Pen Power

A letter

A letter

I light a candle

I whisper to the ancient ones

I let go of the I statements

And all the knowing heart I have

I let myself

Feel

I take out the fresh parchment

I grasp the smooth coolness

And I begin

I put your name at the beginning

And then I let it rip

All the things

I wish you never were

All the things

I hate about you

All the things

Your evil wrongdoing has brought into my life

All the things

I let myself feel

All the rage and roilings

The ways you could be better

The terror I’m afraid you’ll unleash

I feel it shooting from mind to matter

Furious scribblings scratching across the bumpy table

Through my limb

I stop

I feel my heart beating

I feel the blood pulsing, heat shimmering

At the edges of my skin

I feel so goddamned much

I try to write it all down

Addressed to you

About you

Because

Of you

Then

There is silence

I know it is time

I breathe in again

I scoot the chair out

And rise

I let the cool water run over

My palms in the wash basin

I splash its wetness

Against my face

I look

In the mirror

I breathe

I feel my feet on the ground

I shake it off

I turn back around

I sit down

Here, now, again

I watch the candle flame flickering

I grasp the smooth cool instrument

And I begin once more

Only this time

I strike

I strike out

Every instance of your name

In my letter

Slashing every which way

There’s so much of you here

I slash you out

And then

I write my name

Everywhere you have been

Every line

Every arrow

Every single place I seethed your title

I write

My name

Fast

Furious

So I can’t give in to the temptation to stop

I write

My name

I breathe

I look back to the candle

I talk to the ancient ones

I know what I must do

And then

I read

I read all the ways

All the things

I read

Self to self

Self to Spirit

All the ways

All the parts

Warring

I read

Taking it in

Sometimes I cry

Sometimes I deny

Sometimes I rage

At this act of accusation

But mostly, these days

I laugh

I laugh, I laugh, I laugh

I know you are real

And I must find ways to keep what I love alive

I must continue to set boundaries

I must continue to fight

But you

Are also me

And somehow that gives me a strange, strange strength

Somehow that leads me into

Center

I put down the pen

I stare at its power

I gaze at the flickering flame

I feel my feet on the ground

I feel

At ease

A letter

A letter

I blow out the candle

And walk into my life

Listen

Here, at the Crossroads

I take time

To ask questions

I take time

To listen

I listen to the tall, ancient trees

I listen to the cool, trickling waters

I listen to the wind, swirling

I listen to the dreams

I listen to the old ones, the wise ones

The ones nestled for eons in my cells

I take time to ask questions

Even questions that may have no answers

I take time to listen

To the old ones, the wise ones

Who have been through it all

I listen to the cawing of the feathered

I listen to the scurrying fall foragers

I listen to the way the acorn drops on concrete

I listen to the sprout, growing in fall

I even

Listen

The

Humans

I take time

To ask questions

Even questions that may have no answers

I wait for the whispers

Oozing from the quiet

As I sit with this body, our body,

These eons in our bones

Sometimes I scream, sometimes I weep

Sometimes I build altars

And

After the release, after the honoring

I take time to listen

To the old ones, the wise ones

Inside and out

Who have been

Through it all

Here, at the Crossroads

Here, staring

Into the great and always uncertain Mystery

Here

I take time

To listen

Next To You

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There is a woman in front of me, a stranger

Her arm reaches into my shielded sphere

Kind eyes, seeking to connect

Her hand holds a home-baked cookie

Dark, hardened chunks of chocolate pock

Creamy tan ridges crisp at the rim

Her voice, underwater, I do not hear her

I am watching

The cookie

I can feel you next to me, friend

Here we sit,

Facing together what seems an incredible invasion

But I see your hand reach out to meet the gift

My fixated gaze temporarily interrupted

I follow your arm, to see your face, smiling

And the conversation coming into tune

Next to you

I deny the gift, a whole host of reasons

Never asked for, by a stranger

Even you haven’t asked yet, friend

I watch both of these bodies in wonder

Smiling, receiving, pleasured by

The giving

The moment

I watch, in wonder

And shame

Next to you,

The obsessions still remain

Next to you

How small my world is

Next to you

I see how I have almost forgotten

What it is to trust Life

When it shows up

As food

Next to you

I see how my minutes are numbered

How I live my life by the clock

And see terrifying consequences

Crawling everywhere

On something from your kitchen

Next to you

I see how I’ve forgotten

(Or have chosen to repress)

This deep, deep desire

To wake up, from a long and spontaneous sleep

Knowing what I crave

Going to the stove

And slathering a thing with oil and spices

Roasting crackles in oven

Waiting without knowing the time

Opening to the smell

Allowing unwashed hands

And unmeasured portions

To intermingle with my tongue

Risking all the terrifying things

Just to be

this

moment

Next to you

Red hair dappled with the sunshine

Laughing, hungry, connecting

I feel small

And like all of the work I’ve done amounts

To nothing

Next to you

It takes all I have to remember

That psyches and bodies have their own timing

That I no longer starve myself to death

That I find joy in cooking (mostly)

That I allow myself to vary from the plan when important

That if I do not know the contents

Or the measurements

Or the minutes on the clock do not match

I no longer disappear into the abyss

And instead hold fast, steady, knowing I will be okay

Here and now

It takes all I have to remember

That opening orifices to the unknown

Is an old, and paralyzing wound

But next to you

Choosing? Spontaneously? For no great reason?

To open up to the random possibly germ laden

Overwhelmingly full inducing

No idea where or when my next meal should be

As a result of the receiving

I fail

And have to practice trusting

That someday

Maybe somehow

I’ll be able to reach out,

Next to you

With you

To laugh, to receive

Together, risking, tossing our hair like untamed stallions

Opening this body

To the wild, wild earth

Formed into cookie

Its melting, chewy morsels

Unplanned, unsanitized

Coming into me

Feeling like I’ve finally made it

Next to you

Real Prize

The real prize, I say

Is the joy one has in making

The real prize

Is the degree with which separation

From winning can be achieved

Art knows

That the real prize

Is laughing with other creators

At the illusion of our battle

At the folly of our ways

Swapping stories of bloopers

And late-night editing panics

And the bliss, the bliss

Of that final molded reality before our eyes

The real prize, I say

Is the fervor with which an idea consumes you

Is the ecstatic disappearance of time

Is the transmutation of worry, and fear

Into creative form

The real prize

Corny as it may sound

Is centered in process

Not product

If the prize comes as result

Of having a great time creating

Well, that’s interesting

But not

The point

I know I am not joined

By all in this definition

Sure there are many

Who seek that golden glory in their hand

But for me, this sparkly illusion

Except for a goad

Prodding along the challenge

This carrot at the end

Only really exists to keep me on my toes

To urge me to worship these divine deliveries

By putting my sweat onto the altar of practice

When finally reaching the destination

If I’ve received the real prize

We’ll all look at each other, competitors in crime

Laughing and gathering

Celebrating Art

Celebrating sweat, tears

Celebrating big magic

The Art that chose us

To bring form to the unimaginable

The real prize, I say

Is the joy one has in making

And the bliss, the bliss

Shared, together

Of that final molded reality

From a quiet whisper to something now alive

The real prize, is Art

Having chosen us

To swim in its miracle

This

This is the real prize

I say

Good Days, Bad Days

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On the good days

I rise up, triumphant

Purposeful, sure there must be some reason

Hopeful I will find a way

On good days you might hear me chanting:

I am the Spellbreaker!

And this is the Order of the Zig Zag Path

Weary, broken, resigned

If you see me, you are here

I hold you

And rip the webs from your

Forgotten

Longing

Heart

Will find a Way!

On bad days

Those days where I see

From my horizontal position

The sun shining against the waffling leaves

Where sweet birdsong caresses my ear

And apparent peace surrounds me

Where I have everything

I really need, most than 75% of humanity

And yet, I cannot stand, walk, or sit

Without daggers of lightning

Casting me down

On bad days

I lay there

Trying to understand

Trying to find meaning

Trying to be grateful

Navigating the paradox of external beauty

And the world inside of searing flame

On bad days

I feel the bombs dropping

All along my thighs

Deep in my sacrum

As I let the illusion of American peace

Wash over and around me

I feel the starving, screaming

Terrorized children

Trapped in the crumbling building of my body

Next to the dismembered parent

Panicked and weeping for something to make sense

When any semblance of safety

Has been crushed and torn away and

Killed

On bad days

I try to imagine

What it might be like to see through one of their eyes

And if this pain is a metaphor for the wars

Waged daily, the grief and rage

With all control lost

And nowhere for her to call home

On bad days

It seems so selfish in light of her horror

But I find myself asking

What will I do today?

Trying to bring joy

In the midst of such unbearable torture

How do I quell her?

She’s screaming so loudly

Her sobbing, heaving rips me

From attention to anything

On these days

When I wake up already in pain

Lying and standing, all of it hurts

I cannot plan

Nothing beyond

Presence is possible

Knowing, like her

That the day

Will be taken breath by breath

Possibly with crying, weeping

Probably with anger

Hopefully with self-compassion

And care

What will I do today

What will I do tomorrow

What will I do with my whole life

Trying to

Not terrify myself

Trying to

Not terrify her

Our question, looking out into the distance

Of a life lived breath by breath

No guarantees

Were there ever really any?

What will I do with my whole life

I can’t help but go there

When I wake up already in pain

Seeing through her eyes

Where war is all around

Permeating everything she knows

But on the good days?

You’ll find me chanting:

I am the Spellbreaker!

And this is the Order of the Zig Zag Path

Weary, broken, resigned

If you see me, you are here

I hold you

And rip the webs from your

Forgotten

Longing

Heart

Come little one

We will find a way

Let me hold you

In the space where everything is nothing

And there is no certainty

And where you cannot understand

Why there’s so much killing

And pain never ending

Neverending

Never ending

Let me hold you

Right here, now

Without promises

Except my arms, around you

That spell

That you are all alone

Let me

Hold you

As the bombs rip it all apart

On the good days

I rise up, triumphant

Purposeful, sure there must be some reason

Hopeful

We will find a way

A Little Spooky Help Needed!

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Greetings, fellow beings!

As mentioned a few posts ago, I entered a local Halloween Film and Music Video contest. The original music and video, collectively known as “Hekate,” was created by myself and my bandmate, iamthemoon, and we had a lot of fun doing it :}

It was definitely music therapy for both of us, as ironically my bandmate joins me in the struggle with chronic pain and that is what the video is centered on thematically.

It is also most certainly an amateur attempt, and we hope to improve our skills as time goes on, but for now we’re up against one other video and could use your honest vote if you think we are superior lol. There are several short films that are up in the running too.

The deadline for voting is October 21st, here is the link to the form: https://forms.gle/3C1LMpCQ7xrduQHL6

Here is the video link only if you don’t want to vote but want to see the hilarious results of our efforts. Give us a like there if you feel to: https://youtu.be/AfstuEn41D4?si=z-NLNwNIG_H6Oe2D

Thanks for your support either way and hoping your Halloween season is faring well….muwahahahaha 💀

Healing

Healing

What is healing?

Is it a before and after

A whiz through steps A-Z

A miraculous tale of ‘complete recovery’

A proclamation to ‘never return’

Now carried in wallet,

To show all my new friends?

What is healing?

When the symptoms do not go away

When the pain lingers, or returns

When the scab never fully covers over

When the cause is invisible

When the trajectory

Doesn’t follow the plan?

How then

Do we measure

Healing?

Personally

Healing feels like a spiral

An in and out, a closer and further

A labyrinth, a dance

A journey from victim to initiate

A waking from the spell

That something

Is wrong

Healing might be

A realization of why the symptom has come

And still, why it may remain

An understanding of its sacred reason

And the possibility of the body’s wisdom

A peace, a presence

A relationship

Rather than a war

Unable to slay the dragons

Defeated in attempts to conquer demons

I have somehow found a way to listen

I have somehow found a way to understand

I have sometimes witnessed transformation

Where old, outdated needs

Fall away for the new

But mostly

I have found a way to be here, and now

In this body

With all that is happening

Even if what is happening

Is terrifying

Or brilliant

Or painful

Or sensuous

Even if it looks weird

Even if it seems wrong

Especially when it all seems wrong

This ability to meet it

To meet all of it

To honor it

To listen

For what it really means

To heal

This

When the symptoms do not go away

When the pain lingers, or returns

When the scab never fully covers over

When the source is invisible

When the trajectory

Doesn’t follow the plan

This, possibly

This…listening

This…being

This…asking for and allowing in care, finally

This…re-membering

Of all that is sacred

About a life

In these wise, miraculous bodies

And the journey they force us to take

This

May quite possibly, actually

Healing

True Horror

Photo by Yessi Trexud83dudcf8ud83eudd96u2728ufe0f on Pexels.com

“This is a story about a person who is walking in the world with chronic pain…

This is a story about a person who gets unexpectedly struck down by intense pain flares and is incapacitated over and over again with no visible reason…

This is a story about a person who doesn’t know if they believe in goddesses or gods or anything for that manner, if there is meaning to anything at all anymore…but who is at their rope’s end and decides to appeal to Hekate for her assistance…

This is a story about a person who keeps getting strange symbols/encounters in their everyday life, dreams, etc wondering if any of it is Hekate responding, if she is real, if anything can help…

This is a story about real horror–living with chronic pain, feeling trapped in this body, with no answers, not knowing if it will ever get better, if there is any meaning to it all, grasping at straws, knowing not what may come…”

The above is a description of the storyline for a music video myself and my guitarist are just about to submit for a Halloween contest (original music and amateur filming by the both of us) and I will post it here when it is ready. Wish us luck!

Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko on Pexels.com

Harvest

As the leaves fall

I tune into what’s been gathered

So much to be thankful for

Even in the midst of great pain

Here, in this moment

I realize it is the Present

That truly has been my Harvest

My throbbing sacrum

These aching thighs

They bring me back into the center

Of this body I flew from for so long

Breathing

I hear the strange sounds of crows

Cooing and rawking, and the sound of

Impact when their feet hit my porch

As they descend

Now, nerve lightning

Breathing

I hear their caws

Then the busses and cars motoring down the highway

Little bird chirps

The high pitched shrill of electricity

The beep of reversing tractor

The creaking of house

As the last of the warm sun

Expands its wood

The scratchings of this pen

The wrinkling of the paper as my hand

Moves across it

That smoothness, caressing

The tingling in my toes

The coolness at the tip of nostril

My heart, beating slowly

And the pulsation of blood

Through my veins

Stomach, digesting

Gurgling, growling to process

Its most recent score

Wind chimes, tinkling

And my sacrum, throbbing

And my breath, breathing

Me back into presence

This harvest will never leave me

Even in the midst of pain,

Challenging me to tune into its center

The insides, the intelligence that transmits

These messages

I am in an odd sense of awe

Somehow

In this assignment of stillness

This forced attention

The listening

The feeling

The sensing

All bringing me back to a place

I know I’ll never lose

Here

Now

Presence

This Harvest

I am so very grateful

To finally recognize

As the leaves fall

I tune into what’s been gathered

So much to be thankful for

Even in the midst of great pain

Here, in this moment

On the Witches’ Thanksgiving

In the time of dark/light equality

I realize it is the Present

That is truly

And will always be

My Harvest

Power

How can I center or refine

My spirit, my mind, my heart, my body

To achieve a harmonious synergy

This is the question

At the center of the Tree…

The gateway

Calling me, answering me

Rests squarely on the girder of Strength

And its message

Is Power

Four disks

Four pentacles

Four orbs

Pulsating

Asking, how do you use your Power?

How do you use your Power?

Do you stand inside the door, afraid to open to the other side?

Do you stand inside the door, barring anything to enter?

Is the power here inside this room, waiting for you to share it?

Or is the power outside, waiting for you to claim it?

Eleven circles radiating

Around a glowing keyhole

I stand, wondering

What is the key?

Do I hold it?

Do I fear it?

Will I use it?

Will I

Harm others with it?

How do I center and refine

My spirit, heart, mind and body

With this question of Power?

Something rests heavy

When called to take up the helm

I don’t want it, I don’t want it

But somehow it is time to make a change

How do I refine my body heart mind and spirit

With Power?

In all previous forms, this combination is rash

This combination is paradoxical

This combination is just not done

Power and ethical alignment

Don’t these directly contradict

Or is there

A way

A way to stand in Power

That isn’t all about acquisition and maintenance

That doesn’t find itself

Creating its own prison?

Building wealth, planning finances

Building business or political structures

How does this contribute

To improving ethical alignment?

Using the Power wisely?

Staying connected with compassion?

Eyeing down greed and miserliness?

Or perhaps it is all about being rooted and earthed

Being able to flourish with a sense of safety, security

And inner strength

Is that true Power?

What is Power?

What does it mean to wield it?

Power over

Power under

Power…with?

Do I shut myself out

Of standing tall in the world with my power

Shuddering in this room of smallness

This safe little place

So comfortable with nothing

Allowing others to take up important positions

While I sweep the floor

And connect deeply with passersby

Is there more for me to do?

Am I being called to stand in the center of the circle

Drum in hand

To lead them through healing

Am I being charged with sitting in the seat

Of counsel, as if my wisdom can assist

Instead of here, sweeping the floor

Connecting deeply with passersby?

Here, sweeping,

There is no session to charge for

There is no accolade

There is no credit

There is no

Expectation

Just sweeping

And breathing

And the connecting of two beings

How do I use this Power?

Do I use this Power?

Can I use it in generosity

Can I lead, from the sweeper’s heart?

Can I use my position

To empower myself, and others?

Can I own my personal energy and vitality

Stand in self-assuredness

Sharing this, and my creativity

In this world, in a good way?

Or do I stay here

In this little room

In this little body

Sweeping

Smiling

And letting go of being anything

At all?

Power

I hold this key

To unlock the chamber

To walk through, beyond

To burst forward, roaring like a mighty lion

Who will I hurt

Who will I help

If I step out

From beyond this little room

Into Power

Power

When I hear the word, I want to cringe

Power over

Manipulation

Colonizer

Accumulating objects

Keeping others in fear

This is not the Power

I want to wield

I want my Power

To be in the service of Love

To be in the service of empowering others

To be in the service of helping us all gain freedom

Power

I’ve always avoided it

Grand titles, affluent offers

Never really sparkled in my realms

The small, the meek, the subtle

The whisper, the mystery, the sacred whoosh

Of bird wing

These, instead, have captivated my soul

More than any status would do

But lately, there are reflections calling

Asking me for my opinion

Curious about my guidance

Calling me to serve, drum in hand

Inquiring whether I will share my words

To bring peace, to bring center, to hold the grieving

Is that…Power?

I’ve so many twisted ideas and notions

Of this word Power

Some fortressed castle and an old, miserable man

That’s not the Power I want to share

I’d rather be the sweeper, the bakery deliverer

Free to come and go through those heavy walls

Free to share heart and presence with the common people

How can I center or refine

My spirit, my mind, my heart, my body

To achieve a harmonious synergy

This is the question

At the center of the Tree…

The gateway

Calling me, answering me

Rests squarely on the girder of Strength

And its message

Is Power