Thanksgiving, Gratitude and Whatever

Thanksgiving, gratitude

Whatever

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

.

But

Whatever

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?

.

Thankful

We may be seeing the People

The human and non-human People

These beings, given Voice

Rising up

Transforming?

.

But

Whatever

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

.

Whatever

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

.

Grateful

Thankful

Whatever

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

Stays

.

Hanging by slippery threads

On this fire escape ladder

It’s a long way down

If she surrenders to the fall

.

Scrambling

Anxious

Terror

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

Gently

Fiercely

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:

I

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

Wailing

(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

Ironically

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

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

Release

Sail

Fall

Die

Transform

Sad to see

This turning

Of such loyal, long time protectors

But knowing

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

Knowing

Of what’s been true

All along

.

The Mother

Staring

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

You

Were not Her

Or rather

You were Her

Reversed

.

Underworld

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

Quietly

By the life She “lives”

Surely

There’s a card

For

You?

.

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

And

To let my Priestess

Hold you

Inside

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

Brother Wind

Wind Brother

Brother Wind

Brother of the slashing sword

Slicing

Spinning

Sobbing

Amidst all of the noise

Universal Mind

Expansive

You who reach beyond, above

Yet unable

To form a plan

For your own, embodied life

.

Swirling

Spinning

Slashing

Holding back the darkness

Ideas, grand, so many

You cannot choose

You keep spinning

You keep slashing

You keep

Heaving

.

Wishing for calm

Wishing for the Core

Wishing to find your Way

To the soul heart

Your own Center

.

Body

That dear body

Carrying you

Carrying this electrified, pulsing antennae

It

Is calling you home

.

With pains, radiating

Below

In the very center of your being

Screaming

Pleading

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

.

Soul

Will you commit?

When

She asks

When She pleads

When She begs you, radiating

Will you come home

To be held

By Her

Center?

.

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

Heart

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

Watchtower

These walls, now empty

Nonetheless, have eyes

Thick, steel enforced…

Peering

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

Peering

Across and through the great ventana

Over this deep and sacred canyon

.

Watching

Inward, observing

These eyes have seen so much

The drilling military

Preparing for interception

Pacing, plotting, planning

These eyes watch them, suspicious

Watching

Watching

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

Swallowing

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

Unacknowledged

Over lands and hearts and species

Its gates, protecting

Cradling the lands of hummingbird

And the rough and sandy microcosmic

Worlds of dune

.

Watchtower

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?

.

Watchtower

Sentinel

Watching over me

As young child, exploring

Tiny plump hands, I grip your gate

Looking up

And wonder

Have you always been here

Watching?

Will you always be here

Watching?

Protecting?

.

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

You

Will always be

The

Watchtower

.

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:

https://spotifyanchor-web.app.link/e/GPYglr5jEtb

Toes

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

Forevermore

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 

Web

Holding her

Forevermore?

.

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