The Monkey

Inanimate surrogate mother

Made from wire and wood

Each infant becomes attached

To its particular mother, choosing


Bare wire

Or cloth-covered

In time

With tests of deprivation

Despite the milk available at the wire mother’s teat

The infant clings to the cloth mother

Only leaving when survival deems

To retrieve the milk from cold and steel


These experiments

Although primate-focused

Describe a haunting similarity

Between the mothers I was asked to choose from

Not a straight correlation

But the tendency

To favor machine-made meals


Of her cigarette smoke rage infused ones

This choice, reminds me

Of these grasping creatures


My odd preference

For the mechanically measured

Hermetically sealed

Thick and milky liquid

For the vending machine’s

Savory chemical noodle brew

For the gravy-laden chunks

Of distant crafting hands

Poured cold from freshly popped tin


These give me comfort


I am wary of anything made by someone who sees me

Suspicious of the homemade meal

I fear a strange possibility of poisoning

From the farm-fresh hands of the local chef

He, smiling to feed

I hunger for the package

To see the numbers, ensuring

To see the seal, broken open only by me

To have no idea who it was that made the food

To know they had no idea I’d eat it

To know that their spells

Could never be intended specifically for my destruction

Like her’s did

Like mine did

Although consciously huffing

At such silly paranoias


This gives me comfort


Inanimate surrogate mother

Made from wire and wood

Each infant becomes attached

To its particular mother, choosing


As usual, I am the odd monkey out

Whereas my brethren cling to the cloth

I seek the chilled, impersonal wire

It’s safer that way

~Image and topic inspired (and haunted) by Henry Harlow’s primate experiments: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harry_Harlow


Food Memory Prompt: Travel

I thought I’d do something a little different today and post a little Food Memory Prompt for your perusal and writing practice :}

–>What food memory from a trip you’ve taken comes directly to mind? How do you remember this, through your senses?

For me, I’ll share about “Cornish Cream Tea”– a scone basted with clotted cream and jam, accompanied by a cup of the strongest of milky black tea.

Way back yonder, a friend and I ventured on a trip to Wales and England to research ancestry and geek out on Beatles and King Arthur hotspots. After traipsing around the green and rocky crevices of Tintagel Castle looking for gnomes, we found ourselves in a small cafe in the village eating this delectable meal. I think there were doilies everywhere. I still can remember the feeling of my teeth biting through the cloud of clotted cream, into the layers of jam and finally sinking into the doughy denseness of the scone…heavenly.

I’d love to hear about a strong food memory related to your travels if you’d like to share :}

PS. Just a short ways away from Cornwall is Devonshire, where they have “Devon Cream Tea.” Basically the same dish, but they insist on the jam topping the cream vs. the other way around. Both factions are pretty serious about the “right” way to do this topping!



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The swirlings have begun again

The ancestors, knocking

The babies, crying

The choices, beckoning

The holographic realizations, expanding

The foundations, crumbling

The blazing electrical rerouting, destroying

I keep freezing

I keep freezing


This CPU, once able to conduct

What flows through me

Is breaking, again

The terror of its outmoded form


Although timely

Haunts my days


Beckoned, once again

To step into new clothes, new understanding

New wakings, new dyings

These circuit boards are blitzing out

Frequent blankness

Random shut downs

Booting issues

All of these apply

To this slowly failing

Outmoded processing unit


If you calculate the ancestors

That may be waiting to download

Waiting for the seventh son of a seventh son

To finally heal the lines

It doesn’t take that long

To get into the thousands

Thousands waiting

Thousands hovering

Thousands begging

For the one to receive

Thousands of wounds

Thousands of traumas

Thousands of wisdoms



This CPU once had blocking features

To not feel it all, throbbing

But the last upgrade

Advertised the removal of this feature

As a bonus


“Now including ancestral awareness”

I feel them









That I will finally see

That I will carry the essence, magick

The whole of the bloodline sparkle

Clear the misunderstandings

Heal the torn fibers

Alchemize the great and pulsing mass

Into the once true beauty of the well ones


No pressure, eh?

Perhaps it is only I that imagines

But regardless

I can feel the throbbing

I can feel the freezing

I can feel the increasing rate of blips

Occurring in my way of going about it all

I can feel

This circuit board failing

Heavy and pathways jagged

If only by my imagined load

But still it’s real

From the four to the five

And hopefully, eventually

To the six

The old ways of holding

Are breaking down


I’ve been here before

Oh, sacred Tower

Oh sacred Nigredo

I know the downward spiral

The unraveling to a new beginning

It used to cause great upheaval

It used to cause me to run

Sanity imploding

Holding onto to mere threadlines

Doing extreme things

To get something bigger to contain me

Not knowing what was happening

The institution was the only safe place

I can understand now

Why I, and many

Keep returning


But lately, although shaken

I no longer scurry

It’s almost routine

I feel it coming, know what’s happening

And a switch called surrender

A switch called opening

A switch called receiving and curiousity

And an especially helpful feature called



In the Great


Automatically it starts running

Holding me through

Holding me through


As this CPU falters

I realize the coming

Of the hand of a larger technician, replacing

I do my best

To settle back

To switch on the trust mode

Floating in that hollow unknown

As the new

And the old


Lifts and settles

One more time

To ready me

To carry

The thousand watt currents

Of the waiting

Ancient future



“Muninn (Memory), by Courtney Blazon, 2013”


Oh mysterious memory

Why do I re-member you?

Why do I only re-member

Some of you

Hidden, fogotten boxes

Once unwrapped

Revealing a universe before?

That one taste…

That one specific sound…

That touch…

Forevermore, inscribed


Why do you stay?

Why do you linger?

Do you wait, embedded

For us to return?

To re-live

To heal

To release?


Oh mysterious memory

Do you wait for us

To collectively review

To see the old story

Perhaps ones laden in bone

To reflect

And to re-write?

Or are you simply

A leftover echo

Of primal survival mechanics

What to avoid

What to draw near

How to keep safe

How to




Oh mysterious memory

Why do we re-member you?

Why do we only re-member some of


Hidden, fogotten boxes

Once unwrapped

Revealing a universe before?

Teach me

Oh mysterious memory

Of why

Of why

You stay


Earth Sister, Sister Earth

Eyes towards Earth

A swirling macrosphere hovers

You know, you know

Balancing the spheres

Fire, Water, Wind and Earth

There’s a peace within

How do you hold it?

How do you wield it?

How do you tend

To this exponential, often terrifying

Sometimes dismembering

Vast and swimming field?


I’m here

I’m here

Listening to the assignments

Great meditations

Horrid initiations

Carving hollow the space that now holds birth

You know, you know

On winter ice, use caution

There is no use fighting winter


Has it taken eons

To cultivate the space you hold within

All that intersect, feel it

Your pulsing orb of potential

Some call you Sister

Some know you as Queen

This unstoppable force

That springs eternal

Kore Persephone Demeter

Birth, bud, flower, aliveness

Seduction, withering, trauma




Dissolving, sleeping, waking


The cycle goes on and on


Now, in my gaze

A new birth becomes you

Revelation is near

Filled with the knowing

Filled with the knowing

Ancient mycorrhizal tendrils

Growing into, and out of your form

Connecting, connecting

Pulsing, pulsing


Earth Sister

Will I ever really know your field?

I meditate on this, over and over

And still, struck with the vastness

Of this potential

Filled with birth, life, death and sooty particles

Stuck beneath nail

Smeared upon skin

Cosmological origins solidified

Holding, Holding

Birthing, birthing


Will I ever know you

In me?

This mastery of all potential

A walking Tree

A Radiant Sister-Queen

Serving the wholeness of your creation

Serving the wholeness of Creation

Through only a breath

A glance

A touch

Of your shimmer?



On this, Earth Sister

You approach and call into attention

Eyes now open and glaring directly

You say…Follow Your Name

A psychic transmission as I gaze upon you

Calm and pulsing chest

Head now turned to sky

Mouth open, a haunting circumference

Follow Your Name

Follow Your Name

Follow Your Name

And Pay


She reminds me

She reminds me

And then re-absorbs into the field

She is the field


I stand, holding splintering post

This mysterious fence

I’ve circled

The entirety of my life

Looking out

Looking in









Earth Sister

You are the field

I am in

You are the earth

We are in

You are we


Oh holy Shekinah



Radiant Tree,Walking

Out, onto the Land

My, Our


Earth Sister

~image credit: “Earth Sister” from Tarot of The Spirit by Pamela and Joyce Eakins sourced from https://www.elitarotstrickingly.com/blog/the-tarot-of-eli-llc-court-cards-thoth-tarot-princess-of-disks-tarot-of


Deep, Fast

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It’s taken me a while

To accept the thing I’ve hated most–

That strange field surrounding this form

And its wyrd ways

Upon coming into contact

With you



The electrons and wavelengths

Rotating auric realities

Arrange themselves

To raise the shadows


Don’t want to see


At one point

At many points

These invisible hoverings

Yours and mine

Were things I didn’t want to see

But with their repetition

This constant reverent attendance


We’ve made friends


Deep, fast


It’s not a conscious effort

I just watch as the charcoal-green-gray

Bubbles start to simmer

Between us

Their puckered, hollow seeking

Here they come again


Deep, Fast

Some people say this is my approach

The specters naturally raised

When two or more are gathered


But it’s taken decades

Of hating it, always

Seeing over and over again

The things I didn’t ask to feel

The things I didn’t mean to insert

The things I’d rather not notice

Wishing for laughter, and ease

And that thing that people call

Casual relations


Deep, fast

Over the years I’ve seen it at work

Sometimes conscious

Often coyote

And after wrastling, resentful

Have come to learn how to hold

These particular reins in hand

How to be gentle


And true





I do my best to be responsible

With the unmet, yearning, screaming

Invisible creatures that emerge

That some part of you

And me

Contract to bring into light

But often


As usual

These hungry ghosts, begging

Finally seen…

Are abandoned


Deep, fast

This creates a life of only few

Who stay

Who stay in the reverberating tension

Who stay to talk about

What they don’t want to feel

Who stay to explore

The mind-bending transformations

The unexplainable dissolutions

The terrifying Void

The sacred coagulations

That come to pass, sometimes within minutes, hours

Between us


Deep, fast

I now put that on my intake form

Preparing those who enter

Leaving them to choose

Isn’t it funny

The thing I always hated

The thing that seemed to keep me apart

Now, in my embrace

Is the thing that I am sought to provide?


Deep, fast

If you want to go deep, fast

If you want to hold on

Through a rocky but kickass ride

Braced and committed to presence

To speaking to what can be spoken

A hall of mirrors, tended

Meta meta meta

Shadows seeing shadows

To the best of your ability

Come in

My door is open


But watch your step as you enter

That first one

Is quite

A doozy

It’s deep

And fast



Photo by Harrison Haines on Pexels.com

It’s happening all around me

Left and right

Dates and clients

Poof! Into thin air

Groovin’ and smilin’

In the pocket

Supposed reflection in their orbs

And then, gone




Perhaps, it’s occurred

Over and over again

Without such conscious notice

But lately

It feels like all’s I gots’

Is ghosts


Perhaps, and most likely

A teaching

This repeated, multi-faced patterning

Trying to get me to see

Trying to get me to heal

The unattended ghosts

Of the past


Like that first one

I’m sure his eyes filled my babe core

His gaze, for a few months

Completing me

And then



No explanations

Silence all around it

Except the rumblings a young mind

And hollowed center

Can make




And then that man

Bustin’ onto my scene like a dream

Wolf in hand, care in heart

Blowing my mind with his Love

And shit, not long after

Bullet-penetrated aortas

Leaving me wondering

Leaving me wondering


The rumblings a young mind

And hollowed center

Can make



The pattern, oft repeated

But not until recently

Did I see

How I

Ghost me


How I leave my babies like he did

Thrilled with creation

Gazing at the outcome

But running


As fast as I can

From the inadequacy I feel

In bringing them babies to life


The fear, the overwhelm, the way they might tie me down

The terror that I might destroy them

The shame that I, clueless, feel unworthy to stay


And by their side


Granted, my babies take up

Memoir form

Bohemian caravan festival vending form

Self-owned business form

Poetry Anthology form

Musical album form

Grimoire form


But nevertheless

They’re babies

Creations once filling me with inspiration

Now left in some void floating


Wondering where I’ve gone


Such potential

They hoped for so much

To be supported

To be encouraged

To shine

Through the light and darkness

We’d face together on the path

They look at me, from a distance


Sorrow in their supposedly inanimate heart

Wondering what they did

And where I’ve gone

Do they feel

The buried rage

I’ve carried for so long?




I see it so clearly now

I leave my babies just like he did

Just like they do

I ghost



All these parts of me reflecting

Over and over until I see it right

Now that the mirror is clear

Now that I face the terror in me

Now that I feel, perhaps, what he felt

Now that I look at those babies, yearning

What’s left to do?

Keep ramblin’ on, chasing shineys?

I suppose this old blood could carry on down that road

But somehow

Although I’m hella respectful of the ghosts among the living

I think I’ll turn back

And face the panic of meeting their need


My ghosties


Blood and Bones

Photo by lil artsy on Pexels.com

The things I’m not supposed to talk about

Like how I covet collecting blood and bones

Like how my gaze is transfixed

By the slow descent of crimson matter

Dripping down glass

Blood that takes no injury to procure

Blood that causes life, not death, in losing

Blood that returns, over and over

To remind me I am real


I am not supposed to share about


And paintings

Watching the red transform

Upon surfaces

Well beyond toilet water

And mass-produced cotton shame inducing

Hiding devices

I’m not supposed to talk about it

But the blood

Is all that makes me re-member

So I love it


The things I’m not supposed to talk about

Like how I’ve been waiting

Months, weeks, many moons

Watching the torrential waters

Wash over its sacred, but ignored, body

Wondering if one day it might vanish

That stinky, striped carcass

A life once vibrant, now rotting

But upon each circling

I’ve found her

Slowly dissolving away


In my Dream


Her thick, black quills

Floating to the creek below

Batch by batch

And recently

The innards of tail

The sharp ridge of scapula

Washed clean from storm


I’m not supposed to talk about it

How I’ve been waiting to be chosen by bones

How excited I am to see them

Wondering if they’ve been holding

As if cleansing

For my capture


I’m not supposed to feel

Such excitement as I crouch down, finally

Lay my gloved hand on its beauty

Whisper grateful blessings

And transfer this evidence of life and death

And the micro-macro cycle of everything

Into my blessed receptacle


A neighbor, leashed wildness by his side

Stops, childlike, to ask what I’ve found

A skunk, I say

Looking up to him

Staring from face laden

With invisible echoes

Of recent blood ceremony

It’s been here a long time, I say

Hoping for a moment he’ll join me

But his gaze immediately shifts

And there is no response

And still

Like many things I’m not supposed to Do

Like many things I’m not supposed to Say

Like many things I’m not supposed to Feel

I allow myself to honor

These strange desires

These drops of vital plasma

These candle-lit applications

These dirty sacred road blessings

These bones

This blood

I allow myself to honor

And let the human, thinking

Walk on



Photo by Chait Goli on Pexels.com


Or fear?

How do we tell the Truth

When immersed in

Unproveable sensations

When pasts are filled

With nudges leading

To death

When the moments

Of life’s severance

Unfelt by a daughter so true

When dreams forecast


Never possible to intercept

When excitements lead

To despair, violation and ruin

When whole years are focused

On It, Undeniable

Only to watch the pieces

Crumble, falling

Through the cracks

One day realizing

It, too




Or fear?

Does this sensate body Know

Can I trust to guide

Or will I never really understand

Having to risk, over and over

To see

What remains Mystery


Is it all just a crapshoot

Training, my centering

As the Wheel turns

Up, and Down

Over and over again?



There’s been those nudges

The ones I’ll consider friends

Preventing disastrous outcome

With details I’ll never see


I guess what I’m asking for

Is magick

Pure selfless and unarranged Beauty

Helping to believe

There’s You

In me


There’s a Strength, a Core

A solid force

A Spine

A Something




Or maybe

Just affirmation

Of open channel

Hollow Bones

Letting the wind flow

Holding the tension

Between Intuition

And fear

Of all this Yes

Or No

Left or right

Purpose or wandering

Sacrifice or survival



As it all

Whistles through

Into a bigger song

Than Me




Photo by Anugrah Lohiya on Pexels.com


Do we give it all meaning?

Or is there a force, a face, that’s given us trials to grow?

To open, connect

Is it all random

These children born into war and poverty

Others delivered into wise and safe arms of love

Is it all random

Those faced with chronic pain and illness

While others rock and dance and laugh the night away


Is there reason?

To abuse

To murder

To suicide

To heart’s betrayal

To a body’s failure to thrive

To rape

To violence

To natural disasters, homelessness

To the soul’s 



Do I turn left or right

Into bitterness or compassion

Into despair or hope?

Do I ignore

The rage, resentment, the fear

Chanting myself numb

“It’s all good…there’s a reason…there’s a reason…”

Over and over again

As the ache, dull and deep 


As the room spins

Another day waking

To no further healing?

Do I trust

Or do I wail, sob, scream

Fist to floor, slobbering?

Do I spend my mysteriously appointed immobilizations

Dreaming of better days, pain free nights


Or do I collapse into the waves of terror

Fearing, fearing

There is no God

No meaning

That life, like Nature

Does not care who I am or what I’m here to do

Like the impala, ripped apart on the plains

Like the frozen carcass of blizzard’s wake

Like a coyote’s bleeding leg in trap

Never to walk again


Howling, whimpering, straining to reach

But unable

Hoping one from the pack will come

As the skies darken

As the snow begins to fall

Hoping for teeth to chew him out

Care for his irreversible limping

A lifetime ahead


Does the trickster ask

As his lifeforce leaks onto crystalline

Howling into the long, dark, cold and coming night

Is there Meaning?

Is there reason?

Is there a face

A force?

Is there


~writings from dark times


The North


“Great Spirit of Love, come to us with the power of the North. Make us courageous when the cold wind falls upon us. Give us strength and endurance for everything that is harsh, everything that hurts, everything that makes us squint. Let us move through life ready to take what comes from the North.”


~quote credit: a (probably altered) blessing from a four-direction prayer of Chief Seattle

~image credit: https://www.tricksterculturalcenter.org/virtual-exhibit…

See less


Mother Earth Within

Deep below

Beneath the layers of cold, dark

There is a fire

There are seeds, waiting

There are burrows, warm

There is

A light


She waits, knowing

Her time will come to unfold

Blooming, blossoming

Soft fabric brushing

Skin against skin


As the nights grow colder

As the birdbath forms its frost

She is there, knowing

She is there, glowing

She is there waiting

For you


Whispers rise through denseness

From this deepened core

Calming soothing hushes

Pulling energy inward

Towards Her

Firehearth roaring warm


A chariot awaits

Always available for the riding

Inward spiral clopping

Circling into Her

She calls, she beckons

As the nights grow colder

To ride, to ride

On the starlight trails

Of darklight, inside

To receive the Message

To dream up Vision

To defrost

Frigid extremities


Go into Her

Mother Earth Within

Glide along the well worn

Ancient pathways

Towards Her light

Towards Her warmth

Towards her Love


Deep below

Beneath the layers of cold, dark

There is a fire

There are seeds, waiting

There are burrows, warm

There are visions, dancing

Go there

When you are shivering

Go there

When you feel empty

Go there

When all seems lost

In this long, long night

Go, down

To the Mother Earth


Let Her hold you

Let Her whisper you

To rest, and to someday



~image from The Tarot of The Spirit by Pamela Eakins



Ain’t it a hoot

The way Nature places

All of the nectar

At the end of a treacherous tunnel

Anesthesia and oxytocin flowing

So we can’t see

All the demons we’re traversing to get there

Exposed, predator risking

So we can’t turn away

From the fingernail clawings along the walls

From the glowing lessons

Inscribed and asking

Are you sure?

Are you sure?

Are you sure?


Ain’t it a hoot

How we only wake up

When we’re deep in the juices

Realizing where we are

Sticky, woozy

And how in no way we’d ever spelunk here

With veils removed


Ain’t it a hoot

The way the forces work us

Luring into lessons

Titillating temptations

Sensation saturations

Down the dark and winding tunnels

Into the raw and ripping

Necessary transformations

Solve et Coagula

Again and again

Ain’t it a hoot

The gaping maw

Of nectar


Wolf Medicine

A maniacal fist

Busts through the circular opening

Glass there, but thinner


A solid routine, almost sleeping

His laughter shakes the girl alive

Her voice doesn’t work

To send the wild eyes screaming

Laughter, only laughter

As the fingers strain for lock



The dial tone

It sends me back to you

Those old walls

Those suspicious eyes

And dead as they are

Still you let me in


There’s a force by my side

New and eldred all the same

I no longer meet you at the door alone

And you

Your solitude also broken

An unknown young woman kneels near

Cloaked in wolfskin

She stares into me

And claims



A long strong tendril of the line


Wolf Sister

Come to claim me

Answering my call

Come to show me

This lost but not forgotten

Wild and primal source






The head is severed, hanging

The furskin lies manicured on the wooden floor

And I’m left, saddened

With none to reflect

On separations that occurred

How far back did this happen?

This primal nature

Wild eyed and laughing

Banished to psych wards and jailhouses

Begging on roadsides

Needles hanging from sinew

While the world drives by

Forgetting the medicine


You, Sister

You, Brother

Busting through a sleepy-eyed forgetfulness

Laughing at, yet holding me



You are here

My Sister

My Brother

Wolf Medicine

Spit flying and coat

Shimmering with the wind

Teaching family

And snarling incisors

On Time and out of Time

Dirty pads creeping past artificial realities

Busting through

Staring me down

Claiming me

Showing me what’s Real

Showing me you’re here

Thank you

Thank you

Thank you

Wolf Medicine


What I Wish I’d Said

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From the beginning

This voice restrained

All the things, hovering, circling

All the things felt, unsaid

All the things feared

All the things shamed

All the things



What I wish I’d said


Where did you go

And why didn’t you reach out to me

For so many years

Not even a word?

These little lips

Too young to know

How to lay down letters

And vulnerable abandoned fearful heart

How to weather the blow

When I saw you, your eyes guilty

I had no idea, the secrets you held

All I did was hug you and left those words

And slimy hisses



What I wish I’d said

That I was still grieving

That I appreciated your rescue

But all around me

His dripping cloak of death still haunted

My yearning for him

Still pulled me

Spiraling towards the other side

Instead I smiled and pretended

But eventually my body betrayed me

And became deathly ill

Leaving no choice but to turn from you

At the approaching altar


So many times

She’s spoken what I couldn’t

In all-consuming



What I wish I’d said

That I was terrified of your energetic penetration

Your constant appearance in my dream

Controlling, controlling

That I felt suffocation

And reminders of

Narcissistic domination

Forced violations

Despite your fair appearance

Probably from some Karmic tie

Your energy field reminded me of

I wish I would have told you

That’s why I impaled you

And roared away


What I wish I’d said

That yes, I very much liked you too

So much you don’t even know

But that I couldn’t do this, here, right now

That the fear of the amount of joy I felt around you

Only foreshadowed the depth of pain

And death

That would eventually come

Not knowing how or if I could make it through


Not knowing if I could face

All the shit that might scream

While you hold me

Not knowing if I could deal with

The terror of the drama

And of being on the hotspring fishbowl stage

With all of the watchers

And whispers

And projections

Attempting to rip tender sprouts apart


So many times I looked at you

And wanted to say

But didn’t

Instead, I lied

I wasn’t disinterested

I was terrified

I was totally in love with you


And you

That no, I didn’t want to move quickly

That instead I’d rather share hearts and eyes

To not bypass these feral creatures begging

But I didn’t

And we crashed into each other

Our subconscious claws protecting, slashing

We crashed

And burned that shit to the ground


And you

How of course I wanted to kiss you

But what might be unleashed

These uncontrollable undertows

Haunting chains and misery

And whipping rage of eons ago

Busting through this flesh

I didn’t want you to see me

I didn’t want to see me

I didn’t want to slice you

I just couldn’t

So instead I turned away


And you

I wish I would have said

I am confused

By the energy you’re sending me

Is this a friendship, or a date?

I don’t really care

Can we just be clear here

So the shit doesn’t get squirrely

So my heart doesn’t start raging

At the back and forth and eventual ghosting

Of weird energies

And assumed needs

I wish we could just say it

I feel this energy

I don’t want to be in a romantic relationship with you

But a friendship would be fun

Or I can’t be in this connection right now

How hard is that to say

But how weird that neither of us said it

And instead

The magical vortex we danced in



Disappeared into the mist



And now

Here comes the same lesson

Frustrating but so similar

I almost have to laugh

You, like he, come close

We feel the energy, fire sparking

A short dance, intensity, closeness so palpable

We don’t talk about it

Your need for space

My need for communication

Shit gets weird

In silence

Claws out

And there you go




What I wish I’d said

What I wish you’d said

When will we start talking

When will you start talking

When will I start talking

Stepping past the fear

And into what’s Real

I’m so hungry

For what I wish I’d said


Thanksgiving, Gratitude and Whatever

Thanksgiving, gratitude


This week

I sit and remember

The litany of what I have and hold

That so many will never see

The warmth

The shelter

The creamy bittersweet reishi-infused liquids cascading over tongue

The lack of pain

Or extreme imprisonment

The solitude

The health

The vehicle to transport me into varied realities of my choosing

The consciousness

To transform pain to blessing

Almost instantaneously

The wise, deep, cackling crone

Deep within, everpresent

The guides

The teachers

The plentiful food on my plate

The laughter

The sunrise

The immediate access to webbings of knowledge

The freedom to say

“I want a relationship

Where we’re aware and committed to

Working on our shit together”

And the self-love to not care

If the listener runs screaming haha


The voice

The sound

The art that now can come through unobstructed

Through this vessel

The witnesses, holding deeply

The love, the carved out

Empty full compassion pulsing




What lies beneath

On this day of great trespassing

Aware of that too

Not gratefully bypassing

The millions of original beings

Paved over, passed over

Starved, forgotten, shackled

Extinguished, tricked, lied to

Forced to psychically submit

Gutted and soul starved


Healing the Soul Wound

Healing the Soul Wound

Healing the Soul Wound

Do we now see it?

Can this day be of gratitude

That we might just be seeing it

Grateful that the festering wounds

Repressed rage, bigotry

Unspoken for centuries

Are being released

Sometimes uncouth, often offensive

But released

Like Wednesday Addams, smiling

Match in hand

Thankful we can burn that old shit to the ground?



We may be seeing the People

The human and non-human People

These beings, given Voice

Rising up





Giblet laden gravies

Shimmering, reverberating

From distant relative argument

Over recent propositions

And how Sally should have never bought that car

And did you hear the price of gas

And how hard it is to build anything anymore

Without those codes gauging you

Lalala dancing words on aching surfaces

While Sally vomits in the bathroom

While Uncle Jim hides in the car

Taking another hit

To make it through



Both eyes open

To my extreme Wealth

In contrast to many

As well as the bowed down

Hoping, praying, singing

To our seeing

To our healing

To our waking





The Soul Wound

The Soul Wound

The Soul Wound


The Dance

There is a part

That wants to lay it all out before him

In fresh bloomings

Blow by blow

Intensity of the path she’s led

Situation after situation

Violation after violation

Allowance after allowance

Twisted shreds and fallouts

Visceral evidence of the place she stands


There is a wild, unbridled force

That wants to see his eyes

To feel his heart

To know his Truth

In the face of the litany

In the face of the pain

To see if he turns

To see if he shudders

To see if he



Hanging by slippery threads

On this fire escape ladder

It’s a long way down

If she surrenders to the fall





Old, tattered parts come forward

Protect or die!

Protect or die!

Get it all over with, now

Show the portal he’ll enter

See his choice

With no delay

See if he’ll stay

Hoping he’ll go

To calm these demons

To calm these demons


This, of course, is such a metal way

Teeth dripping saliva

And balls to the wall

Go hard or go home

This part wants to live it

Speak it

Shove it

These rumblings have been waiting

These rumblings designed

To push away


And yet

Hidden, ephemeral

There is this other, more gentle force

Gentle, but not weakened

Gentle, but not naive

Gentle, and Knowing

Who appreciates

The Dance


She wants to unpeel, slowly

Revealing layer by layer

Watching his eyes

Feeling his breath

Tuning into the particles

As the skins gradually fall away

Microcosmic realities

Dancing, dreaming

Mysteries touching

At eonic speed


She is an old part

She is a deep part

The one who wants to witness his music

Deep bass resonance on golden crisscross strings

Who wants to hold the gentle fierce line

Of looking for hours into

Trailing light tendrils

Along shivering surface

Stepping back from this Mystery

Allowing space

A roaring, intimate silence

To hold the shimmering portals

Of beauty

And pain

Yet to become


She is an old part

She is a wise part

She is a deep part

This smiling-eyed Dakini

Will She have voice in the great trembling?

Will She stand, in her Love, gleaming?

Will She cradle the demons

While making room for the Other?

This time

The wildness

The fierceness

Channeled not to push away

But to slowly



Pull them into

The Dance


Pain Body

There was one thing you said

(It actually pissed me off at the time)

That I now see is true

“There’s such an intense pain-body around you”


I dismissed it

As your rationalization, jab

For why I didn’t want to be involved

A unicorn dancing once more

In a loveless matrimonial tie


While perhaps that’s correct

While perhaps a wise woman sensing

The statement you hoisted

That statement is true:


Like so many

Have an enormous, unexplainable field

An invisible armor, always at the ready

To attack

Anything that comes in too close

And reminds of unconscious catastrophy

Its hairs bristle, teeth expose

Protecting, protecting


Unable to manage, primal

Mind goes murky, tongue ties

Frustration sets in

As I feel the rage of eons

Simmering, thrashing in my field


She roars, silent

Recounting unintelligible

Trauma chants

Pushing like the crown

Too large to exit the canal

Nowhere to go


(External trained and unrevealing)

Against her ancestral cage


To hold and dismantle these plates

Requires more

And to this point

I’ve found nothing

I don’t want to be your mistress

Your fill-in, rebound lay

This same repeating pattern

Pulling me into its spiral

To learn over and over again


I bump against it, attempting

And am taken down repeatedly

I back away

I slither

Away from this gigantic roaring hoarde

Ignoring, avoiding

Ignoring, avoiding

In my temple

Of ritual and aloneness


Pretty good

At controlling

This pain body activation

Only marginally triggered by passersby

But when You come in close

When you completely step over Her line

(Most just avoid Her quills)

Here I am

Aware of Her pulsing, raging, fiery breath

Dominating and confusing reality

Taking over

Emanating miasmic sludge

My power lost, understanding decimated

Head hung low

Cup clanking on prison steel

Each time

She’s here waiting for me

For You


This pain body, hovering, enmeshed


I’ve attended others’ for so long

But Her? Rarely do I hold Her, fully

Explore Her, listen to Her

How could I?

Like the Void, She’s massive and yet elusive

Nothing’s prepared me for this task

I stay safe, in patterns and routines

Of nun-monkhood

While She waits, simmering



This Pain Body

When You come in close

When You completely step over Her line

(Most just avoid Her quills)

Here I am

Aware of Her pulsing, raging, fiery breath

Dominating and confusing reality

Taking over


It’s true


A Ritual Of Death

Oh Great Ones

Well and healed lineages from Beyond

Help me, help me

To bring Death


Death to the old way

Death to the outworn patterns

Carving catabolic caverns in my heart

To the demons, circling

Ripping quivering potential

To shreds


O Great Ones

Well and healed lineages from Beyond

Help me craft, by candle

A ritual of their Death


A ritual of honor

Of the many ways they’ve served

Of the protection, shielding

I’ve needed for so long

The Old Ones, shrouding

I require you no more

It is time


Help me

Craft ritual of their sacred slaying

Psychopomps, I call you

To guide them Home

Beyond this body

Standing now, in safety


Oh Great Ones

Well and healed lineages from Beyond

Help me line the altar with silver blessings

To spread the path with dark kisses and heart

Sword gleaming, turning

Sending, parting

Across and through the veils


Help me

Help me let them

Help me let them

Help me let them die

Help me, release, return, unemcumber

These loyal soldiers

Give them honorable Death

So that I

May Live


Oh Great Ones

Well and healed lineages from Beyond

I am ready

I am willing

Like a great tree,

Sad to see its cloaking






Sad to see

This turning

Of such loyal, long time protectors

But knowing


The time has come


Our Raw Heart

A late afternoon beam

Trickles through the canopy

Glowing redwood remains

Hush splintered in our wake

You stop and listen

To the leaves, falling

And silence, unfamiliar

Smiles between us


Further into the canyon

Of waiting fern-graced water trails

Jaws wiggling, diaphragms dancing

You ask me to go deeper


The space I land is remarkable

With these wounds, this heart

And the leaves, they fall

Your depths emerging, extending

And then silence, smiling, returns


I hold myself

And my spirals

Re-storying grand illusions

Into beauty and hope

But somehow, in this reflection

With the leaves falling all around you

I hear myself, in new ways


Many years on the mountain

Conversing with spider and brook

I’ve forgotten the medicine

Of humans

I put my heart

Beating, pulsing, a beacon

Out in between these bodies

And oddly, it’s held

Invisible webbing emerging from two

Deep waters, much solitude

And a bubbling wisdom of Nothingness

I step closer

Into the spiral core

And feel


Perhaps, this heart ponders

It is possible

Two humans

Can heal

As the leaves fall

As the world crumbles

As the core of ourselves and all reality

Is pierced, composted, rearranged

Perhaps, this heart, laughing

Watches, waiting

As I manage to step closer

Into its beating, pulsing


Of what’s been true

All along



The Mother


At idealized images of your Love

I’m searching

Searching for the image, words

To describe the archetype

Of your dismembering embrace


The Mother

Quiet, inspiring teacher

Mistress of the inner realms


Were not Her

Or rather

You were Her




I seek the card for the Underworld

That of your smoke-shrouded throne

That of what hourly chants of death

Of haze filled raging

Pleas of victimhood

And bloody stomach incisions

Inspired, quietly

In these bones


This Mother

My Teacher

Upside down and hanging

Beneath the flowers

Beneath the waters

Beneath the calm, smiling Wand

Dripping in gore, ash

And decaying earth tendrils

Where is this Mother?

Not Death

But not Life

You who inspired, quietly

A passion

An obsession

A mission

To Die


The Mother

Mistress of internal Hell realms

The one who inspires

A twisted initiation


By the life She “lives”


There’s a card




Image credit: “Loki’s Brood” (1905) by Emil Doepler


Father Earth

Father Earth

How I yearn for your eyes to pierce me

For your arms, warm and generous

To hold me

Father Earth

With your hearty laugh, your contribution to the Land

Despite the Tragedy, your utter enjoyment

Of this dear life, this dear animal body

Father Earth

How I yearn to feel you close, steady

To watch your attunement to the fields

To experience your resonation with Her cycles

Knowing when to seed

Knowing when to caress

Father Earth

You have seen much, and learned through your impulsiveness

Enough to be here, by the fire of your own temple

Father Earth

How I long to be with you

To truly absorb your vibration

This counter-cultural maturation

This example, shimmering

Father Earth

May I one day

Feel your staff in my hand

Your laugh in my jiggling belly

Your bountiful riches

Flowing through me to assist

Your court, safe and deep


Father Earth

How I yearn for your eyes to pierce me

For your arms, warm and generous

To hold me


To let my Priestess

Hold you


~Image credit: https://www.pyreaus.com/tarot/pyreaus_tarot_court_Disks_Prince.htm


Brother Wind

Wind Brother

Brother Wind

Brother of the slashing sword




Amidst all of the noise

Universal Mind


You who reach beyond, above

Yet unable

To form a plan

For your own, embodied life





Holding back the darkness

Ideas, grand, so many

You cannot choose

You keep spinning

You keep slashing

You keep



Wishing for calm

Wishing for the Core

Wishing to find your Way

To the soul heart

Your own Center



That dear body

Carrying you

Carrying this electrified, pulsing antennae


Is calling you home


With pains, radiating


In the very center of your being



For you to come down

For you to pay attention

For you to decide


Wind Brother

You are the lightning, brilliance

A champion to many causes

Aside from your own



Will you commit?


She asks

When She pleads

When She begs you, radiating

Will you come home

To be held

By Her



Brother Wind

Wind Brother

Brother of the slashing sword

May your power

Spiral inward

May your brilliance

Serve the soul

May your tired

And spinning

And slashing

And heaving


Come home


If you’d like to hear this poem recited aloud, go here: https://anchor.fm/raven417/episodes/Brother-Wind-e1oo7jv .

I suggest you gaze at the image while listening!

~Image credit: “Brother Wind” from Tarot of The Spirit by Pamela Eakins



These walls, now empty

Nonetheless, have eyes

Thick, steel enforced…


Materially, since 1952

In the cold heart of war


These eyes

Looking out

Across ancient untouched lands

Midden, perhaps, bone laden

Dappled with quickly vanishing

Wallflower, Lupine, lizard


Across and through the great ventana

Over this deep and sacred canyon



Inward, observing

These eyes have seen so much

The drilling military

Preparing for interception

Pacing, plotting, planning

These eyes watch them, suspicious



The West


Inward, observing

These eyes witness

The transformation

To changed attention

A new war, perhaps

The countless hours

Of impassioned hands, minds

Amidst the hum of suburban expansions

Tireless calculations, analyzations

Of this great mystery beyond the shore

Hoping to know

Hoping to understand

How she breathes

How she swallows

How she creates

And decades later

Inward observing

These eyes watch

The rush of divers

Assembling for

The scouring

Of this same blue Mystery


The clues to Denver’s demise


These eyes look out, and behind

Over lands

Separated by thick concrete

Watching over the divide

At Hundreds of burials

Over Grieving, releasing

Citizens of place, the recent ancestors

Remembering, honoring

It watches

It watches


A short shadow in comparison

To the adjacent pulsing light

Guiding, protecting the sea

This atomic proof sentinel

Watches nonetheless


Over lands and hearts and species

Its gates, protecting

Cradling the lands of hummingbird

And the rough and sandy microcosmic

Worlds of dune



Did the land rise up to create you?

A result of thousands of years

Of ancient worship, community, respect

Of bare feet honoring these shores, that Mystery

Before the Fall

Did the land rise up to create you

Impenetrable, solid

To see

To hold

To be

To Protect?




Watching over me

As young child, exploring

Tiny plump hands, I grip your gate

Looking up

And wonder

Have you always been here


Will you always be here




Whether regarded

With the cloak of history

To these eyes

In her-story

You are seen

You will always be sacred

You will always be

The protector, and perhaps someday teacher

Of these lands

The fortress

Now graced with the eyes of the Ocean

In her-story


Will always be




Thanks for tuning in to this series of poems honoring the NOAA building in Pacific Grove, CA. If you’d like to hear this poem recited, you can find an audio version here:




Chubby toes

Squirming in the tiny particles of dune

She giggles, warmed

Eyes raised to the

Shrill call of the overhead gull


Mother, at a distance yet here

Beneath and between these toes

She feels held

By the microcosmic worlds

Scratching between

Brushing over

A fair and childhood skin


Glancing, searching back

To uncertain ties

Her chubby toes take her forward

She the great adventurer

She amongst vast nature, calling


Coastal dune scrub

Sedge meadows

Salt grass flats

Iceplant figflesh squeezing between fingers

The large cement fortress, the castle

She smells, she tastes, she listens


She doesn’t know the names 

Of these beings

Of these worlds

Of the creepy crawlies working in the sands

She, an adventurer with chubby toes


She doesn’t know the bones

That lie beneath her

The fractured history 

Of peoples long forgotten

Or the quickly dissolving presence

Of lupine

And wallflower

Of bluebird

And perhaps, Cypress

She only touches, smells, hears

She only trusts


She doesn’t know

Its as if they will last forever

She, so small, cradled by their largeness

Ancient, pulsing, alive

She feels it all around her

And between 


She doesn’t know

She looks forward

To this ancient pulsing

To this web

Holding her

Being here


She doesn’t know

And she looks back towards her mama

That painful tie

And is grateful for this holding

Certain, generous, nourishing

She trusts

It will be here, forevermore


These chubby toes

Inside, grip the Shell avenue shag in fear

Alone and rocking

But here, outside

Her mama, soft and forgiving

This castle, mysterious

This ancient, pulsing 


Holding her



Chubby toes

Squirming in the tiny particles of dune

She giggles, warmed

Eyes raised

To the shrill call of the overhead gull

Mother, at a distance yet here

Beneath and between

These toes


If you prefer to hear this poem spoken out loud, join me here for a listen: https://anchor.fm/raven417/episodes/Toes-e1o38sa


Initiation: A Spoken Word Podcast

Greetings! Just wanting to share that I have begun to pay attention to the part of me that really wants to share my poetry verbally and with music accompanying it. There are only a few poems recorded on the Anchor podcast site, but I aim to add more each week. I also aim to use my own music versus the canned, but for now its pretty groovy to have such an easy option. If you are interested in tuning in, the site is below and I will also be linking at the end of my written posts if there is an associated recording. Enjoy if it aligns!




It starts with an idea

A giggle

A smile

She thinks of ways to capture, describe

She thinks of the simple joy

Of sharing


Or perhaps

She thinks

Her ideas, profound

Healing, helping



Yet underneath

A shadow, nervously paces

Does this not grow at the root of things?

Acceptance by tribe?

Will she be run out


Ostracized to empty, dry deserts

Hung from barren branches

Left to rot

Picked apart by beak and claw?


Or will she be welcomed, celebrated

Will she

In this big bad world

Have the networks

To survive



Yearning for your hearts

But ultimately, it’s reason

Just another version

She’s a puppet

To ancient, gossamer feelings


Connect me

The desires are primal

The desires are real


She’s posted, laughing


After a moment

One moment

A breath

The Silence…


The pacing

Her racing




**If you’d like to check out my first endeavors with creating a podcast with my poetry find it here: https://spotifyanchor-web.app.link/e/BiLo7d1s5sb



What the hell am I doing here

With these see-thru hands

She asked herself this question

Over and over again

Imagining some day

She’d actually feel real enough

To know the answer


Class after class after class

Accolade after accolade

And rarely, another’s skin to confirm


She came back to this feeling

This question

This ephemeral evanescent vapor

Her mind and body seemed to be


What am I doing here

With these see-thru hands

She asked herself this question

Over and over and over again

Imagining some day

She’d actually feel real enough

To know the answer


Magical Child

She came into this world

Full of dreams

Fairies in the concrete

Spirits in the bog

Images on the screen encouraged her

Everything around her was alive


For her mother


Now that was a strange blip in the equation


Her mother

Was dead


Well, not really

She walked and talked and stuff

But the light

The light

Was gone


There was a hollow

Inside of her

Something even the most powerful wizard

Could not reach

But even this

Became part of the fairy tale

The sleeping dragon, the Dark Witch

For awhile

She made it all

Make sense


At decade’s crossing

Theta slowly fading

Suddenly the whole world became grey

The fairies retreated

The spirits, unable to compete

All grew quiet in that magical land


As if a veil was lifted…

Or perhaps, applied…


And she was left

With the cold reality

Of heaving

Bearing the grief, the suffering, the hopelessness

Of everything around her



It didn’t take long

For the child to grow sleepless

And searching


She found a portal

To make it all go away


A portal of daring

A portal of transcendence

A portal of rebellion

A portal of

Maybe if I just do this

I will see them

I will feel them again








Probing for a portal

Maybe I will see them again


This magical child

Born with dreams in her eyes



Doing whatever it took

To feel them, again

To be on that edge, again

To pierce into that world, again

To not have to carry, anymore


That magical child

She, with a fervor



If they said

It would kill her



The time is now

The place is here

There are teachers all around you

Lessons unfolding in the flat tire

The nightmare

The deep love

The lost job

The constant nagging pain in the root of things


Are already in the class


No need to sign up for fancy trainings

You live in a training of how to unlearn old trainings

Just by waking up


Stepping out into your day

You are already in the class


If you wish, you can continue

Spending spending to get somewhere you’re not

Entertaining, and for some, necessity

But remember


Are already in the class


The time is now

The place is here

There are teachers all around

(And inside)

Of you



Take notes

Don’t go back to sleep


Is speaking

For you


Sounds of the Abyss

Droning, rhythmic

Stretching out the empty in my mind

Turning, molding, wailing

These unspeakable chasms that linger within

Rooting prone-to-wither tendrils

Magnetic, pulling under

Into deep soil, reminding



And sly smiles

They creep onto my mask

Familiar only to my intersecting horror

The Darkness, arises such strange joy


These days, taken medicinally

And often, alone

Sometimes through these fingers

I’m grateful

And always reminded

Of the sonic elixirs

That freed me, held me

Throughout the heartbreaking, terrifying

Stripping, unbecoming

The solve et coagula

Time and time again

These sounds

These sounds of the Abyss

My Abyss









~image of National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration property in Pacific Grove, CA

The bones of my grandmother

The bones of my grandfather

The bones of the Esselen

The bones of the Ohlone Costanoan

The bones of the Rumsen


This land tilled, taken

Our ancestors still lie, together

Coastal, beauty

Country club laughter


Of what lies beneath


Hundreds of years ago

Spanish grants

Relocating the rooted

Tortured and “cultured”

In sandy walls deemed holy

Still I remember the echoing bells

And fascination of child eyes


Through the mission

On Sunday afternoons



Called back here

By tribe, ally

To these same sandy dunes

Hundreds of years later

The bones are in danger


Standing on

Contested land

Broken treaties, how does this still go on?

I lean in

Across lichen laced barriers

Spirits of Hummingbird, Yarrow



Don’t act

Just listen

Don’t act

Just listen

Don’t act

Just listen


Whose voice?

My grandmother

My grandfather

Ancient peoples?

My Self?

Who calls me?

Who speaks to me?

Can I ever really know?



Well and healed ancestors

Why am I called back to this land

Where I look to the right

Under manicured lawn

European privileged kin

And to the left

Through chainlinks

The untouched dunes in danger

With your bones

With their bones

With our bones

How do my bones

Holding me tall



The waves crash

And I pray

And silence is all there is

As I stand here

On top of bones

Original bones

Beneath Cypress-studded vastness

Ancient grounds

That may not last

Much longer


Do I really




This poem was inspired by the recent contested sale of the NOAA building in Pacific Grove, CA. For more information on this issue you can go here: https://www.change.org/p/jimmy-panetta-rededicate-the-noaa-building-in-pacific-grove-for-the-public-benefit/u/30678313



Four hundred years later

The General appears

At first taken by her, giddy

He leaves gifts and poetry at her door


Not especially interested, but clarified

She nods kindly, shows him the gate

Her boundary

And sees him on his way


Yet she senses something coming

Murky tendrils weaving, invisible

As he looks back, a subtle leering

Rippling the quantum, rippling


She’s wondering

Whether to prepare or forget

Defense has long worn out its usefulness

She puts

Her sword down


Over time

The notes keep appearing

The gifts somehow making their way

Across the gate, the line


Cloaked in saccharine


She realizes the need

She stands at her doorstep

She waits for him

And when he appears

She looks into his dream-filled eyes

And draws out

Her blade


She clarifies

She slices through

The thick projective miasma

She points its tip at each stake

Of her picket

She calls him

To look


Woozy, smirking

His gaze wafts playfully


He sees it, eyes widening

This gate

As if for the first time

And realizes his slumber


Embarrassed, he steps back

And away

She remains


As his body pivots and strides

Fake confidence towards his city

This time the leer

Has turned cold

Something’s coming

She knows


Next morning sunshine

Greets her

A soft fur winding against her leg

And she walks to the gate, curious

Of the note tacked upon it

She pulls off the memo

And feels its searing

She drops it

Watching it fall to the cool earth


Crouching, wary

She reads the now dampening parchment

Not too surprised to see


Emblazoned upon it

And lengthy explanations

Of her wily ways

Of deceiving and be-spelling


Saddened, she knows him

This General’s story

Of tending his own Anima

Cruel and illusory

Suicidal and death dealing

His own loving

Entwined with the torture he served


This story, it keeps repeating

It is his, it is hers


She pierces the memo

The tip of her sword saves her

She brings the burning accusal

Walking, sword outstretched down the roadway

To a small clearing in the wood


Here a brook babbles

And hawks sing

And she sets a space

And she calls to the wise ones

And she gathers the waters

And she hums


Here, she immerses

The age-old fires

Of trauma, projection and cruel self-story

Into rock’s crevice, holding

Waters trickling from her hands, heart

Waters holding, cleansing for a better way

Washing her past, his

Tending the blood wounds seeking

Mouths hungry to be healed

She offers, she offers

Iron Goddess of Mercy

Iron Goddess of Mercy


She sits

And waits

Letting the sunlight peeking sparkle

Upon the cleansing pooltide

With the pain

And sorrow dissolving within

Knowing her hands, her mind

Indeed offer healing

To re-member

To re-story

To let the old die

To create space

For the new


Hawks circling

Cries piercing the air

Holding her

Sonic, salving the lineages

With their love

She knows not

What may come

Of the General

But dirt beneath her toes

And wind against her skin

She holds clearly

What she knows

She is



Cold Case

~Cold Case~
By raVen lakins

Thirty years ago
A gun flew through the
Night air
Wiped clean
The grip
Still warm
From frenzied

Its body
Landing amongst
Innocent carousel brambles
Hidden, hidden

Like a ghost
He’s gone
Although surely
Something pierced through
Surely something
Ripped open his aorta
And led to a mother
In a cold hospital atrium
As the koi flipped and swished
In its chlorinated pool

Like a ghost
He’s gone
Both perpetrator
And perpetrated


Thirty years later
Still, no one’s found him
And I wonder if he’s living
A stunted, child possessed
I wonder if he holds this
Hidden, hidden
Or if he’s died
By his own hand
Never being
Truly found

Hidden, hidden
Like my deepest rage
Like my

Like this

Thirty years later
It remains cold
Still no one’s found him
And the Wolfman’s
Have gone
To the wind

~Written for “Justice: Sisters of The Holy Pen” edited by Pamela Eakins

Spoken Word version available at: https://anchor.fm/raven417/episodes/Cold-Case-e1nlm2s


Death Lodge

How shall we begin?

We begin

At the end

The end of all which needs to die

The end

Of the beginning


She doesn’t stare straight at me

But I know, I know

She’s calling

Pay attention, She says

It is time

To die


Now I’ve heard this before

She’s no stranger in these parts

But as always, when She speaks

I listen


Such an odd concept

To have to die

To live

To have to let go of it all

In order to truly embody


Listening, I’m listening

But I

Am confused

So many layers already shed

What more do I have to release?

The traditional path

Identity, belongings, desires

Already decomposing miles back

On this Wanderer’s road


So I ask Her, humbly

As I accept my place in the Death Lodge

What else is there to lose?

And of course

I know, I know

There is always another layer



What then, is this layer

I cannot drum it up from my mind

I look around me blankly

And the only thing I can do

Is ask

The only think I can do

Is listen

The only thing I can do

Here in this Death Lodge

Is open to the Way

The Way hiding

The tendrils grasping

The deep and precious rootlets

That don’t want to be seen.

Way beneath, in this colonized earth

Lurks these questions

Lurks these answers

Lurks these ancestral memories




Here in the Death Lodge

Cailleach laughing

She tells me not to worry

She tells me, simply

To ask

To listen

And to begin


~Image https://www.elitarotstrickingly.com/blog/the-tarot-of-eli-the-druid-craft-tarot-key-13-death-and-the-thoth-tarot-atu depicting “Death” from The Druid Craft Tarot by Philip Carr-Gomm.


In Flames

Five years passed

Since I sat watching

The face that raised me

Propped, cardboard prosthetics

Forming strange countenance

Ready to go


Strange too, this feeling

You, in a box, ready

And me, watching

The face that raised me

Ready to go

Into flames


These were your wishes

Decided, after all, naked

And following, swallowed

Swallowed by the great one

Countered with brine


Strange though it was

To sit by you, watching

Floating, still shaken

Flowers ’round your head

The caked foundation

Hastily applied

Over fake arches

And greying mottled skin

Pretty, they tried to make you

Smiling, they tried to mold you

Strange, almost laughing

Darkness peeking through


Sitting there, watching

You in a box, naked


Into flames

The face that raised me

I remember

I remember

Mussels in seaweed

I finally let the last of you





Vision, Quest

Vision Questing for a Vision



Crying, Quest

Crying Questing for a Vision



Fasting, Quest

Fasting Questing for a Vision




Does this shadow hold the keys?

Full participation

In village witness

Ceremonial holding

Mythological re-weaving

Does this shadow hold the keys?


Far off in dusty deserts

This rite beckons

But not now, not yet

For now, it is receiving



Receiving, Quest

Receiving as Questing for a Vision


Fullness, Quest

Fullness Questing for a Vision

Sitting with waves of terror

Receiving, not fasting, cracking open

Feeding, ceremony

On wild lands, hawk and vulture witness

Sitting out, sitting in

Circle, Utiseta


Utiseta, faring forth

Journeying, singing ancient emblems

Into Winds

With fullness, receiving

With pleasure, receiving

With sacred witness, receiving

Midnight forests holding me


Sitting out

Taking in

Singing out













She rises, arms outstretched

A bright beam penetrates the pane

Lap warming

A moment, with feline vibrations

Soft fur, gliding beneath palm

Transitioning, transitioning


Dream to waking


A vision emerges, the image nation beckoning

A purpose, a plan, a grand plot for the day

It fills her with Fire, an excitement for living

To do this one thing, this one thing

In the minutes of the sun


Hand gliding

Across feline vibrations

All mindforms redirect to this creation

And a deep sigh comforts for what is beyond

She pauses, she opens, she forms


Without deliberation, she’s now in the kitchen

Feeling into what deliciousness can be received, as fuel

Her senses guide her, plump peaches gleam

The cool, smoothness of vanilla to greet them

She feels, with her mind

A dancing across her tongue



Without deliberation

She’s pulling them close, plopping and slicing

Swirling admiration of how chunk and silk and silver

Arrange in vessel


Together, inside her, without deliberation

A deep sigh comforts for what is entering

Fuel for the larger, the beyond, that which keeps beckoning

The vision, beyond, this sense explosion

Calls to her


Satiation guides, and she rises

Now letting the cool water trickle over

Clearing, clarifying the weighty brown ceramic

The spoon

Gleaming, gleaming in her wet hands


And pulsing, now, stronger

The visions, grand purpose

Call her, undeniable strength

Away from the kitchen

She knows not when she’ll return

She trusts it

And full belly moves into

Manifesting the dream


The sensation explosion

Controlling, plotting, leading into, moving out of

No longer is all that matters

The visions, grand purpose

Calls her, undeniable strength

Away from the kitchen

She knows not when she’ll return

The feline, vibration, reminds her

She trusts it

And full belly moves into

Manifesting the dream



Somedays I feel you

So close

Soft, ancient feathers inside thighs

We’re soaring, lightning

From Mystery to Manifest

Vibrations, great warbles

Shudder through my casing

My fingers, gripping

Ever fearing the end


Riding, this fire

Mouth open

I remember aliveness

I remember purpose, initiatic

I remember voice, cawing

I remember…alive, clear



So unlike the Darkness

The stillness

Etheric goo of Void

More often than not

My thighs feel Nothing

Aside from the air

Hovering, directionless


There, more often than not

Is vast, open, empty space

Potential, and


With no function

In such embodied worlds


Hovering, this potential

Yearns for your feathers

Pressing between me, inside

To ride, to become

To carry this Mystery, on lightning


To its place in the world

Reception, form, purpose, home


Ten stations, looming

And dull eggtooth


Thickness overwhelming

And aching

To ride you

Sounding Mystery

Sounding Message

Riding, lightning







Returning, returning

Always keep returning

To the scene of the crime






Against these walls


For a moment or two

The box becomes bigger

And ahhhh, sigh…..


But returning


At some point always


To the scene of the crime


Commonly, to push through

Ensures probable long-term


Perseverance, toughness

Not letting walls win


Unsuccessful, upon pressure

Over and over



Always returning


Lurching in abysmal hopelessness


Returning, another round

Broken, open

Tools, spent

The question starts forming


Does this body

Want to go back?

Spirals, spiraling

Years of pursuit and defeat

And now

The question

Is there wisdom in the


Is there wisdom in the


Is there wisdom, hidden

In the symptom of return?

Turning towards

Instead of pushing forward

The question, holding

The question, exploring

The question, honoring

The question


Why do you keep returning?

Why do I keep returning?

Is there a who, urging returning?

Same numbers

Same boxes

Same terror

Hovering ’round

The scene

Of the crime


Returning, returning

Spiral, spiraling

Wisdom, not pushing

Wisdom, turning into

Wisdom, asking









Slowly, like moon emerging from cloudy bank

They came

Circling, circling, circling me

In their Love

Out from weathered, beaten cold

The Badlands, wandering

Androgeny outcast always thought I’d be

Never had I known the medicine

Of sisters

Circling, circling, circling me

In their Love

A silent Love

A listening Love

A knowing Love

A sometimes screaming, dancing, howling Love

Here, no answers

Here, no fixing

Here, no labels

Here, in their Love

Tomboy, trying to make it alone

Whittled down, rascally

Trying…to become a man?

Connection never found

Odd one in the mosh pit

Odd one in the catty conversations



Finding home

Only in deep forests, outside

But here, in their Love

I was surprised to find

Human eyes holding me

How could eyes hold me?

To depths I’d never felt

With understanding I’d never felt


The power of deep Woman

Medicine holding me

Circling, circling, circling me

In their Love

In Her Love

To whatever conjured

Finding the Sisters


Sisters finding me

I am forever grateful

For their remembering

I am Woman

Circling, circling, circling


Deep forest

In Her Love



the System says

everything’s okay

how is it then

i feel like i’m dying


invisible pain, from waking til rest

extreme anxiety and overwhelm

at each new turn

tossing turning

every single night

terrors of vision

haunting me

a small, small life



and dry


the System says

everything’s okay

no signs on the screen

how is it then

i feel like i’m dying


past experience shows

emergency begets real help

i know how to do emergency

i need real help

but do i have to create emergency


to get it?

how i yearn for

the level of care

the level of seriousness

the level of focus

the level of support

the level of transformation

the level of


that emergency seems to yield


but i don’t want to do this anymore

this starving, torturing of dear body

just to get 

to this level

just to qualify

for this level

how can i

access this level


bringing myself to emergency?

surely there must be another way

its the only way this psyche knows

and so it expresses

to the System, hoping


but please

tell me there’s another path

to address this feeling

to address this suffocating

to address this pain

to address this 


to get Coverage

than to put myself

through the crucifixion 


so they 

will see


is it me

or is it the System

that creates such a desperate need

to qualify

for Coverage

((a note from the Underworld times))


Knocking, Reversed

The vibrations, jarring

(I don’t want to do this again)




Same story, same outcome

They’re always trying to use the System




She, she’s knocking, I know that vibration

(I don’t want to do this again)

Open, I see you

Rage, like lightning, bolts through

Attacking, jousting

All I want to do is slay.

Slay that demon inside you

Wake you up from that dream

Get you off your sorry-ass victim horsey.

Usually, I win

Usually, I penetrate

Usually, I hear my voice echo, triumphant

Over yours


So much


But this time

(I don’t want to do this again)

You’re not responding

You’re not fighting

You’re not reacting

This, this seems to be a different kind

Of demon

And I look in your eyes

And you look into mine

And I don’t know who is what

And my voice cracks

And I stumble.

Remembering, quickly remembering

I shore myself up

And pretend

But you standing

But you looking

But you, curling hand back to heart


Something is different.

My heart hurts

And I feel very strange

But I know what I have to do

And read off of

The system generated steps

The typical offered plan.

I’m thankful for this script

As my center is evaporating quickly

My tower crumbling

(I’m a good builder so I quickly replace the bricks)

But you standing

But you turning

But you, not fighting

I’ve forgotten what’s next

I just watch you walk away

I just watch you walk away

I just watch you walk away

And try to forget

I don’t want to do this again



Photo by Jonathan Borba on Pexels.com

Limping, exhausted, overwhelmed

I arrive at your door


I’ve stayed away from this portal

As for so many years

Over and over

When it opens,

It hurts.

This door of “healing”

Systemic scientifically proven

Cold lenses full of

Twisting realities


Preconceived notions

Tales of resistance and



I say

A word.

I’ve been trying to find my way out here


Amongst the wind

Amongst the death

Amongst the hopelessess, terror and fear

Amongst this collective self-destruction

I’ve been trying

Trying to see myself anew

Trying to see this world anew

Trying to hold hope, shining

That really, there’s something sacred going on

That really, with faith, we can make magic

That really, these wounds are teachers

Showing us the way home

If we could listen.

If we could listen.

I’ve been grateful

I’ve been in surrender

I’ve adapted

To the incredibly tiny trauma world

That keeps me, and perhaps you, safe.

But now the nightmares

Now the pain

Now the plummeting evidence of lifeforce

Declining earth within me

Stares back, gaping.

Now, body revolting

Now, soul refusing

This cage, ancestrally repeating.

I know what will help me

The vastness, potential of deep soma, holding

Facing terror with arms around me

But lacking privilege

I turn to the only source I can afford



This time it will be different.

I pray to the invisible potentials

To show me something different

To open me to something new

To help me stretch beyond my assumptions

Of what I will be met with.

I show up at your door

Limping, exhausted, overwhelmed

Frustrated at my own failed heartful attempts

Frustrated that the spiral keeps spinning

That my mind keeps collapsing

Frustrated that I’m here, again.


The door opens

You stand there

And instead of holding

Instead of asking

Instead of listening

Once again

You hold out your list

And begin to remind me

Of the mistake you see me as

Of all of my failures

Of what I should have done

Could have done

Were I really “ready.”

My mouth opens

My voice tries to speak

My fires try to rise, defending

This wounded one, returning

But blankness prevails

Although simmering beneath

Silence prevails

All I can hear is the next item

On your system-generated list

My hand retreats

From its hopeful opening

Back into my chest

Curled inward.

At least this time

My frozenness thaws

So I can see

So I can see your heart, broken

Your wildness, shackled

Your soul, grieving

So I can see,

And finally walk away.


Away from knocking,

I step out of the stream of your misery

And back into my own Love




Testing, Testing…1,2,3

Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

Crumpled and tiremarked

A disposable mask flutters across the road

Opened tubes, drop laden cartridges

Overflow receptacles

Another swab, another swirling of saliva


15 minutes


Another, grateful, sigh of relief


Grateful for this privilege, time, communication

Grateful for science

And for possibly true proof

That restrictions will not descend

That health is clear


Possible, only possible



To understand

Mysterious illusory possible truths

Ones worth fighting for

Ones worth suspecting for

Ones worth judging for

In three drops

In 15 minutes

All these etiquettes

All these plastic remains

All these flattened, discarded shields

Blowing across highways


Another illness, another industry


Possible, only possible

Sighs of (naive?) relief



And rumbling paradoxical questions

Of control

Of illusion

Of industry

Of privilege

Of truth.

Questions in

15 minutes,



And questioning.

And testing…





Photo by omar alnahi on Pexels.com

It doesn’t take much these days

Oh were we back in the olden times

Where choices and new adventures

Brought excitement



Where choices and new adventures

Didn’t just collapse her

Today, she stands at the refrigerator

Yearning for a way out

But choosing

The Same


Its an over and over again thing

The thing that keeps her safe





Ironic, that

What once was crafted for safety

Now imprisons her

High above, crumbling

Standing at the edge, frozen

Standing at the refrigerator, frozen

Standing in the face of

His pulsing and

Unexplainably overwhelming

Energy, frozen

Standing before the page of purposeful, frozen

Standing before the questions, frozen

Standing before the gaping maw

The Invitation of her life,

Her one precious life, frozen


She chooses the same

Where less always makes it better

Just to thaw a little

Does she





He asks her

Unconscious, profession

What’s wrong with you

And she replies


But Nothing to be put into words

For your system to compute

And come to tidy conclusions

That exist manually, chemical


Everything is wrong

Despite emergency lacking

And what she needs is support

To find the voice within the terror

Within the Shutdown

Digging way deep

And perhaps far back


Beyond what meds can do


To finally find Her

And where she’s been


For so long

The collapse of mind

The mush of executive function

The wordless, stammering

The blankness, the blankness

Everything is wrong

But Nothing to be put into words

But Nothing that fits into old paradigms

But Nothing to be medicated




A Shutdown

Its the only clue, left without crumbs

How then

Will She


Be found?



Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

Why commit, she asks


Why push through obstacle

Beating sun, erratic rain, whipping wind

Beady-eyed Invaders and

The threat of those who may

Cut me down

Hacking through essential limb

All that time it took to grow!


Why commit?

To opening tender, hidden center

Unfurling, reaching, receiving


Why invite


Who dance with temporary passion

In heated summer mirage




To this extraordinary


This focus of all lifeforce

Risen, pushed forth, creation


Over and over and over

This cycle

Why commit?

To emerge from safety of root and bud



It will grow cold

And this form

Will die

Dissolving back into Void

So far away from Sun’s garden




It will





Why commit?

To this great and effortful creation


This great reaching out

Into material physicality


Does the Springtime ask?


Does the bud






Photo by samer daboul on Pexels.com

Actually, She’s always full

Only choosing to lift Her skirt

To show us the meaning of Time



Bathing under ever-present

Full and glory glow

Run rampant with climax

She knows, She knows


She knows our hands

Need tempering

Our wild mind wolf soul

Needs titration

The lucky

The lucky

The lucky

Can follow



Her ever-present fullness


She knows

She knows

When Void will deepen us

When the knife will push us on

When the contrast

Of sparkling nightime oceans

Will give us strength

And awe

To continue

As our tears, begging

Dissolve into sand


Light and Dark

She’s all of this



What we see is another

And Her magic

Her rhythms

Her wise coy reveal

Always, actually

She’s full


And with Her magic

We learn

How to Be

With the fullness

And the emptiness

Of the everything

And the nothing

And the in between

And the question echoes we hide,

The terrifying disappearances

Floating, thrashing

Desperate for core

She knows

She shows


That we truly are



A Sense of Comfort, Pt. 2

Photo by Lucas Pezeta on Pexels.com

The warmth of sun


Sneaking leftover pastries of wealthy

Chocolate milky coffee silkness across tongue

Glass latte mug, smooth on palm

Bubbly effervescence ale

Clamoring dishes, hearty laughter

His hand on mine

His eyes on mine

His breath on neck

Darkness around me

Leathers and blacks and chains

Deep bass pulsing

Electric vibrations squealing

Bodies smashed and circling

Collective roaring, thousands

Viking hair brushing skin, ancestral

Dancing body, drunken

His kiss, in haze

Papers, goals, shuffling in fingers

The sound of pen scribbling

Kitten fur velvet on cheek

Fabrics variety, costuming skin

Sliding on identities

Rough taffeta, smooth polyester, heavy


Eyeliner tip on lid, transforming

Wine, astringency puckering and calming undefinable terrors

Neon shadows furry desert dances

Fishnet leg over lap

Sunrise rooftop afterglow

Tiny gelatin circumferences, azure and cream

Resting in shamed and methodical palm

Odorous vapors rising in dry heat of trail

California sage, Manzanita holding

Bright blue contrasting desert dust

These eye portals

Eggy brunches and green tea

Cool shade air under pine forest canopy

A place of purpose, embracing

Until there was none


Ancient drumbeat earskin

Elders voices tendrils re-minding

Diagnosis aura crumbling

Terror, excitement mingling

Sweaty bodies lodges, chanting

Kachina dreams