

Death Goals

Now

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Solstice Friends

Hail, Green Allies of High Summer!

Thank you for your brightness,

For teaching me how to carry your medicine

Into the long nights of life

Hail, Green Allies of High Summer!

Blessed Be your Beauty and gift

Mugwort, *Artemisia douglasiana* *or suksdorfi*i

The infamous Poison Oak, *Toxicodendron diversilobum*

A blurry shot of Sticky Monkeyflower (but due to a blessed summer breeze), *Diplacus aurantiacus*

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Nightmares

*The Nightmare*, Henry Fuseli (1871) By Tulip Hysteria / Go to albums – https://www.flickr.com/photos/36417567@N03/32380012237/, CC BY 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=111521078

Fun fact

I’m obsessed with Nightmares

Sleeping ones

Waking ones

Those creatures that suffocate in the dark

Those creatures that suffocate

In the light

Repeating

I am obsessed

Fascinated

With why they are

Repeating

Terrorizing

Night Mare

The mythological beast tormenting

The sorcerous demons

The goblins that ride my chest

While I gasp, scream, weep

Hoping for the dawn

Oh, Sleeping, dreaming Mare

Unearthing the gargantuan spectres

That swim in my long-forgotten hollows

Those begging for attention

Begging for engagement

Begging

For a stand-off

Oh, sleeping, dreaming Mare

I am obsessed with how you turn

When I can stop and face you

Those times

When the clock numbers shimmer

And I realize I am not awake

Facing you

The scales and teeth I feel in your pursuit

Smooth out, and there’s a kind look

Pleading

I find in our eyes

Why do you come, Mare?

What do you have to teach?

How long

Repeating

Have you sought for my face?

Night Mares

I’m obsessed

With why they come repeating

With why they kill, suffocate, torture

With how they chase me

Over and over

Until, hopefully, one day

I might turn

Obsessed, also

With you, Day Mare

The patterns that repeat themselves

Over and over again

As if I am waking

And walking

And sludging

Through the same dead dream

The mythological beast

The sorcerous demon

The goblin riding my chest

How are you

Embodying the skins of beings

I am challenged to face each day?

How are you slithering

In the repeating arguments

In the cyclical frustrations

In the same problem

Appearing

In different bodies

What happens if I face you

In the waking hours,

Asking the question

Of what you’ve come to teach me?

Will your scales, your fang-laced suffocation

Reveal pleading and wise eyes

When I stop running away

When I turn to face you

When I recognize the

Repeating

Nightmare

Daymare

Coming to wake me

Fun fact

I’m obsessed with Night Mares

I’m obsessed with Day Mares

I’m obsessed with who you are

And that knife in your hand

And what will happen

If I turn and plunge myself into

Your teaching

It is time

To wake up

It is time

To wake up

It is time

To wake up

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Dream Teachers

this is NOT the woman i met, it is a stock Photo by Yulia Rozanova on Pexels.com

It seems I often dream of eastern/Asian symbology when something new is coming to form in my life, yet recently the symbols manifested in my *waking* dream.

An Asian elder came into the apothecary I work in, and we were dialoguing about her symptoms…lo and behold she was dealing with *exactly* the same pain symptoms I have recently been struggling to manage.

She and I recognized the specific nature of the synchronicity and smiled at each other.

She told me about a particular herbal formula that she’d been directed to use by her medicine people, her great trust in that process…and then she left.

Hours later as I was closing up the shoppe, this real/dream elder came back, a bag of strange and mysterious herbs in hand. She told me to decoct the mixture and that we could share about how it was working for both of us.

This is not a totally unusual experience at the apothecary portal, but a beauteous and magickal one nonetheless. I haven’t seen the woman since then. I kind of wonder if I ever will. I kind of wonder if she was real, or if she was a cross-over dream character giving me direction when I most needed it.

Who knows? The line between the waking and sleeping dream has long been hazy for me. All I can say is blessed be to the dream teachers, and to this particular elder that shared so presently with me. I have hopes for how the decoction alchemizes inside

Thanks for reading! I am deciding to vary my consistent poetry structure to include some prose, I would love to know if you’d like to have just poetry or if this is a welcome change?

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The Kitchen Witch’s Way Moves Ahead!

for those of you who don’t know, i am working on a magical realism trilogy called The Kitchen Witch’s Way. this mystical romp is a tale centered around a skeptical young woman, her run-ins with a rascally kitchen witch and her encounters with the grimoire that rewrites everything she’s been programmed to believe about her challenging relationship with food and her body.

there’s some peeks into the actual grimoire matter throughout the series with an eventual goal of releasing the full grimoire as a separate text. plus, it’s cottage-core! the witch’s cabin in the woods, the blossoming herb gardens, and the town setting complete with a tarot-reader’s bohemian caravan, black cat familiars and the town’s happening cafe and music venue, The Bitter End are just a few of the reasons you might want to spend some time in this world. i’m still working on my elevator pitch so judge me if you will but that’s the current jist :}

i am writing here today to share my excitement about having just hired and put in my first deposit for a developmental editor for the first book in the series! they’re all basically written, but this is only the beginning of the trail. i’m not entirely sure how i will finance the entire journey but putting the magick into the pot of possibilities and seeing what happens.

i am working on a Kickstarter campaign and will share those links once the book is actually road-worthy of such things for those who may be interested. a collection of some of the poems i’ve shared here may show up as a gift for supporters. it is honestly a bit overwhelming all the little ins and out of the journey but as always micro-goals are my friend.

it is a long road to self-publishing (see developmental editing stage in the oldie-but-goodie graphic below) but this trilogy is definitely one of my life/death goals and i will pursue it to the ends. stay tuned and thanks for being with me on the ride! ~raVen

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Vision

image from Tarot of The Spirit by Joyce and Pamela Eakins

Embarking on yet another quest

To know You in me

To know how to serve this that You are

I stepped out onto the path of the Moon

There I met my demons of insufficiency

Of hobbled inability

To bring myself to health

There I met the wavering wraiths of frustration

Who chide me of my lack of skill

In using my Will

To create fruition

A flowering, fertile garden

Always, they say, it turns to death

I sat with these beings

I toiled with them

There on the path of the Moon

Arguing vehemently my cause

And eventually, I also saw

The truth of their accusations

Wallowing in this mess of uncertainty

I wept

And exhausted

I fell into Moon’s slumber

I woke to a dream

Those images You know how to send me

Lingering in my mind

It was of Father Water

A celestial being

Forging through the churning waters

Of Life

Beaming, he and horse

Both white and strong

Able, somehow, to carry the way

Through

I realized, upon rubbing weary eyes

That You, Father Water

Are the name of my vision

That I had emerged from the path of the Moon

Into your glowing sphere

The sphere of vision

Of broad, expansive views

Giving life direction

You, beaming at me

The Name of my Vision

Whatever could this mean?

As always, The Dreaming’s bombastic displays

Give such vague and indirect feedback

I must sit

And wait

To know what you name

I think it must be

Something of a deeper yearning

A yearning crafted from eons of riding

And drowning

And riding once more

To embody this leader

Who has found a way to hold strong

And who reaches out to others

Struggling in the waters

Who at first places them, as passenger

To feel the girth of the steed

That which can guide them

In their maelstrom

And then, soon

To jump from the reins

And leave passenger to feel themselves riding

Their own dream steed

Through the waters of Life

Something about this

The Name of my Vision

You,

Father Water

Have come

To pull me from the waters

To help these thighs feel the steed

To show then, the path to help others

And, as you disappear before me

To find myself, able, holding the reins

And reaching for a sinking hand

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Hollow Bone

Quiet, but for

Chimes swinging in the wind

Sensing into self

There’s no one

Here

Decades of life wringing

All the droplets of what I thought was me

They have somehow seeped

Deep into the ground

And I am left

A Hollow Bone

At first encounter

This vaporous essence

Was seen as malady

Defined by numbers

In the pages of diagnostic

Grimoires

It used to terrify

Sucking me into spirals

And sometimes still does…

But now, mostly

Looking across the Desert Way I’ve travelled

I see it

Is sacred

What would life be

Without pain

Without suffering

To bring us to our knees

To question the unseen

What else would cause us to plead

And open for the magick

Some unexplainably beautiful thing

Trailing on the crest of our tears

How would I Know

The pain, you too, carry

But are required to hide

This is what I (try to) think of

When I wake up to Nothing

Except these burning incapacities

My mind imagines

That I’ve been prepared

That I’m being readied

That I might just always

Have this wizened whittler

Working away against my substance

Readied

For Life?

For Death?

For…Love?

Carved and hollowed

For my eyes to witness the magick

Of Life running through

To feel the ripples

Of words speaking through me

To ease a wounded heart

When the time is right?

There’s no way

I’d be able to do this

Without the wringing

Without the squeezing

Without the midnight wailing

Throbbing pain, learning to hear

It’s as if over all these decades

You’ve been preparing me

To learn to thrive

In this one moment

With no plan

And only Life and Death as my guides

And Love

Each breath

Each prostration on the earth

You breathing me

Through this that you’ve crafted

Quiet, but for

Chimes swinging in the wind

Sensing into self

There’s no one

Here

There’s no one

Here

There’s o one

Here

There’s only

Hollow

Bone

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Published Poem!

This just in!

I am honored to be included in the most recent edition of The Fabulist Magazine. My poem, Birch, is now published and alive on their ((fabulous)) website. You may recognize it if you’ve been reading here for a while…it’s an edited version of a poem I posted here a little while back. Check it out here: https://fabulistmagazine.com/birch/

Thanks to Russell Reza-Khaliq Gonzaga, Josh Wilson and Adam Myers at The Fabulist Magazine for helping this dream come into form

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Incubation

Photo by Raphael Brasileiro on Pexels.com

Facing you

Nervous, excited as you begin the story

My eyes are open

And fall on your fairness

I’ve come with a question, and

I think you are about to make it all very clear

Then

Our link drops

And I am frantic to re-connect

All else I can access

But not you

You are gone

I am panting, pacing in this vacuum

And then, somehow

I am led

To your home

In the midst of redwoods

And concrete business park modules

I find your door down a pathway

A sign, swinging in the wind

Its Irish words guide me

The threshold is open

And I cross over it

I see it is not only me you’ve invited

There are many families and faces

Circled in the space

They welcome me

They somehow know me

And I can feel your vibration, buzzing

Somewhere in the field

But I cannot see you

Why can I not see you

Anymore?

Then

I am in the circle

Although I only know it by touch now

Two large women flank and hold me

Their large, black breasts cover my eyes

I am cradled, but cannot see

I feel you, but I cannot see

I came to you with a question

And you disappeared

Or did you simply become the tale?

Dropping me away from your visage

Into this strange reality

Is it the answer I really need?

A confusing landscape

This place you’ve led me to –

Your wife, crying, out in the rain

The blind buxom holding, welcoming

Circles, ancestral words

And somehow, your tiny babies

Encased with kittens, dying of thirst

Digging my way to them,

I try to quench

But I cannot see

My hands fumble

And the mother is dry

All this blackness, covering

All this strangeness cradling

All these people, smiling

Welcoming, dying, crying, birthing

I feel you watching, but cannot see you

I want to see you in all of this

So bad

Here, in the Darkness

It is now silent

I feel your vibration yet can’t see the image

I want your shiny, rational curriculum

My teeth grow longer,

Salivation dripping as I think of it

Yet what you immerse me in

Is this the messy answer?

In the Darkness

Swimming in these moon-land images

Why have you brought me here?

I have asked, hoping for a shining light

Now feeling all the more lost

It comforts me, this possibility

That you respond from your absence

That you still, somehow touch me

And that someday

I will see you

And everything

Again

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A Letter to The Doc

Photo by Julia Mouru00e3o Missagia on Pexels.com

*This one’s real, folks. I’m a pretty hardy bird, but this back pain is terrifying me. It was all I could do today to cut and paste this little bit of my world here. Thanks for reading and sending some good juju if it feels right!

Hiya Doc

I am wondering

if you can guide me

in how to receive emotional support

for this back/nerve pain issue.

The intense pain is happening again,

and I am finding it difficult to walk

and do my daily activities…

including going to my job.

I am taking Advil and it helps a little,

but I am so afraid.

Especially because these symptoms

have “no visible cause,”

and I don’t seem to be doing anything

to aggravate the issue…

it just comes on unpredictably.

I am waking up more often than not

dreading the day

and dealing with a lot of fear

about how I am going to support myself

if I can’t work,

not to mention

do the things I love.

Any suggestions are welcome,

thank you.

P.S. Could you also try to talk to Hekate?

Tell her it’s a bit much

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Crossroads

As of now

Everything is crumbling

Drab, drab, drab

The pieces, dead and gray

Fall through my fingers

No longer enlivened

By my breath

I’ve been here before

When the time has come for change

I now feel it in my bones

Recognize it like a panting dog

In these times

The way

Becomes very, very unclear

Facing

This crossroads

The options cloaked in deep, deep darkness

I must sit here, waiting

Hoping She’ll come

Hoping that Dweller will meet me

Hoping Her light will shine on the Path

These hungry hands

These seeking feet

They ache for the Way

Sitting here

On this stump, in darkness

I know there’s these portals

I can’t see them, but I feel their vacuum

I’ve been here for awhile

Watching people, various creatures passing by

Passionate in their direction

Watching them, swallowed

By the inky black as they stride into their certainty

Not one of them stops as they pass

A few, they glance at my crouching figure

But none hold my gaze

None look deeply into my yearning

It’s all business and purpose

It’s all fame and popularity

It’s all marketing and worth

It’s all just marching forward, staying focused

Avoiding breath

Death

Birth

And other fairytales

Why doesn’t anyone linger here?

Question the choice?

Lay down offerings at the mouth of these gaping portals?

Can they not see?

Or do I

Stare at illusion?

All I know, is that regardless

This place is powerful

And that I

Feel disoriented

Here

Casting aside self-doubt

And those tricksy comparisons

I try to kindle my hope

From weak smoldering into flame

I try to envision Her

Emerging from the mouth of Death

Emerging from the mouth of life

Emerging from the mouth

Of shadowy transformations

I try to hold the image of Her

Staff in one hand, glowing lamp in the other

The image of Her, looking at me

Stopping here

Knowing me

Perhaps just Her, sitting with me

While all others pass

Is enough

But that flame keeps her pointing alive

It keeps Her hand, lamp absorbed

In mine

It keeps Her wise, warm body

Next to mine

Breathing

Then rising

Then walking

We’re walking

Together

Into the darkness

And the clear path of my life

This vision holds it

Greeting us, on the other side

Perhaps, however

It’s just Her

Sitting here, at the Crossroads

On this stump

Surrounded by imagined doorways cloaked in shadow

Watching them all pass by

Her, With me

When no one else wants to stop and say a prayer to the blackness

Perhaps it’s just Her

Sitting here, with me

That smoldering hope, I keep alive

Wishing soon for Her to emerge

Laying down offerings

Being invisible

Feeling the unbearable and stripping confusion

Here

On this stump

At the Crossroads

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The Center of Pain

some days i wake up

and it’s dark

inside

so gloomy the prospect

of another day…

with you

while the birds go on chirping

and the chimes go on chiming

here, deep in here

it’s dark

knowing better

I struggle

to keep my breath above the din

swirling and sucking

drawing me in

your throbbing

it greets me

like a lover i’m still confused by

forcing

attention

to the realms below

is it you that provides portal

into new roads of somatic deepening

or you, my captor

drawing off lines

where i can no longer roam

darkness, this darkness

amidst a world of grateful comforts

grabs me and takes hold

brings me to weeping, fearing

of the dance i can no longer have

of the long dreamy imaginal forays

of sessions, pen to page, losing myself in words

of the warm cozy feel of book and couch

of cafe frothers and clanging dishware

of open roads with days before me

of the dance

losing myself

in the dance

will i no longer be able

to lose myself

in the dance?

please…

no…

the edge of grief turns to paranoia

doom-casting into years beyond

wheelchair bound and listless

drugged out on pain killers

alone

by catheter

rageful and bitter

caged by

you

now, luckily

years of toolbox building

has me skilled with a fish hook

and i pull myself present

into this moment, here

into this moment, now

where, when i sink deep into you

deeper than the darkness

deeper than the grieving

deeper than the fear and panic of beyond

choosing, instead, to spiral into you

choosing, instead, to explore you

choosing instead, to accept you, feel you

become you

into this place, as you

everything seems okay

in this breath, in this moment

in the way the sun streams as if holding

it’s empty

and i begin to wonder

if you

are the door

everything’s crazy

and

your throbbing

it greets me

like a lover i’m still confused by

forcing my attention

to the realms below

is it you that provides portal

into new roads of somatic deepening

or my captor,

drawing off lines

where i can no longer roam

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Smoke And Flowers

Your vanilla smoke

And your tiny flowers

Your rough tweed against my young cheek

And your pencil etchings

Of imaginary universes

You

Gave me something else

To dream about

Chenery bakery scones, crumbling

Grace Cathedral, sacred echo stained-glass gleaming

The way you made

Those early morning farmers smile

Squawking gulls, Anchor Steam and crunchy croutons

How you turned down the linens

And inspired thespian ventures

You

Gave me something else

To dream about

Your face in lonely bus stations

A writer with grand tales of the Basque country

Your smile, always at the door

The way you looked at each other, that love

You gave me something else

To dream about

I only recently realized your

Crab dinners and

Christmas tree cuttings

Your Chet Baker, Delta Blues and

That Black Dog

About your oysters and champagne

And reverence for silence

And how you almost

Took me

And I wish

I wouldn’t have strayed so far

That I’d come closer, known deeper

And sometimes,

I regret saying no

But I’m glad

I got to be with you

Near the end

For slow walks to the cork tree

And Midsomer Murder Mysteries

And to kiss you out of slumber

Even when you’d forgotten everything else

And even when you shamelessly threw up your tapioca

Balding and rageful from the killing drugs

You

Still remembered me

I will always be grateful

For your open door

For your tough love

For your voice that night, it meant the world to me

And for your ever present light

In my many dark harbors

Thank you

For always giving me

Something else to dream about

Dedicated to my Aunt Martha and Uncle Richard who passed recently. A raucous, peopled celebration of life was held this weekend in their honor.

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Not Alone

At least once

In every human life

There is an Initiation

Ripping, tearing, gutting

Leaving us weeping

Empty

Alone

Questioning everything

Our whole world reduced

To ashes

To harrowing silence

To a chest, too heavy

For the next choking breath

This alchemy

This darkening, nigredo

Doesn’t just visit the wicked

Doesn’t simply punish the damned

And it ain’t no precious spiritual knighting

For the martyrs who roam

Nope

This stripping happens

Whether through flesh, spirit or mind

Perhaps, for some of us

All of these, at once

We are killed

All of us

Onetime or many

In a life

But hey! That’s the good news!

Whereas the view is faceted

And each of us chooses how to reassemble

The opportunity

The fresh direction

The wide-open vista

Becomes

Somehow

In the deep, deep darkness

Fumbling, starving, in the Abyss

If we stay with it

If we stay with ourselves

Even if it takes years

Or decades

Or lifetimes

If we but trust the Initiation

We will find a ladder

And rise, rise

Out onto a new world

But

We have to let go

Of that old one

And truly, truly fall

Hopefully, while descending

We remember

That we do not do this, alone

That each time we look over

At that person

Speeding past us

On life’s highway

While we grip the Wheel, screaming

Hopefully, we remember

They too, no matter what

Have, are or will go down

Into that dissolving

That they, too

Will crawl

On their naked, bleeding bellies

Pleading for things to stay the same

Begging for the crumbling to stabilize

Wailing

Curling tightly

Into slobbering ball

Are

Killed

All of us

Onetime, or many

In a life

But hey! That’s the good news!

We are not alone

And there are some of us

Who have been twisted on numerous occasions

Drained and maimed and refilled

Over and over again

Solve et coagula

We almost welcome the next slaying

((But not really, please!))

Because we know we’ll meet you

We wait here

Arms open

We will help you

Re-member

We will call out so loudly

Sounding out

That you are one of us

Human

And that this

This

No matter who you are

Is the Initiation

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These Artful Shadows

It doesn’t interest me

How witty,

clever,

stunning

or badass

your creations are

What interests me

Is what terrifies you

What interests me

Is what creation is hiding deep within you

What ideas, images, stories and sounds

You yearn to share, but hesitate

I want to know

The color of the bars

Of the cage that keeps them in

The thoughtforms engraved deeply

Imprints on each of its thick stakes

I want to know

What the lock smiles at

How the key might shape itself in your hand

I want to know

All the creations you fear

How they might outcast you

All the strange and twisted figures lurking

Or perhaps

The sweet, innocent pinkness

Smothered beneath years of leather and smoke

That voice

The voice so very different than what’s known

I want to see, feel, know it

It doesn’t interest me

The skill you’ve built

The followers you’ve amassed

I want to know

The life events you’re hesitant to explore

Your hidden fears and desires

How they’ve shaped your journey

What you hide or gloss over

What parts of you

That you shudder to explore

The personal truths you’re hesitant to confront

The moments in your life you find difficult to revisit

The themes and topics that repeatedly draw you

But that you tell no one about

But perhaps, before,

This intimate splaying

Just that cage

Tell me about it

How I want to share its feeling with you

How I want to hear the precise notes

Of your screams, how they reverberate it’s casing

Show me what my fingers would find

Trailing down the steel

Those words and stories engraved

Rippling beneath the touch

Trapping you, pacing

Hungering

Pleading

It doesn’t interest me

How witty,

clever,

stunning

or badass

your creations are

What interests me

Is what terrifies

That thing

No matter how deep you’ve dug

It’s always something

Waiting

Share that with me

Through your brush

Through your word

Through your song

Through your image

Through your movement, your facepaint, your howl

I am talking to you

And I

Am talking to me

Hoping, someday our craft

Will sing

The Artful

Shadow

That thing

No matter how deep you’ve dug

It’s always something

Waiting

*Credit to Nancy Levin as well as this strangeness by Sleepytime Gorilla Museum for inspiring this thought spiral: https://youtu.be/Dpmf2DNVhy4?si=k9PliprLopvsGJIX

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Writing To The Man

An image of the former NOAA building n Pacific Grove, CA. Image originally from The Monterey Herald.

On the waves of elkskin drumbeat,

And circled in cedar’s smoke

Today the letter was sent

A response…

To The Man

He first spoke of democracy

From a distant throne

As if the answer would suffice

But here we are, again

Begging the conversation

Daring for involvement

Pushing

Please oh Mister Man

Oh, once Secretary of Defense

Oh, once Director of the CIA

Oh, once White House Chief of Staff

Now, you are resting as a small town chairman

On these very sands we are fighting for

Do you remember

Your commitment to the Bay

To those waters

To those peoples who first tended

Won’t you

Hear us?

Please Mister Man

Could you pay attention to

The myriad of the unheard

While their land once more gets raped

We wonder if your hands are tied

If, deep in your systemized heart

There is a yearning to connect

Whether the machinery of the System

Has clouded over your eyes

Once more, Mister Man

The treaty of Fort Laramie has been ignored

Decades and decades we spiral

That original promise of democracy and fellowship

Those wide-eyed original creatures

Human and non-human

Trampled underfoot

It’s happening now

Its happening

Again

Unseen complications of the ties that bind

We get that your distance may be necessary

But please, Mister Man

Can you at least

Hold a space for these eyes

These remnants

These sacred bones and artifacts

Threatened with destruction

Can you

Will you

Take them in and hold them

In the depths of your heart?

Please oh Mister Man

Oh, once Secretary of Defense

Oh, once Director of the CIA

Oh, once White House Chief of Staff

Now, you are resting as a small town chairman

On these very sands we are fighting for

Do you remember

Your commitment to the Bay

To those waters

To those peoples who first tended

Won’t you

Hear us?

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Trauma

Born in the jaws of the unsuccessful predator

It seeds itself into pulsing flesh of prey

Alive, feeling its purpose

It rushes through, hoping for the release

Propelled across expanses in flee for survival

The quivering host finds soft burrow

And heaves a great sigh

The aliveness activates all flesh into shaking

Shaking, shaking, like a terrible force rippling through the land

Trauma’s mission coming to climax, shouting yes! finally! release!

Where its beingness transforms to, we cannot see

The creature, exhausted

Is resting

Clear and free of the electricity that has bolted through her

She’s woozy

She falls into a deep, healing sleep

And when she wakes

She can remember

The sharp slobbered clench against her thigh

But wiser, she is not frozen

And she can, quite simply

Trust instinct

And begin

Again

It is said that trauma

Seeks to complete itself

To live out its short but powerful existence

And when allowed

There is only peace

Understanding, even

A vast perspective

Broken open from the initiatic blow

Yet so often this temporary lifeform must beg

Beg its host, pleading

Through successive patterns

Through aggressive and harrowing symptoms

Begging for witness, begging to find burrow

Begging to be held by soft earth

While its purpose rips through

Yearning to complete itself

To clear

The way

Years, it takes

This half-life of being buried

Of being judged and only seen in the shadows of others

Wishing only to be given space

And to become what it came to be

This electricity, born so quickly,

Waits in the flesh, simmering

It may be buried

But it is not meek

It will pound harder

It will demand louder

Until, kneeling, its host has no option

No option but to listen

But to feel

But to hold

But to see

Or perhaps die

What might occur

Were the creature to allow

This pulsation, of the power, of this sacred trauma

To live,

To be valued.

To shake,

To breathe.

To be truly, truly seen…

And to finally

Fly

Free

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~Imbolc CreationSsssss~

“Wise art thou

If thou knowest

That the subtle serpent of temptation

Is in truth the anointed one

Who bringeth thee

To liberation.”

~Paul Foster Case

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The Timing of Milk

Although I’ll never really know

Due to the cinder-based state of the source

I have to wonder how the patterns form

Those deep-seated, dogged patterns

The ones sinking teeth into flesh,

Jaws locked

Aggressively yearning

Aside from chemistry diagnostic flaw

Where do they

Really come from?

Take for instance

This grasping, for dear life, onto handles of measuring cups

Or the desperate need for specific, repetitive meal algorithms

For decades and decades, after exhausting attempts

To normalize

They stand, cemented

Why?

On a walk the other day

I had a vision of my mother

Nervous, pacing

Smoking and staring into a refrigerator

The cold mist icing her kneecaps

Her belly, large…but not too large

(sometimes alcohol keeps you slim you know)

Frozen

She was frozen

Unsure of what to feed herself, me

Terrified that she might kill

(she’d tried many times before)

Her knees grow colder

The ash on her cigarette lengthens

As she stands, unable to move

Finally, she closes the door

And clings to a paper

It is loosely taped to yellowing vinyl

Outlining specific measurements

Specific times

Specific numerical amounts

The doctor god gave them

She felt special to Him somehow in this

She clings to it, Him

Hoping maybe His guidance

Will fight the killing spiral

Outlines, they might ensure that life wins

Against her poisonous, confusing urges

Against the shock-treated mother she learned from

She chooses, flicking the last of the ash to the linoleum

She chooses to follow

As hard

As hard as she wants

To kill

She is ashamed at her instincts

She does not understand

So hard to even keep herself alive

She cannot begin to allow a trust here

She chooses to follow

She chooses these masts of externally proven portions

To keep her steady in these terrifying, decimating winds

I see her, similarly petrified

With my small, fleshy body against hers

My cries, they come at odd hours

They do not ask for measurements

They ask for attunement

They ask for knowing

They ask for intimacy and self-trust

They ask for a breast

And the confidence to trust what comes through them

These cries, innocent

And she, terrified of what her body might deliver

Keeps me at a distance

Keeps me on a schedule

Mixes precise amounts of water

And powdery government-approved sustenance

Like a mad alchemist keeping Nigredo at bay

She does her best to keep me alive

Outlines, they might ensure that life wins

Against her

And the disconnected killing spiral

That has now become me

And my fight to survive

This timing of milk

This weaving, traveling, hollow severance

Although I’ll never really know

Due to the cinder-based state of the source

I have to wonder how the patterns form

How the patterns form

And live on

Within me

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Strength VIII/XI

Strength card from The Tarot of the Spirit by Pamela and Joyce Eakins

Honesty & Hope (a.k.a. No Pain, No Gain)” by Shiela L. Kalkbrenner

“Mortal Fear reclines on the edge of infinite opportunity.
Hope explores fragile rewards.
Grace allows the consequences.
Obstacles fall away.
Honesty embraces the pains of change.
Life begins again.“

~Shiela L. Kelkbrenner

Building Strength: Turning Towards and Working With Our Pain.

Strength (VIII) is the numerologic “Card of the year” for 2024. To learn more, here’s a great video: https://youtu.be/HZmwTt8K_h8?si=HFlK0aDaatJ00N4C

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Desire

Photo by Maria Helena Mazuroski on Pexels.com

Sometimes I wake in the night

Terrified

Terrified that I’m throwing it all away

Terrified that because She is so quiet

Because I can barely hear Her

Because the waves and roars

Of unending possibility drown Her Majesty

Choiceless

Frozen

I am terrified

I am throwing it all away

Desire

I’ve gone back and forth about it my whole existence

Is it that there is too much inside of me

Or that there is too little

Is it that there lives a gargantuan backlog

Of unlived yearnings

That when touched, create maelstrom of woe

So threatening, so unapproachable

The consequences of choice

Too complicated

The result of this weight

A blankness, floating

That the only choice is to go back to the same?

Is it that

Deep in this Center

There is a wide, open vista

Free of any wanting

Free of any needing

Free of any seeking

Merged with Infinity

One that absolutely trusts

Where, when, how and why

She’s come to be

That this is all there is

The question of desire

Dropped into this Center

Doesn’t make any sense

It only makes laughter, hysterical

What does make sense

Is this need to create routines

And measurements

And patterns

To keep Her alive

Otherwise

Left to the following of “animal instinct”

She with no need

She with no hunger

She with no desire

Would disappear into the wind

What is true is not yet known

But still

Sometimes I wake in the night

Terrified

Terrified that I’m throwing it all away

Terrified that because She is so quiet

Because I can barely hear Her

Because I am not thrust by myself

To create and savor and lavish

In an obvious, enviable Dream

Choiceless, frozen

Or…empty vastness

I am terrified

I am throwing it all away

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Undertow

I had it all planned out

The list, both wrinkled and gleaming

But when I heard your voice on the line

Like a follower, I let you lead the dance

We talked about politics, and religion

And about your dear Aunt Martha

But never, never

Did we get

To the list

I didn’t even remember to look at it

Even though it was smoothed out beneath my hands

Even though it was caked in sweat and frustration

No, when I heard your voice

Was gone

Our voices, matching

I am not silent, I joust back with my intellectual positions

I know how to do this

I know how to keep the waters steady

But inside,

My heart is dying

After nearly 3 hours of vocal interminglings

I finally speak of space and future meetings

And set

The receiver

Down

It is only now

That I feel that paper, glowing against my skin

And what it was hoping to remind me

I feel its resignation, its scratchy fibrous sigh

And yet

I feel its yearning to persist

That paper, it glares as if it will not give up

That paper, it will stand steady

In case someday, I feel my hands

And its beckoning

In your midst

Will I ever find my way

Out of this learned amnesia

To speak to the depth of the words we have exchanged in letters

To speak to the cryptic poetry you send

To speak to my confusion

Whether you are lover

Or friend

That question that has followed me for ages

To speak to what both of us are really looking for

To risk and dare the truth of that

To speak of tendencies to sink into undertows

Rather than use authentic voice

My fears, and yours?

Instead, once again

Like in that seaside screaming childhood

I fall into your spell

I get quiet

I do the dance

And pray that you’ll stay

I just hope that someday

In your presence

I remember to feel my hands

That I remember to look down for reminders

At that list, glowing

I just hope that someday

I’ll know what to say

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You. Listen.

I’ve begun to record my wonderings with musical backgrounds. Take a listen to my recent poem, “You.”

I am feeling to record more of what’s already been written…perhaps chapters from my memoir…let me know what you think, or stay tuned if you so desire :}

~raVen

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Complex

Hidden beneath the thickness

Of mass, papery thin casings

I found you

Hidden in the gaping despair

Incongruent with trivialities

I found you

In the litany of ghostings

In the rage of suffocated voice

In the tears and vomit upon entwining

I found you

In the great lengths of distance

In decades of sadistic bodily torture

My own dear, terrified, feminine upon your cross

I found you

The clues, honestly

Have been there all along

Trailing me like some desperate sickly hound

Hoping, begging

To be noticed, transformed

How I walked the edge of death

Just to see if you’d appear

How I languished in purpose

Vacillating between grandiosity and nihilism

You

Were always there

Absent

How I wish it hadn’t taken me

This many decades to finally see

That I’m attracting you

Over and over

To feel and attempt to resolve

What may never be truly found

Underneath it all,

Whether mirrored in my own neurosis

Or in the eyes of the man at my door

I’ve found you

And me

And how it’s this work I’ll be doing forever

Hidden beneath the thickness

Of mass, papery thin casings

I found you

Daddy

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Medial Practice

Rising

Daily

To this dark, dark

Shadow

It haunts

It pants

It fills all of me

This heavy, unexplainable

Androgenous and weighted

Meaninglessness

Through thick, murky waters

I attempt to appreciate

All the seeming realities

I am gifted with

Yet

Cannot fully entertain

Who am I

To be ungrateful

Of a life so many would die to have

Of a life so many have died to have

This threatens to add

Just seventy more layers

To the tissue load, the tissue load

I call out for guidance

To “Spirit,” of which I cannot even fully believe

Answers arising

That confuse

Something’s just not right

Or worse

Answer

All

Floating

Just floating

No tether in a

Deep, dark Void

In the place where desire should rise

In the place where passion should rise

In the place where a fire should rise

Is this my prison, or theirs

Is this my darkness, or those

Of unimaginable

Numbers tied to tendril?

Only questions, more questions

Circling, whirling, storming

My only practice, breath

A daily, focused, determined

Presence

Emptying…

Is it sacred

Or just a numbing?

These of course

Are only words

But it resonates, exists, penetrates

Burrowing in so many unexplainable

Ways

Inside me, around me

I want to describe it, fully

But cannot

Like the Ain Soph Aur, the Emanations

Wordless, amoebic, gargantuan

Dementor like–perhaps?

Siphoning all hope, all possibility, all interest

Sucking, desiccating, into empty hollow

How can I give this form?

This suffering,

Bombed,

Ignored,

Starved,

Hidden

Repressed and

Feared

This part

Of myself

This part

Of us…all?

Rising, daily

To this dark, dark

Shadow

It haunts

It pants

It fills all of me

How can I give this form?

How

Can I give this suffering

This emptiness

This formless, grieving

Totality

How can I give this

Prodigious ancestral terror

That befalls us

How can I give this

Form?

Release?

Freedom?

Healing?

Aware

I am aware

Breathe

All I can do is breathe

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A Legacy of Silence

I remember the day clearly

Sunlight gleaming off lapping blue crests

The squeaking of tattered wooden pier

The aggressive cries of gulls circling above

We’d stopped for a breath

Leaning against a wobbly rail

And like it was the latest ache or pain

She told me

About her rape

The night of the house

The temperature of the air

The terror

And the knife

Against her smooth twenty-something neckskin

The shock

From one she thought she knew

On military break, and soon to depart

How he left her there, weeping

The timeline’s a bit hazy

But I’d say she was about sixty-five

I’ve never told anyone until now

Those words, they hit me like lightning

Looking into her eyes

After years of my own intensive therapy

I wondered how she’d carried this

For so long

This wasn’t her first reveal

There’d been one other

It was delivered as we sat on a starched striped blanket

Our shifting, squeaking, in the quiet room

In my voluntary psych ward home

I tried to kill myself with pills

She said

Nothing, but this

Except for the unspecific screams

She’d hurl regularly into my childhood cell

And her wails of wretched body pains

These

Were the only clues

To the mystery I was always trying to unfold

Even sifting through her belongings

After her death

I thought I’d find out more

I searched her sacred daily planner

I thought for sure

The daily cigarette and gin-laced writings

Would open new vistas

I sat, hungry and heart beating

Turning those pages

Hoping, desperate to know her

They won’t keep her from me!

Angry.

That, I swear

Was all.

She’d left only a handful of single words

Over the decades of daily financial scribbles

And unless she somehow knew she was going to die

And uncharacteristically danced wild,

Her impassioned deep confessionals

Burning in the sunset sands of some secret beach

I’d have to just accept

I’d just have to let go

And realize

I’d never really know her

And that perhaps

She’d never known her Self

It’s taken me decades to come to terms

With my mother, here inside me

And lately, as I wrestle

With this great unexplained torture unfolding within

With the memories and violations

And strange symptoms revealing

Slowly…like she did

That I realize the pattern

The pull to conceal, run, hide

Anything to prevent a generations-old shame

Its threats to destroy me

I recognize the ripples, mirroring

And how it’s me, seeing

And how it’s me, writing

And how it’s me, screaming

And how it’s me, starving

And how it’s me, crying

And how it’s me, sharing

And how I think…

In this strange visceral way…

I do know her…

And how it’s me

Putting words to these shadows

Extending my hand, to you

And how it’s me, and her

Who can only break

This legacy

Of silence

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The Wandering Cell

I’ve always been a wandering cell

Cruising around this Great Body, trying to find my kind

At first, I hung out heavily with the immune gang

They were so badass!

Tried so hard to be a killer, wasn’t mean enough

Spent a lot of time with the memory crew, kept forgetting

A bit of life with the neutralizers, I did that pretty good

But not good enough

They knew I was pretending

So then, I began roaming

Trying on organs like roles on Broadway

Auditioning to be a heart…nah, too cheesy

Attempting to be a liver…geesh! too laborious

Having no business…being an ovary

And a stomach? Forgeddaboutit

I just kept wandering, wondering

Why nobody wanted me

Just busy, going on about their duty

Everyone so certain

And me, just a big ol’ question mark

Wandering, wondering

Why I never could quite fit in

Why I could never seem to find my place

Years and years I wandered

And finally became okay with it

Saying hello as I rushed on past

Even if I wasn’t acknowledged

I smiled

Somehow, I began to understand

That if heart cells tried to be liver cells

Shit…there would be a trainwreck

Somehow, I began to understand

That we all had our own lanes

But me? What was my purpose?

Was I really meant to just wander alone, forever?

I began to fantasize

That I was a special type of cell

And that there were maybe others like me

Us wanderers, wandering

It’s just what we do

It’s our purpose

And I began to do that

With certainty, I spent a long time

Wandering

Lately

I’ve found myself hanging out again

With those heart cells

Those guys I totally laughed at

In my attempts to be a killer

And strangely, although they’re still distant

I feel like I’ll hang out here awhile

Swimming in all that Presence I’m finding

They’re really not all that bad

And maybe, even though I can’t really proclaim a destiny

Beyond this incessant wandering

Maybe

I’m part heart too

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Acknowledgements~Redux

Photo by Dziana Hasanbekava on Pexels.com

To the first peoples of Switzerland, who were colonized

To the first peoples of Germany, who were colonized

To the first peoples of Scandinavia, who were colonized

To the first peoples of Lithuania, who were colonized

To the first peoples of the Netherlands, who were colonized

To the first peoples of the British Isles, who were colonized

To the first peoples of the Americas, who were colonized

To the first peoples of the Great Utah Basin, who were colonized

To the first peoples of the West Coast of the Americas, where I now stand, who were colonized

To the first plants, animals and living beings who were colonized

To the meat, vegetable, herb, tree, and crops who were colonized

To the plots of land, under concrete, that will never see the sun, who were colonized*

To the trauma, disconnection and forgetting that lives on in my bones, blood and gut, colonized

To the sicknesses that are trying to help me see

May I find a way to understand

May I find a way to respect

May I find a way to honor

May I find a way to clear

May I find a way to re-member

These hands

These white hands, open

These blue eyes, open

This raw, beating heart, open

Aching

May I find a way

To re-member

To all who have been a part of me

To all who have suffered

And to all I am a part of

May we find a way

To re-member

To re-member our privilege

This privilege

This Body

This Earth

May we find a Way

In acknowledgment of the first human and non-human peoples

From upon the bones on which we stand

Breathing within the breath that has never died

May we find a Way

May we find

A Way

*This sentence was inspired by a talk given by Kanyon Sayers-Roods, of Coastanoan Ohlone-Mutsun and Chumash peoples.

~Original form of this poem first published in Food Memories by Reagan “raVen” Lakins: https://www.ebookwoman.com/book/9781689839075

https://www.amazon.com/Food-Memories-Reagan-J-Lakins/dp/1689839074

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Vanilla Smoke

It’s the first thing I remember about you

That sweet, sultry smell

That weighty, mysterious fragrance

That way of being

It permeated

Everything

I remember how you held that pipe

Its amber chamber cradled in your palm

The far-off look you had

As if lost somewhere in Mystery

That vanilla smoke

I remember the contrast

Hers, acrid and jarring

Yellowed fingers and hoarded butts

Hers, it always pushed me away

But yours, it drew me nearer

That vaporous tendril

Trailing my memory up the old staircase

And into your study

The papers and books, laden

A rush of you, each time I opened a new portal

In that antiqued wooden nook

There I lost myself in temporary fantasy

Wishing for a new family

Escaping for a moment, into yours

That vanilla smoke

Some Sundays, I watched it through the window, scone in hand

While you absorbed a French bakery sunshine

Taking in the street, silent smiles, reaching

I wanted this, so bad

Still further it travels, winding

To those trips in the leather-seated Jaguar

My little hands opening the backseat polished table

Culture and class, theater and symphony

Pretending

I am yours

I remember how you’d excuse yourself

Leaving me to hang in torturous void

As we, silent, sat staring out at the sea

Violence, suicide, manipulation and desperation already worn out

You were a bridge for both of us

I could see the stars in her eyes just as much as I felt them in mine

That smoke, now I’m remembering

It picked me up at a lonely bus station

Both when I was a small child, hoping

And when I was a rabid, grieving teen

Eyes sunken, dying

You were there, again

Vanilla smoke

Although it trailed off, disappearing

In the twilight of your years

It stays with me, and how the rough tweed, infused

Rested against my cheek

It stays with me

Now that you’re gone

And I’m uncovering your Chet Baker

And Memphis Blues

And subtle writings of hawks and cards that tell futures

Your vanilla smoke

I’m remembering

How it saved me, all those years

While I gasped for meaning

While I prayed for release

While I found any way I could

To hold it all at bay

Your vanilla smoke

I’m remembering

It helped me breathe

A sense of The Father

In an aching smoke

That almost killed me

This poem is dedicated to my Uncle, Richard Stookey, who passed away this weekend. He was surrounded by love.

Featured

Reading For The (W)hole

Adobe Books Poetry Reading, LitQuake SF 2023
Photo by Jessica Hahn

shuddering

surrounded by stars

root aching

called to the scene

i’ve shown up

feet on the floor

lights beaming

eyes hungering

souls circling

they’ve got maps

treasures marked

wanting, wanting

for depths only magicians can lead

how am i

called to this conjure

lilting letters from tongue

of source i cannot say

i am a projection

and these eyes, hungering

seeking solace

as if i know

my mouth ajar

i let the words tumble out onto their lives

a rush boldens me

a force whispers

on these sonar waves

i feel the whole, mingling through me

i pause, i feel

a breath, a breath

heart pounding

and somewhere,

solar systems bursting

a fan, blowing, close in

i don’t think i’ve ever been listened to this way

all i can hope for

is that in those smiling faces, after

the medicina of unknown origins

from my page, my heart

my sinews

my bubbling carbon-laced liquid flesh satellite transponder

has gone peck, peck pecking

and nesting ease

into the hole

Featured

How Do Food = How Do Life

Each morning I rise

Knowing what day it is…

Most important, not the name of the day

But the order of food I eat, on this day

Today is Monday

Which means it is almond butter oatmeal day

This requires one tablespoon

One half teaspoon

One quarter teaspoon

A third cup measuring utensil

And then of course, the food

As if some mad scientist

I carefully measure the ingredients

And consume the final product, resting easy

My calculations will most likely avoid

Explosions

And poisonings

Of the past

I move on to the next meal, the next snack

On this day, Monday

Carefully plotted so as not to face the terror

The overwhelm of choices, confusion

The strange undertow of death

And the unexplainable

The illogical

Avoidance of The Fullness

The clinical voices sealed in my tissues

So many years ago

You can never trust your hunger

Your body will trick you

This meal plan will keep you healthy

All of the voices, once meant to save me

Only keep me departed

From this wise flesh of mine

And yet, I’ve gotten a bit wild in my older years

And have different plans for different days

((I was dying of boredom, like a cat staring into the same existential kibble))

And when impossible to control the experiment

I hold my breath, swallow and smile

Hoping the concoction that enters will not poison me

And leave me writhing in pain for hours to come

Typically, I choose less in these situations

Just to make sure

That line of Fullness does not get crossed

Just like the voices predicted

But, there’s freedom there

Far from before

When the silver alchemist’s tools

Couldn’t be pried from white knuckled clutched grip

Lately, as I head into holding

As I contemplate helping

I think about how this still stays with me

And why it begs, staring

I think about how I also wake up

Knowing this day, Monday

Will consist of a variety of life tasks, sequential

Only tasks Monday is allowed to hold

I think how I measure and plan

The amount of life I can consume

Careful not to take too much in

Plotting for just the right amount

To prevent boredom or death

I think about also

How presently, when things go array

My reaction is so much more vast

How the measurements and plotting

No longer seem to have the intense binding

They once did long ago

How carjackings

And illness

And sexual violation

And suicidal mothers

And burning houses

And lost jobs

And homelessness

And the deep, deep grief

Of the aching disappearance

Again

How none of this has shaken me

From my fight to survive

These wrenches in my alchemy

These foils to my perfect equations

These attempts to prevent

((explosion))

I can’t

And I know this

And yet

There is still some sort of strange comfort, pervading

Upon standing in front of the counter

The weight of the utensil in my hand

Precisely smoothing the creamy nut deliciousness flat

On this Monday

Where the Universe laughs at my plans

Where the Universe laughs at the illusion of perfection

Where the Universe laughs at those voices

You can never trust your hunger

Your body will trick you

This meal plan will keep you healthy

And tells me to keep going

To keep pushing

To keep giving

And that the wound is my gold

This Monday

Before my altar, my counter, waiting

As the thick porridge bubbles

I think about how what I do with food

Is what I do with life

And how finally

Arms and beak open

That its all

Okay

Featured

Fraudulent

I am a fraud

Or, at least, that’s what they’d think

If they really knew

I swim daily amongst a sea of projections

The cacophony of compliments

The gleam of wonder in questioner’s eyes

All looking to me to dispense some sort of magic

They think I hold

I do wield

A mighty skill of holding

Of listening

Of caring

But as for magical potions?

My cupboard is bare

Take a look at my own breakdown

This body, anemic

These nerves, fraying

These bones, porous

This heart, struggling

Just to move the basic of life force

Now, don’t get me wrong

I’ve come quite a distance

In many ways, this body, thriving

And I’ve got my helpful mixtures

Magical medicines like coffee and salt and water and sleep

I’ve got many facts and figures memorized

If you ask me what might be helpful

I know how to recite them

With hundreds of plant potions to point to

I can help you

Pretend

But me?

I sit here wondering

How I can ever be helpful, healing

If my own growing list of woes overwhelms me

If I, too, stare at the shelves wondering and frozen

Where oh where to start

If I, too, throw one more supplement

Angrily against the wall

My skeptic rejoicing

And wondering if, hell

I should just take on a life of drinking

And opioid dreaming

And let loose your savior

Lighten the load

I tell you I don’t have

The elixir to the struggles that you face

I tell you that simple things

Like self-love

And death

And good food

And dismemberment

And community

Are essential remedies, perhaps more

Than ones that come in plastic jars

I listen

I sense what you are going through

But still

I feel this cloak you place on me

And wonder what would happen

If you saw inside

I wonder

What those who approach

Are looking for, really

And whether it is what I am giving

Silent

That allows for the healing to happen

I wonder

If that in itself

The ache of respect and honor

For the struggles we face

Together, grieving

Is the healing

If that is true

I think my skills are pretty spiffy

But

Faced daily in the swarm of illusion

I, am a fraud

Or at least, that’s what they’d think

If they really

Really

Knew

Featured

The Finished Page

I don’t know if you remember me first posting this poem back in 2022, fresh home from the inspiration of my orca-infused Whidbey Island book signing. I wrote it here first to test it out, upon receiving the call to contribute (with an orca picture on the call form!) in my mailbox. Then I decided to send it in. And here it is, in manifested form. They only published part of the poem, but I’m glad to see it alive. No matter how many times I go through the process, it’s still trippy every time I see my words on the printed page :}

https://wemoon.ws/products/moon-calendar-datebook

Featured

How The Raven Ate The Reagan

Crochet Exorcist playset via makezine.com

Flying Raven bird. Free public domain CC0 image.

It happened one day

A day she can’t even remember

Raven came hopping along

Into her world

Perched on the wild coast’s edge

Mind swimming with thought

A cawing, a cawing

The old story

Of victim

Possession

Of evil and the fight against it

Wrestled in her heart

A cawing, a cawing

A swoosh

Talons piercing her

Now resting on bony shoulder

There Raven began pecking

Into her mind

Excavation

Pulling

Tendrils of old

Slimy bodies slithering

In beak’s grip

Warbles of warbles

Sounds of slurping, mawing

Raven sucks them

Into belly

A cawing, a cawing

A moment happens

And suddenly

Streaming forth from beak

Visions of universes

Of voids and darkness

Of unfathomable expansiveness

Of good and evil and light and shadow

Merging

Of Kali, mother

Holding planets

As they build and dissolve

Image Nations

Coursing, winding

Rooting

Into mind

A careful surgeon

A krrrulllll seals her

Warm, iridescent feathers

Nuzzle

So close, teacher

Teacher, won’t you stay?

A cawing, a cawing

As if laughing

Raven releases grip

Pressing off the bone

Spiraling back up into Nothing

Raven, aloft

And Reagan, in belly

Cawing, cawing

Laughing, laughing

He leaves a new shell, waiting

Behind

Featured

Hag’s Seeds

The fragile weight

Of autumn’s falling gift

Lands in her palm

Shaking

The Elder and Mullein

These Hag’s seeds

She hopes will see her tending

Watching this wrinkling, dotted skin-cup

Filled with the potential of the plant hags she’s gathered

Hoping

To have strength and wisdom to pick the growth someday

What am I becoming

She asks

These random bodily rushes

Thankfully passing

Make her wary of the journey to come

Staring

At this lined and scarred palm before her

She wonders whether the pains and scratchings

Will only intensify, leaving her bedridden

Miserable, spitting

Like she was

Will another kind of fate intervene?

Will the depths she’s plunged

The openings and underworlds she’s faced

The Love and Presence she’s found

In Darkness

Will this interface her karmic knottings

Bringing forth a blessed ride?

Will death be alone

Like hers was

Will her body, cold and mottled

Be found, days after expiration

By strangers

Like hers was?

Will her death see the face of community

Gathering around her

Will there be Presence?

Love?

Will they sing to her

Press her temple with cool cloths

Will they

Hold her?

Will they

Plant

Her

With

Care?

Will her time before

Be filled with anger, rages

Generations of frustration

Dehydration

Isolation and

A pleading, a yearning for death

Like hers was?

Will it bubble to the brim

With portals to dancing, to loving

To teaching, to comforting, to laughing

To receiving, fully?

What am I becoming

She asks

Watching another strange symptom

Float across the vista

Watching this wrinkling, dotted skin-cup

Filled with the potential of the plant hags she’s gathered

Hoping

To have strength and wisdom to pick the growth someday

In her garden

Will it be

Like she was?

Will another force

And fate

With her own

Intervene?

Featured

A Prompt for A Poetry Spell

If you’ve been following my recent posts, you may be aware that I am dealing with some pretty significant ongoing, mysterious pain in my body. This has proved to be next level in requiring the use of all my tools, more than ever before. It’s funny (kind of, ugh) how the larger reality knows exactly what will send me to the next precarious edge of my learning, just before that place of making me go totally batshit crazy. It is challenging me to find new ways to use the medicine of writing–which itself hurts to do so right now–to heal.

I hope you’re not in this kind of pain, but if you are I thought I’d share this prompt found at: https://www.lunalunamagazine.com/dark/spell-poetry-healing. May it be helpful.

the pre-writing meditation

Become soft. Let your heart bloom. Sigh wholly, loose and beautiful. Shut the door to fear, or listen to what the fear has to say. Walk into the room of Self, that great gilded palace. Feel the waters of truth cleanse your feet, your hands, your softness. Stand before the mirror and stare into your wound. Meet it with grace and compassion. The scars soften. The tissue expands to be held and to hold you. This is the kingdom of the heart.

What does it feel like to acknowledge the wound?

This is the time to write.

the writing practice: a healing spell poem for tending to the wound — in 11 lines

First, describe the wound in five lines. What are its colors, shapes, moods? Is it blue, & is it frightening? Is it bone-tired? Is it the beast of poverty, of loneliness, of blood?
Next, describe the medicine in five lines. Is it sunlight on the lake? Is it a burial? A refusal? An acceptance? A new home? A medication? Your voice? This is up to you. You know intuitively what heals you.
Finally, write your last line; this is when you cast your spell. It’s what you tell the ocean about your pain. It’s your greatest hope. It’s your belief in self, in relief, in healing. give this everything you have.

I’d love to hear how your poetry spell came through if you want to share ❤

Featured

Match: Eros: Death

Hi! Your profile is incomplete…answer more questions to meet your Match!

Next up: Tell us what would help you feel emotionally met in a partner.

Gosh. I’m so tired of answering questions. But I do have a poem for you!

~Eros: Death~

She said

What we are strongly attracted to

Will erode us

Erode us!

Peeling away

What we once thought

We were

Sometimes quick

Sometimes aching

Like the slowly crumbling shore

If what we long for is True

If it is really True

Its pursuit and involvement

(And perhaps even its avoidance)

Will destroy us–

Transformation

Is its only

Beautiful and vicious goal

Oh Death!

Oh Love!

I kneel before your awesome power.

In the grips of your changes

Have mercy upon the terrified!

Does that answer your question?

Featured

Match, Pt. 2

Unhide yourself!

There are forty-three men

Like Aaron (49+) waiting for you!

And answer these questions

So we can give you a chance

To get boosted!

(profile creator

makes sudden gagging motion,

but continues

nonetheless)

What are you looking for? Tell us!

The physical:

I am looking for a sort of

“Homeopathic” intimacy experience

This meaning,

Before physical groping ensues,

Actually spending some time:

Experimenting with feeling up…

Each other’s auras;

Meeting each other in the dreamworlds…

And talking about it later;

Eye-gazing;

Dancing veeeeery close…

But not touching each other;

Making music together…

Rocking and panting

In that

Wordless but cosmic

Interweaving;

And having hours long sapiosexual experiences…

Over good coffee

The idea

Is to let our energetic bodies

Get to know each other

Before we just crash

Into one another’s physical and karma-laden

Oh-yeah-that-guy-that-died

And-that-lady-I-buried

Past-relationship-tendril-

Gnarled spaces

What are you up to on the weekends? Share what’s fun for you!

Weeell….

Depending on the time of the month,

you might find me painting my body

or other sacred objects

with my menstrual blood,

or decomposing roadkill

to garner bones for magical workings

(This will most likely not

include you)

And very rarely

I am actually talking to people

Whilst ambling in decaying wooded cemeteries

Gazing at the Yews

Engaging on topics

Such as how not to fall into the Abyss

Or laughing about our alliances with

The beasts we’ve found there

And how we’re feeding them

Emotionally?

Well I’m sure you can only imagine

But if you read this far

And want to know

Perhaps we’ll meet each other

Here next week

And see how it goes ;}

(profile creator exits,

still hidden and very uninterested

in whether Aaron (45+)

will be attracted

or whether or not

she’ll get boosted

but is sure having some fun

with the truths

she hopes someday to tell)

Featured

Secrets

Just a passing comment

As the family bible splayed across your lap

Whispered secrets between women

While he was in the bathroom

So quiet it’s as if I never heard it

Like my memories, evanescent

Did you say that?

Did it happen?

Was it

Just

Imagination?

Still, evidence, and pain

Persistent, throbbing at these roots daily

Fills out all the details

Of what I thought I heard you speak

Hush hush

Before he returns

The prisoner, that child

Is trying to reach you

She knows, below

She wants you

To know

Something, like then

Didn’t let me ask

And you went away

Dropping this hint and leaving

Me holding, waiting

A pandora’s box that trembled

Wondering again

If I’m just mad

But finally

I called you, and he was there

Funny, another projection wronged

He was a part of the conversation

I thought you were hiding away

No, he verified

Indeed I heard you right

And it wasn’t only me

It was also He

These secrets

Beginning to be told

Ones that hung Her

Ones that starved Her

Ones that stuck a needle in Her arm

Ones that kept Her hanging

Screaming

Alone

And ones

That made Him go away

We talk, almost giddy

Revealing what we know

Revealing what we don’t

Just glad, like these words feel it

Finally they can live and breathe

Those with certain knowing

Now lay as ash or corpse

All we can do is release

These words

These secrets

And try to put all the pieces, together

That explain

These secrets

Beginning to be told

Ones that hung Her

Ones that starved Her

Ones that stuck a needle in Her arm

Ones that kept Her

Hanging

Screaming

Terrified

Alone

And ones

That made him go away

Secrets

Featured

The Mystery

~cards from Tarot of The Spirit, by Pamela and Joyce Eakins

11:11

Stargate Portal

The Rainbow Bridge

Here, the door to the other realms

The Mystery

The Midwife

The Abyss She Balances Over

The Abyss She Has Fallen Into

Over and over

The Abysss

That She Is

She knows the way out:

To feel Her shadowed walls for footholds

And to not collapse

Into illusion that the Fall is the End

Yet She, as Midwife of Mystery,

Also knows that it is,

The End

Just an End into a New Beginning

In the Dark that She’s travelled

Over and over again

She is always both The Midwife

And the one being midwifed

Eventually Forgetting

Eventually Wandering

And hopefully Re-membering

As she hangs

In the deep, naked caverns of Below

The footholds

The footholds!

She cries out

Where are the footholds?

She may not remember how she got here

Or for that matter, who She is

But the footholds

She remembers to feel for them

Running her palm’s eyes across

These cold, smooth, dark walls

And as the first grasp finally finds one

She sees the ladder, it starts to appear

And at some point She’s rising

Spectral hands guiding

And at some point She’s looking

Over the precipice

Into the Abyss once again

There are others

Down there

This Mystery

She stands, teetering on The Bridge looking into

Hoping She’ll remember

When She falls

Because She will fall

Again

Hoping She’ll remember

That there are footholds

So She can both find them

And place another’s frightened palm

Against the splintering rung

And shout for the both of them

Blessed be the Dark!

Blessed be the Fall!

Blessed be this End

We find ourselves in!

Hoping for the ascending

Together

Reaching for the Way Out

And in finding that treasured plateau

Resting, Together

A Spiral Traveller

She cannot wait long

To remember the need of preparing

To do it all again

The point

What exactly is the point?

Gazing downward

She knows

The point

Of all the climbing

Of all the falling

Of all the resting

Of all the dissolving,

Of all the sweat-laced

Blood-drenched

Agony of re-membering

The point

Is never the plateau

The point

Is never the resting

The point

Is always the entirety

And forever

Forever

The point

Is the Mystery

Featured

The Cage

An option:

Instead of letting the Tower

Make you want to join in the destruction

To escape the pain

To escape the body

To escape The Cage

You might try

Going into it

Going inside it

For the gift

It is waiting for you

Nonetheless

It may feel heavy now

The task, unbearable

You may want to return

To a previous ecstatic experience

Wishing, pining

For a time where you didn’t have to

Feel

So much

An option:

To stay here, in the body

With the struggle,

To find

The gift

It is waiting for you,

Nonetheless

In the cool darkness,

Pulsing

Wanting you to look inside the fire

Inside the drama

Inside the discomfort

It is waiting there

In The Cage

An option:

Let yourself feel

The surface of the cage bars

Do not be fooled

That they will burn you

Gain courage by doing this

Then lean over the edge

Look down

Like a child

Into the center of the fire

Into the center of this body

Into the center

Of The Cage

Reach out

For the silky ribbon’s edge

Keep coming back, getting present

Slowly pulling

Allowing, opening

Bit by bit

It is cool and dark inside

It is waiting nonetheless

Keep coming back

Keep going in

Do not let

The fire fool you

An option:

Instead of letting the Tower

Make you want to join in the destruction

To escape the pain

To escape the body

To escape The Cage

You might try

Going into it

Going inside it

For the gift

For the message

For the teachers

Of The Cage

It’s just an option

~image from The Tarot of The Spirit by Pamela and Joyce Eakins

Featured

Blessed Lammas/Lughnasadh

a lovely tarot spread for the season’s shift. image by bujo witchcraft

from stem, to bud, to flower, to berry…mountain jewels return

interesting that hypericum gathered and tinctured at midsummer is ready for use exactly on this day

Blessed Be

Featured

You

Photo by Being.the.traveller on Pexels.com

No one ever told me about you

Isolated in the halls of insanity

No real peers to inform

Although I’m sure I at least knew of you

In that horror movie way

I can hear their laughter

And her shrouding terror

As clear as day

I personally found out about you

Through the round package of pills

They gave me in my hospital bed

Shortly after coming back

From my botched-up death

Even after this introduction

Pink plastic

Cold and sterile as it was

With descriptions of my faulty flesh

Not one time do I remember you coming

Nor how I felt about it

In the halls of insanity, and under the spell

Of other swallowable things

There is just no

Memory

What I do remember

Which says a bit about our culture, I think

Was being shown how to diet

And how the visceral feedback as a result

Could catapult me

Into a new identity in my tribe

A modern-day initiation

I suppose

Although skeletal crazy

Is not really a good look for a teen

That initiation I remember

But you?

Sad sad sad to say

My sacred one

Not one memory lingers

Not one

Even with the now dead man

I don’t remember you being there

In the midst of our sliding skins

Panting together

Never was there a mention

Or at least not a memory

Of you

Not one

The first time I actually remember you

(Aside from that round package in my hand)

Is years later, a decade perhaps gone by

Hiking in the hot and wild hills of Topanga

Suddenly, on the decline of that dusty trail

I knew

This, after years of departing from

(That round package of pills in my hand)

(Those years of dying, nigredo, the solve solve solve)

After waiting

And waiting

And grieving

After finally seeing you come

To be with me

By the sheer force

The sheer normalcy

Of this body

I knew

At your return

That a body is sacred

And can come back from anything

And has its own timing

And deserves to be honored

And witnessed

And its journey

Shared

Somehow I knew

As I felt the reality of your presence

Hanging heavy

That you were a part of my calling

To honor

To witness

To share

Your journey

In a circle of sisters

Validating this miracle

The power of life

And death

Through words

And song

And Craft

Descending on that crunchy gravel

With the hawk cry circling above me

I knew why I was here

To look in those eyes

Those confused, scared, perhaps rebellious

Eyes

Those eyes in such a pulsating uncontrollable mass

And say yes, this is your body

Your sacred body

Saying it is time now

To begin to learn

How to ride that edge

Between reality

And conception

To hold the void and all possibility

To choose, to hopefully choose

What this sacred companion could create

To befriend

To bless

To let her be seen

Initiation

A real initiation

With you, at center

Coming when it is time

Marking us with the window

Readying us to hold magic

I knew

I would forever be grateful

And would hold space for the ones left alone, lost

Confused in this increasingly complex reality

To gather

To honor

To witness

To speak

To dance

To paint

To sing

To cry

To howl

Of blood

Of You

Featured

Right Here

Cool streams of liquid

Cascade over foot

Dragonflies, hovering

Soft moss beneath and

Whispers of leaves gently

Falling

Late summer has come once again

To this hot and wooded valley

And so

So have the questions

A metamorphosis is edging

Old realities crumbling

The mystery beyond, evading

I can’t see the future

I can’t grasp the vision

I want to plan, but there’s nothing to plan to

I know, somewhere, sometime

It all seems to come together

But I forget, over and over

And spin endlessly

In torturous mind

Here

With cool waters trickling

With great and towering trees

Shading

With winged beings buzzing

And the whispers

I realize

I am home

For now

I am home

And I begin to recollect

Here, in this cocoon

All the ways and means and methods

That somehow I have managed to end up

Right here

Right now

With all of my needs met

And with a beating heart

Pumping blood through vital shifting flesh

Right here

Right now

Really, it’s a miracle

The crow caws, winking

And I am not alone

I come to this place often

But not often enough

My mind whisked away to the outskirts of worry

Forgetting

Always forgetting

That metamorphosis happens

Without the caterpillar’s planning

And that when it’s time to emerge

It is suddenly known

I give great credit

To the furrowing in my brow, however

It has helped me survive many a dangerous turn

Perhaps it is this memory

I seek to prevent

But can I?

Is there any way the cocoon can control

What lies outside, waiting

For its tender new form?

I wonder if the pupal soup

Ever uses its imaginal cells

To imagine danger

Like I do

Thinking of what’s beyond

Suddenly giving rise to panic

So in these times

When I’ve swirled so far away

I try

I try to remember

Right here

Right now

The cocoon

I am a butterfly

And a larvae

And the soup

Constantly changing

Constantly morphing, transmuting

I just hope I get better

At remembering not to forget

Right here

Right now

Cool waters sluicing between toeskin

And all my needs met

As another leaf falls

Whispering

Featured

Four Roads Out of Hell

Just as I was about to quit

They delivered, directly

The Four Roads Out of Hell

The Mothers, the Mothers

They came en force

Pleading for my attention

The problem, they said

Is that of the Spinning Mother

Intelligent, She has tendrils

In every world

But this one

Star-born, learned of that which cannot be spoken

She is a teacher

With no earthly rooting

Just as I was about to quit

The Mothers showed me the first Road

And peering down the long balancing girder

I saw Her face

Mother Earth

Playing her drum

Feet buried in moist soil

Her message traveled vibrations

This body, she said

Feel Her! The wisdom, the wisdom

And Strength

Is gathered here

Body, the solid ground

Before, during and after chaos

Weave Her into your practice

Let her ground the worlds attempting contact

Let her center be a portal

Sky rod to Earth

Feel Her!

And study how the chaos heals

A miraging steam waffles

And Mother Earth

Disappears

Her voice, trailing

Leads me to the next Road

And looking down its great distance

She whispers to me

About the Road of Sacred Law

And a vision appears from blinding Light

Great ships arriving

And I, watching, rooted, needing only to receive

Stay on the path, my love

She whispers

From Fear to Faith

She whispers

Although all may feel in confusion

The blessings, they come

On this road of Law

But you must stay

Shimmering, vessel-laden oceans

Absorb back into Light

And her voice, trailing my thought

Opens another path

From Chaos to the Ancestors

You must call to the Field for help

The Spinning Mother cannot work alone

Although her sword is mighty

Look past the Abyss

And into Her Sisters

Mothers of Water

See how they rest

Deep in the turbulent sea

Holding lotus

Unfolding, unfolding

She is you are Her are They

She asks you to remember

She asks you to let her grab the reins

Let Her hold your Wounding

Rest

In Her

The Mothers

They now become a chorus, leading my eyes

Down the Road of The Cocoon

Hanging, letting it go,

Releasing all I think is true

They whisper me into the womb

They urge my sinking, dissolving

Metamorphosis

How to wait into Naming

And of course, they concluded

There is the Dweller in the Ruins

The Prayerful One

Learning dance in the charnel grounds

You could

They laughed

In the midst of where you are

Learn

To shake your bones

Just when I was about to give up

They came

Whispering the Roads

The Mothers

I hold them

Featured

Unicorn

Exorcise the Mormons from her loins!

The elder ancestors who conjugated on the plural

Often hierarchal, and in shadow

Many queens around a king

Not in their skin, or time, she judges not

She only seeks

Release

Exorcise the Mistress

A secret, hidden

To ease the pain and discomfort

Of two tender, fraying hearts needing True Attention

Not in their skin, or time, she judges not

She only seeks

Release

Exorcise the Unicorn, brought in hopefully

To save the day

The shimmer of greener grass in their gaze

But never, never fully facing

Play, ease, distraction

Maybe even some healing

But always, in the end

The Unicorn stands alone

Not in their skin, or time, she judges not

She only seeks

Release

Exorcise this raw and screaming

Fear of intimacy

All these patterns

And stories

And mirrors

And explorations

Keeping her distracted

From the terror she feels inside

Upon fully facing

The eyes that choose

The eyes that see

The eyes that stay

In her skin, in this time, she judges not

She only seeks

Release

To let the Unicorn run free

To let the trepidation ripple

Old ghosts rising

Arms holding

Arms staying

Spirit landing

Voice speaking

Exponential energies meeting

Choosing

Healing

Screaming

Growing

Reflecting

Like tidal waves crashing

Finely tuned, these vehicles

Center

Fully facing

Staying

Choosing

As the Unicorn, shimmering,

Gallops back

Into the vale

Forevermore

Featured

Solstice Glow

“The young maid stole through the cottage door,
And blushed as she sought the plant of power.
‘Thou silver glow-worm, oh! lend me thy light,
I must gather the mystic St. John’s Wort to-night…'”

~Translated from German, author unknown

Featured

Skin

Sometimes I feel

Skin so imaginary

What lies between us

Only a dream

All these guts, blood

And sinew

Pulsating

Together

Beyond

Your desire

The whole or the one

Rushing through me

And suddenly I am in another time

Another state

Speaking words I don’t own

Moved

And here,

Experiencing nothing

But strangeness

You’re swimming through my dreams

Hovering, laughing, needing, holding

Your fire in my loins

Your doubts and visions

Fluttering, activating

Seeding

Confusing

Is it my hand that wants you

Or do I sense the tug of your hunger

Responding in some ancient outmoded duty

Where oh where

Do we begin?

And do

We end?

All these guts, blood

And sinew

Pulsating

Together

Beyond

Sometimes I feel

The madness is mine

And then, realizing mycelial

The roots entwining

And I cannot determine

What to judge, love or medicate

How can a medicine numb

The thing that lies beyond body

How can it tend this that ripples through

The System

Pulsating, twisted

Breathed?

Sometimes I feel

Skin so imaginary

What lies between us

Only a dream

What’s the medicine

For an ache in a skin

That doesn’t

Exist?

My Book…Free on Ream!

Dear Readers,

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It’s a serialized book, where you get to follow along as the story unfolds. Right now, my two main characters have just found each other’s hearts in time for Valentine’s Day…and there’s a jealous grimoire contemplating how to interfere :}

From February 14-21, 2026, you can get my fledgling tome and many others for free or for followers only. Don’t miss out on this fantastic opportunity to discover new stories and support your new favorite indie authors.

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Happy reading :}

Why I Have To Leave

Okay

I’m up here

Standing in front of you all

I’m shaking

My pulse aflutter

Just like everyone else

I’m terrified of being seen

While at the same time yearning

Desperately

You see me

Here on this stage

I let you see me

But deep inside

It’s hidden

These lights are bright

I’m usually in the shadows

I shift my weight

One foot to the other

Breathing

Deep inside

It’s hidden

And as I fidget

Shocks of lightning

Strike my limbs

A dull, familiar ache

Is starting to form

And in my mind, a clock, ticking

You see me

Here on this stage

I let you see me

But deep inside

It’s hidden

Now I’m feeling my legs

They’re starting to seize beneath me

I know I have to move, and soon

Before the pattern sets in

I’m sharing these words

Tending to all the terrified bits

Feeling your eyes

But, inside, I’m also fearing

Fearing what might happen

When I step off this stage

When I need to sit down

When I want so bad to sit down

Reveling, for hours

To take in all of your beauty

It’s ridiculous, really

While the world burns down around me

But it is true

And

I try to reel my mind

Back here to this stupendous present

Here, with you all

Here, letting you see

Here, such a gift

But

I’m shocked by lightning

I’m seizing, invisibly

And the terror of what sitting might bring

Rules my imprinted mentality

I hope someday this will all be over

Three years into this sudden cage

I am

Adapting

Juggling all of this

Here in front of you

It’s taken me years

To stand here, in front of you

Because I don’t want to feel this

Because I hate facing

What my life has become

Because I’m so tired of the fucking questions:

How long can I stand here

Before the pain comes?

How long can I sit

Before another seizing spiral returns?

How many days will it take to recover

Heating pad, ice pack, can’t move

Five minute torturous intervals

Assuming control of every waking hour?

But I’m here anyway

If just for a brief moment

Because you are my life force

These words, your eyes

The breath that connects us

How you transform torture into beauty

I can’t stay away

No matter how much

It hurts

You see me

Here on this stage

I let you see me

But deep inside

It’s hidden

Invisible

And it walks, smiling

Around you every day

I want to stay

I want

To stay

But for now

It’s why

I have to leave

#mood doodles

Quest-ions, Quest-ions

Her spirit’s essence?

Mental clarity

Inventiveness

Originality

Even while underwater

Cloudy and lost

She grasps the hilt

Thrusts the blade through the murkiness

And pierces the sky

The true calling of her heart?

Satiety

Satiety!

On the other side of terror

Of what fullness raises from the dead

Her heart desires

Emotional contentment

Passion and vitality

Experienced internally

And radiating out

Welcoming, not fearing

To love deeply

To receive deeply

The true wisdom of her mind?

“The Moon’s gates reveal the splendor of the soul”

She is the chooser, the tough-love romantic

She is the determined one

Aimed to face any self-delusion

Honed to meet difficult decisions

Created to resolve difficult relationships

She is continually put in places of hard choices

Yet through the tempering

Has emerged gifted

In turning difficult lead

Into gold

She’s an eye for spotting dishonesty

She’s little tolerance for self-deception, illusion

She’s the tester of old patterns, within and without

One who navigates insanity

In a life-affirming, wily, trickster kind of way

She’s faced her darkness

Crawling, blind and naked through the two towers

Once shivering,

She now can cackle with the Moon

What then

Is the purpose of her being?

They say it is Science

Science!

Objective, logical

Rational thinking

Rational!

From the realms of the Moon

One who’s gone through the madness,

Coming out rational!

She has faced (most of) the demons

And shedded the societal skins

She is here to communicate

About something which is completely

New

Balanced

She opens her mouth

And puts forth threatening paradigms

In a way that will be received

Haha!

Perhaps her purpose

Is to be

A poet

🙃

Spiral

Photo by Francesco Paggiaro on Pexels.com

I start here

Here, in the darkness

Here, in the first traumatic encounter

Here, at the bottom of the well

I look up

A pinpoint, beaming

The light, it reaches me

Here, at the bottom of the well

It’s not so dark now

I can see the wall

I can see there are steps

Mossy, dripping

Steps curving round

Steps reaching upward

Steps finding a way

Here, at the bottom of the well

I name the demon

I take the first step

I struggle, fight

I do all I can to release

Something shifts, lifted

I think

I’ve found freedom

Climbing up the spiral

Out into the world I go

Smiling and impassioned

It’s summer all day long

Goals, certainty and drive

I leave the well

Far, far behind

One day life happens

And I’m turning inward

Some center, pulling

Back, back, staring at the wall

Mossy, drippy

Shadows overtake me

Struggles…same, but different

Bawling, screaming, pleading

Struck by the illusion

The slaying was not final

Here, at the bottom of the well

Am I

At the bottom of the well?

I did not descend the staircase

And yet I am writhing with this demon again

I peer down into the darkness

Into that which I have risen up from

I am there, but I am also here

Can we call this progress?

Or like the seasons

A spring, returning to winter?

A spiral, dancing with serpent

Dancing, not battling, with darkness?

In and out

Rising, but always returning?

Peeling the layers once anew?

Why would I think it’s any different

Creation, destruction

In and out again

But still

This mind yearns for the final

Release

I peer down into the darkness

Into that which I have risen up from

I am there, but I am also here

Here

In the never-ending

Healing

Spiral

Songs From the Cage

Blue sky

Sparkling dew

A fresh path

My feet crunch

As usual

An open door

Cement halls

I enter into

Goosebump flesh

The shadows, cold

At right

Another portal

I stand at threshold

I look inside

Four walls

Crouching body

Hair ragged

Face in hands

Sun beaming

Through steel bars

No response

She is crying

I step inside

I ask for permission

I can tell she needs

But shakes her buried head

I stand fast, respecting

I tell her I love her

Guitar in hand

I want to make her a song

One eye peeps over

And then returns to cave

I tell her I want to know

I tell her I want to hear

I tell her

I want to make her a song

Why don’t you leave this cell?

I ask

The door is open

Why don’t you stretch your legs?

Warm your face, in the noonday sun?

I tell her I don’t want to shame her

I tell her

I want to understand

Murmuring, only muffled voices return

But I’ve skills of translation

I lean in, I listen

Through the tattered, spit-soaked cloth

Through the greasy, matted hair

I hear her say

I am forgotten

I hear her say

I am forgotten

I hear her say

I am forgotten

I strum the metal strings

And I repeat to her

I am forgotten

She looks up, shyly

No sound

But her lips form the words

No vision

I strum the metal strings

And repeat

No vision

This time, her head remains uncovered

She’s watching my fingers

She’s watching my voice

I strum the metal strings

I repeat

I am forgotten

No vision

She croaks, in a whisper

Why fight?

I look at her, nodding

I strum the metal strings

I sing

I am forgotten

No vision

Why fight?

Now her head is back in between

Those knees and she is rocking

Now she is singing, softly

I am forgotten

No vision

Why fight?

And then, in between rocking

I can see her shoulders heaving

She softly murmurs

Am I going crazy?

I am wandering, wandering

I cannot get out

Help me

Help me…

No one can ever

Help me

I strum the metal strings

Wishing I could sing

Into her hollow jaded eyes

And I repeat

I am forgotten

No vision

Why fight

Am I going crazy?

Going

CRAZY?

Wandering

Help me

No one…

A few strums, voice silent

I am rocking now, too

Watching her little body

Huddled in the sunrays

Weeping, weeping

I start to hum

And I add my own line, to her

I simply say

I know

Again, her eye emerges

Out of that dark cave she’s been trapped in so long

I can see the tears, glistening

I can tell she has received

I know

I continue humming

I know

And I keep strumming

And I hold her

In this coldness

Distance between us

But some great tremble in the air

Humming, our song

And I know

Astral Aspirations

This is the last in a three-part series. If you’d like to read the first two parts, you can find them listed at the end of this post. Enjoy!

From the beating core, down the path of Death

I now arrive at SEVEN

At SEVEN

I AM Transmutation

Leaving behind industrial mind

Seeking deeper meaning

I AM open to medicine

Finding me daily

I AM bringing soul alive

Into the tortured places

Places left behind by western diagnostics

Infusing hope, depth, relations with unseen

I AM imagining possibilities for the personal and collective

Dreaming up what’s right with it all, the magic’s hand

Making space for the view, crystal clear

I AM

Transmutation

Fresh from this expansive field

Teetering along the Tower’s girder

I arrive at EIGHT

At the EIGHT, I am Symbolization

I AM that which takes pen in hand

I AM that which opens mouth to sing

I AM that which splatters color, image

I AM that which weaves passionate story

I AM throwing together symbols to mark my knowing

I AM next era, beyond heiroglyphic and letter

Beyond rune, ogham, deeds engraved on bones

I AM that which reflects, communicating

I AM scribe of that which I want my life to symbolize

Altering present, future, past

I AM

Symbolization

Scroll in hand, Sun beneath my feet

I walk confidently into NINE

At the NINE, I am Absorption

Here, I know I face my own depths one more time

Here, I AM clarifying that which I choose to assimilate

Here, I AM aware of, not manipulated by

Here, I AM reviewing and casting off

Here, I AM selecting and transforming

Here, I AM diving into the vast sea

Eyes open

Here, at the NINE

I am Absorption

Now, awake in The Dream

Ambling upon the Universe’s path

I arrive at TEN

Here, I Am Radiance

Here, I AM all that has come before, shining

Here, I AM emitting what I choose, into the river

Here, I AM beaming from a clarified point

Here, I AM walking

Walking as Universe

Walking as my own personal dream of the future

Here, I AM revealing

Here, I AM offering

At TEN, I am all that has been, is now

And will forever be, transformed

At TEN

I AM The Tree

I AM

The Tree

~Thank you for reading! This is the last in a three-part series, and if you’d like to read the first two parts, you can find them here:

Supernal Affirmations

Ethical Proclamations

And if you’ve been with me the whole way, I hope you enjoyed my machinations on pathwork and The Tree of Life :}}

Ethical Proclamations

~Hello! This is part two of a three-part poem. If you’d like to read the first, you can find it here: https://eatfreeevenifithurts.home.blog/2025/12/21/supernal-affirmations/

Crossing the Abyss,

Congealing, coming into matter

I arrive at

FOUR

Here, at FOUR

I am Stabilization

I am anchored lining

I am blood cells, nourished

I am muscle fibers, relaxed, strong

I am deep ocean, between wave and glass

I am fence, creating safe boundary

I am the Queen, the hand that cares

I am mirror, reflecting plan, turn back towards body

I am

Stabilization

It is only a matter of time

Before I arrive at

FIVE

Here, at FIVE,

I am Cataclysm

I am Death

I am the end of one known stage

When I appear, I am tragic and devastating

Yet I am that which leads to a stage beyond

I am confusion and chaos

A sign, in The Dream, that something new is being born

I am that which tempers endless creation

Destroying, consuming, breaking down

In service of homeostasis

I am illness, reorganizing, calling home to what matters

I am sudden, potentially disastrous change

I am making room for the cutting edge

I am

Cataclysm

Gratefully, I arrive at

SIX

Here, at SIX,

I am Synergy

I am the center that holds

I am the eye that sees the sacred

I am the heart that beats at the core

I am the nucleus, bringing all into connection

Making meaning, sense, to the complexity of experience

I am that which sees that I am connected

The Earth and my body,

That that the symptoms that plague

Might be messengers to help understand

I am that which lies at the nexus, knowing

That by seeing my body’s difficulties as connected

To what’s happening with the planet and my fellow beings

I may find more interest in taking action

To create a more balanced and nourishing reality

Beyond the hopeless, arid and harrowing past

Taking form, accepting matter, voicing Knowing

I am

Synergy

And I continue down the Tree

~Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for the final section of this three-part poem next week :}

Supernal Affirmations

Photo by Gu00e1bor u00c1rki on Pexels.com

I start at

ZERO

I am Space

I am not empty, but frothing with proliferating matter

I go back and forth between existing

And melting

I am the Fool, yet also the Field, wandering

Up and down the Tree

I am Nothing

I am Everything

I am

Space

I then become

ONE

I am Centration

I am the center

I am the center of origin

I am an originating, original point of Universe evolving

I am Universe

Walking in its own unique

Never before, never after

Kind of way

I am beingness, a loving beingness

Following the trail of scintillating synchronicity

Creating stories and desperately needed meanings

With whatever approaches

I am

Centration

Furthering, I arrive at

TWO

I am Attraction

Converging, cording

Dancing, with cause and effect

I am the steed that charges towards aim

I am the cup that welcomes the water

I am the seed that absorbs the sun

I am magnetic, drawing excruciating pain

And terrifying joy

For further information

I am

Attraction

Breathless, I become

THREE

I am Creation
I am a combination of capabilities and inspirations

Of attractions and passions

Of desires that cause me to create new things

I am the doubt that prevents my catenation

I am the hope that holds the door open

I am the one who sees patterns, meaning

In the darkest of dark

I am the indifference to right form and presentation

I am the one who expresses what is now

I am

Creation

From Everything, from Nothing

I have come

Somehow agreeing to this confusing tribulation

Pushing forward, pushing through

Heading into the Abyss

Branches, seeking core, seeking roots

A triangle becoming, eyes opening

Sometimes screaming at what lies on horizon

A Supernal unfolding, a blind cosmological commitment

From Everything, and Nothing

I Am

~Thanks for reading! This a multi-part reflection and will continue for the next few weeks. If you liked what you read here, stay tuned :}

Sunshine

Before, I was the Sun

Beaming heart across the eons

Warming all near and distant planets

I couldn’t see them

But I knew my children were there

Somewhere out in the vast darkness

I held them, in love

I thought I knew them,

Each of my offspring

Although at a distance

I thought I understood

But, after the terror

Somehow, I am now in the cold

Trans-Neptunian

I have become, one of them

Now, I hope that the Sun exists

Now, I yearn for Her rays to find me

Now, I just wish something would hold me

Alone, out here, for so so long

Now, I understand

Before, I was the Sun

Warming all near and distant planets

I thought I knew them

And held them in love

Now,

Out here in the cold, aching

I can hardly see

I don’t even know if She exists

I fear I may self-combust, with no presence to notice

Now, I am children

Now

I understand