Fingers

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These fingers

Trailing down the curve of your face

Holding

Gazing

Continuing along the delicate skin

On your neckline

And tracing the

Shallow gulley along the center

Of your chest

Tickling across the rough edges

Of your beltline

And breathing

Breathing

With you

.

These fingers

Will they ever find you again

Will they feel the sweat along skin

Will they pull you closer

Heart to heart

Fire to fire

Panting, animal

Once more in a lifetime?

.

Veil of haze, lifted

She shudders now, even at a distance

Something threatened, pulsating

Like the woody thorns

And stinging spray

A toxic warning protecting…

You

Can’t even get near

.

She watches, saddened but surrendered

These subterranean fears always overlooked

Now gaining full glory

She’s allowing them to scream

Dreams, they keep coming

Reminding her of the buried bodies

Deep, deep

All the ones she drowned away

.

She was hungry

And so were you

Blasting past the terrors

Telling the shivering children to be quiet

It was the best

Anyone could hope for

With ghosts like these

.

But, now

Isolated in her healing bubble

With room to reject

And power reinstalled

She can hardly remember

What these fingers felt

An echo, memory, all that’s left

The need is gone

Veil lifted; pain ignited

The effort too great

But still, she wonders

In the darkness of night

Looking at her own skin, moon-lit

Will these fingers

These fingers

Will they ever find you again

Will they feel the sweat along skin

Will they pull you closer

Heart to heart

Fire to fire

Panting

Animal

Once more

In a lifetime?

.

It’s impossible to imagine

So she breathes in

And trusts the moment

And feels

The wind

Symptom As Guide

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Breathing in

I accept you

Your pulsing nerve lightning

Your throbbing mass radiating

Across my entire existence

.

Breathing out

I send kindness and respect

That you would find healing

That you would find a way

To teach me

.

Breathing in

I feel you, deeply

Inside of me

Inside of many

Breathing out

I send kindness, respect

That you would find healing

That you would find a way

To teach us

.

Pain

Oh deep, wrathful teacher

You have come to me in many forms

Usually undetectable

On the neon diagnostic screen

But definitely

Oh definitely

You are Here

.

Pain

Oh deep, wrathful teacher

You have brought me to the brink of insanity

Wondering if you’re real

Grasping desperately for any tool

To make you disappear

Pleading for the System

To save me

From what they cannot see

.

Pain

Oh deep, wrathful teacher

In your persistence

You have become a portal

For unimaginable releasing

For unthinkable detachment

For the widest and fiercest love

Even at the edge

Of vanishing

.

Pain

Oh no

I came back

And

I see you now

In so many pretending eyes

And in that silence

I am not alone

.

Pain

I wish my class was in whipped cream and butterflies

But

Breathing

I accept you

I acknowledge the children you have uncovered

I hate you and I love you

You are the only one that can break me

To slobbering their traumas

Belly to earth

For all to see

Vulnerable

Vulnerable

Vulnerable

.

As the cool air caresses my trachea

I think on the long road we’ve been on, teacher

And how you’ve shown me what’s real

I welcome you

And breathing out

That long, slow hiss

I send kindness, respect

And the hope

That all would be at ease

That all would know you as guide

That all would lay crying

Heart broken open

By the force of your presence

Vulnerable

.

Breathing in

Breathing out

I release

I accept

I send kindness

To you, oh deep and wrathful teacher

Pain

In so many symptoms

My guide

Cause/Effect

Cards from Tarot of the Spirit by Pamela and Joyce Eakins
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The question

At the center of the Tree

Asks

What will guide you?

Yearning for some great Queen

Or archetypal wizard

My answer:

Cause…and Effect

.

Now, at first

Frustrated breath from nostril

A shaking fist at Trickster

Cursing for one more layer of confusion

At first

There was just more rage

.

But then

The question sank deeper

The answer swirling, embedding, smiling

And another door, sounding

.

The query began riddling:

You will be guided by cause and effect

You will be guided by what effect

You want to be the cause of

Your guide will not be something in the sky

Or some magickal being

Your guide

Will be you

Your guide will be the answer

To the hardest question:

What is it

That you truly want?

What is it

That you truly want your presence

To leave in its wake?

.

And then,

Silence

Silence

Silence

This question that has walked me

For all of my life

And the blankness that follows

Again,

Frustrated breath from nostril

Fist shaking to Trickster

And rage

.

This is the question of all questions

Do you agree?

One that I’ve never been able to really answer

Instead, leaving things to Mystery, to The River

To Presence and What Is

How then,

Does cause…and effect

Now decide to guide me?

How then,

In the midst of blankness

Of empty fields of vision

Does cause…and effect

Have any chance

In guiding me?

.

I breathe

I know there is something changing

Here in the center of The Tree

And I ask:

What effect

Do I want to be the cause of?

I do my best

To listen

.

Silence

Silence

Silence

And then

Imagination rises, asking:

What if, when people interacted with my offerings…

They would trust their life more,

Trust its inherent initiatory but hard loving nature…

That they would begin to see everyday occurrences and challenges

As sacred teachings being offered…

That they would begin to see the patterns

And magick happenings for them

The many daily ways

The world and their Life itself

Speaks specifically to them, for them…

That they begin to see their troubles (and awe)

As opportunities to look deeply into those part of themselves

For reconciliation and healing

Seeing that on some level,

We are all just mirroring each other

In order for our species’ wounds

To re-member…

That they would have such sacred experiences in nature

And with other living beings

That it no longer makes sense

To destroy them…

That they would trust even pain and deep illness

As a teacher, coming

Redirecting and deepening their lives

If they would but let it speak to them…

That they would become curious about

And playful creative with

Their own dark sides

Instead of casting blame and lynching

Those that hold it, heavy, for them…

That they could become self-loving

Despite the state of car, job, body, or intimate relationship

They may be experiencing as “less than ideal”

.

Silence

Silence

Silence

.

Whoa!

Where did that come from?

If that is the effect

If that is the vision

Here, in the center of The Tree

How could I possibly be the cause

When figuring that out

Seems like trying to create a business plan

For how

To become God

.

Silence

Silence

Silence

.

Blankness

Blankness

Blankness

.

Am I being asked

To plan my way to embody this cause?

And if so,

Why does it bring such blankness,

Overwhelm, such doubt?

Why

Am I just left

Staring?

.

I clear the way

I erase the plan

Allowing Life to work through

Staying present

Breath

This is all

I know how to do

And

Perhaps

That is the cause

And the effect

And how Life

And pain

And strife

And joy

Everyday

Here

At the center of The Tree

Perhaps that

Is how

It will show me

The way

.

I thank the life

Of the question

And the spirit

Of the answer

That just pirouetted

From the vastness

Into my mind

And now

There’s just silence

Silence

Silence

.

See

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From the very beginning

Scrying mystery from mattress bullet holes

I have been looking

Looking for clues

Following trails

Wondering

Where you are leading me

.

Tea leaves and oracles

Augury and portents

Wilderness quests

Searching

.

There are these repeating patterns

And sometimes I laugh

At how he shows up in my field

But rarely

Can I see

I sense the repeat

I grok the continuing theme

But rarely

Can I see

.

See what the vision is

See what this pattern wants of me

See

How these hands yearn to respond

All I see

Are patterns

In mattress bullet holes

In tea leaves

In oracles and augury

With

No

Apparent

Meaning

.

Swirling symbols

Dancing before my eyes

Not once is my hair blow back

By the message

.

I see

I laugh

And again, I sense into the gargantuan question mark

Floating in the midst of it all

.

A Melchizedek doctrine?

A Proclamation of the Quorum of the Twelve?

A neo-natal reenactment yearning?

It is as if all these symbols

Are speaking

Guiding

Showing

But I

Cannot see

.

A different language

Sometimes I wonder

If it speaks a different language

I have not learned

Does it taunt me, patterns

Over and over again

To say, Look! This is the key!

But hahahahahaha! The interpretation, occluded!

Silly human, too bad

For you!

.

From the beginning

From mysterious mattress holes

In abandoned warehouses

To Turkish coffee grounds in exotic cafes

I’ve been trying to see

I’ve been trying to understand

Why the hell I am here

And why the hell I keep searching

And what these patterns mean

And why these symbols dance before me

And how, and if

They want to transcend

.

My eyes, blindfolded

In this dark

I can only step one foot at a time

Staying present is my way

Surrendering to what I can feel

Small signs, following

Hoping they’ll lead me

Fully aware

It all might be one wild goose chase

Still, this unquenchable thirst I follow

To finally

See

.

I wrote a little ditty that goes along with this if you’re interested, mayhaps I’ll record it and post it here soon :}

.

What do

You Want Me

To seeeeee?

What do

You want me

To seeeeeee?

Over and over and

Over

Over and over

You Showwwww

Over and over and

Over

Over and over

I can’t knowwwww

What do you

Want me to seeeeeee?

Fire comes in close

But is not free

Hidden I’m hidden, I’m hidden

Hidden I’m hidden

Must be a key

Hidden I’m hidden, I’m hidden

Hidden i’m hidden

Just want

To Seeeeee

What do you

Want me

To see?

What do you

Want me

To see?

What

Do

You

Want

Me

To

Seeeeeee?

5150 neverending

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Shivering, terrified

Breath against glass

I know I must turn

I know I must wield the metal ego

Hard and mean, terrified inside

I think of Iron Maiden, Metallica

Of the howling screams of Priest

.

I summon their shield, my wrathchild

And turning

I face them

These shifting silhouettes in the night

The squeaking horror beds

The moans and wails

How could she lock me in here?

How could they send me away?

Child

Child

Just

A terrified child

.

How did I end up here?

From my loving, warm, carpeted womb

To this piss-lined locked sanitarium?

My breath shallow

I feel my feet

I summon my heroes

I stand straight

Somehow the frozen operates

And I move deeper into this night

.

I feel like prey

I do my best to hide the child

I slink over to an empty bed

I sit down and close my eyes

My head coming down into cradled hands

I

Am in hell

.

I sense a body coming near

I brace myself, muscles tightening

There is no touch, only a whisper:

Hey little girl

Welcome to the crazy house!

My head does not move

I do not want to believe this is happening

But the voice persists, filled with an unknown stench:

Me, me and the boys

We’re planning a little takeover

Rushing the orderlies when they come in for night checks

Bustin’ out of this place…wanna join us?

My head does not turn

I do not want to believe this is happening

But remnants of origins remind me

Two long years before

After all the psychological therapies

After medication, and group homes

After “recovery” and going out into the world

They thought I was ready

But here

I am

A crazed man by my side

Whispering plots of mutiny into my mind

.

I emit a No, eyes still clenched

And he playfully pushes me

I feel the impact ripple

And the squeak of coils

As he rises, stepping away

His voice, trailing:

Aww, what a shame! Gonna be a riot……

Heart racing

Breath shallow

I try to find my feet again

I don’t want to be here

But here I am

.

Slowly I maneuver this body

This tortured, fucked up body

This body that hoped it had seen the best to come

This body, terrified of the portent

I move her to lay on the reeking sheets

I curl her into a ball and grip her knees tight

.

Fears flash through my mind

As I wait for dawn

Of where I will go

Back to the fiancé I do not love?

Back to my suicidal alcoholic mother?

Back to the college I left on a stretcher to a psych ward?

Back to pounding

On the perfect glass doors

Of the only place I ever knew

What it felt like to be taken care of?

Screaming for them to admit me

Admit me forever

Screaming

I am not ready!

I am not ready!

I am not ready!

.

5150

A

Seventy-two hour hold

This is only hour four

And I already know what I must do to survive

Summon my armor

And begin the task

Of disappearing one more time

The only way I know how to show them

That without their love

All I know how to do

Is die

The act that started it all

The buried need that pushes me on and on

5150…neverending?

Will this ever

Ever

Ever

End?

5150, pt. 3

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The screaming

Has turned to sobbing

Rattlings of various life-saving objects

Dangle in the mix

Exhausted I fall into silence

Shock freezing

The rumblings of freeway buckles

Shuddering through core

Eonic

No sense of time

Nor of destination

Shivering

Shivering

.

The vehicle slows

And comes to a stop

I can hear the EMT’s laughter

And slamming doors

As they come to retrieve me

I am terrified

I am frozen

What awaits on the other side of these doors

Keep them closed

Take me back

This isn’t happening

I don’t want this to be happening

.

Bright beams interrogate my existence

As the back splays open

There are hands extending to me

There are eyes, wondering

Am I one of “those” they deliver here

On the daily?

They see

I am not

They see

Just a scared, scared girl

Pathetic really,

Crying softly now

Willing

Feeling betrayed and devastated

Head hung low

I accept my fate

And take their lead

.

We pass under the disheveled neon glow

It screams RICHMOND PSYCHIATRIC FACILITY

As I duck below and into what lies beyond

I am taken to a room

Everything is metal

Painted thickly in creams and avocados

Chairs, espresso pleather cracking

I sit

I wait

There is no one here

But the door is locked

I sit

I wait

.

I can hear the lock jiggling

And as it is sometime deep in the night

A surly exhausted nurse

Is the one to greet me

Her clothes, slightly wrinkled

Stained

She stares at me

As if to say

what are you doing here?

I am shaking

And she is asking me questions

I am answering but do not know how

The words are somehow spilling

And I

Am doing what I’m supposed to do

.

I hear her warbling voice

Telling me I have been transferred

No longer qualified to be kept in voluntary

And, quite frankly, over the age limit

That the

Warm

Safe

Structured

Children’s hospital can allow

I fucked it all up

Her eyes say

Silly girl

They repeat

You’ll learn

I think I hear them say

.

And then we are walking down a flickering tunnel

A hallway to somewhere forbidden

And my feet, they are moving

Without a walker

I

Am not really here

Anymore

But still, my nose

Is filled with urine, and rubbing alcohol

And stale black coffee

And I feel like prey

.

Then

We are stopped before them

Great, thick, impenetrable doors

And she is hovering a card

And there is a bolt unlocking

And her hand pushes me into the unknown

It is dark inside

I hear screaming, moaning

I hear shuffling, snickering

I feel stagnant, hopeless air against my cheek

.

I am frozen

And

The nurse places

A blanket

A towel

And a pillow

Into my empty hands

My back is towards the ward

I do not want to see

Somehow this surly uncaring human

Is the lesser of two fears

And my eyes stay fixed upon her

.

She says I can take any bed

She places her hands on my shoulders, roughly

She turns me around

She lightly catapults me

Into the gaping space

She slips out the door

And I turn back,

My eyes desperate for her through the window

She doesn’t even look back

As she walks away

.

Gripping the starchy objects

I watch my pathetic, heaving breath

Form clouds on the windowpane

I am shivering

I am terrified

I am here and not here

But I know what I must do

As my heartless guide

Dissolves into the distance

I must turn

I must be strong

I must put on my battle gear

And face

What I have become

5150, pt. 2

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i must’ve nodded off

my head falling against metal, waking

looking out into the night

the moon, white and cold

no one

no one is here

.

until you

you emerge

from the chilled and lonely nothing

the one who always held me

the one who gave me hope

you

had come

.

i made you try to convince me

i made you think i was some wild, rabid animal

that upon no circumstance would return to civilization

i made you woo me

when inside all i wanted was to jump into your arms

.

you said it would be ok

you said the penalty would be small

i let you convince me

i let you convince me

truth is, i probably would’ve been better left on these streets

than what was to come

.

transported

and back at the gleaming doors

of that beautiful safe tower

i really thought

you would fight for me

and that they

would see

.

a few more months maybe?

if i was lucky, could be a whole year!

awaiting, in dark hours

as the grand rounds

decide my fate

.

suddenly

you are gone

and there are two burly men behind me

they are grabbing my arms

and i

am screaming

they are not escorting me

to my safe little children’s hospital room

they are not setting me up

with therapeutic activities to calm

they

are shoving me

out into that same night

pushing my flailing body inside

the back

of an ambulance

.

you

just as the engine ignites

you suddenly reappear

the halo of the doorlights around you

a sad, sad look on your face

it says, “I’m sorry”

and then, the portals to that once safe place

close upon me forever

i can only see you shrinking through the glass now

sirens screaming through the night

i close my eyes and feel the terrible rumble

and it

is taking me

away

5150, pt 1

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it is cold outside

and i am running

running down the streets of riches

running to find a home

running in hopes that they’ll chase me

running

.

it is cold outside

and it is night beneath the ivory towers

a trash can, my cloak

i rest, heaving

i have no fucking idea what i’m doing

and all sorts of paradoxes are writhing around in this skin

it is cold outside

and i rest

heaving

.

they told me i was better

they told me it is time to go home now

home to the fake fiance

home to the subterranean aching grief

home to the abyss

of him

i filled my body with your sustenance

i can stand now, without collapse

but the size of his loss still echoes gunshots

forever within

they told me i was better

and so i ran

.

past the voluntary unit doors

down the pleasantly colored carpeting

nodding to the nurses, on my way to the cafe

no one noticed me slipping out into the blackness

no one noticed me pushing my speed

no one noticed

and i

was running

.

sweat pouring, terrified and elated

months and months of observational exercise restraint

i

was running

.

momentary freedom aside

the thoughts they chased me, consuming

running

running

why

am

i

running?

.

running from the only place

i’ve ever felt at home

running from the ones that hold me together

running from the walls and curfews that protect me

from Her

from Him

running

i am running

so that they’ll know i’m not okay

so that they’ll keep me longer

god what a fucked up case of trash i am

so that they’ll keep me longer

please

chase me

find me

see that i am not

okay

.

but here i am

behind this reeking steel

heaving

body coursing with panic and survival

and no one’s coming

and it’s cold

and i’m not running

and the academics grimace as they walk by

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

if i’ll turn

and run back

and tell them

while they look at me crazy

and say

well,

your insurance thinks

you no longer

are on the edge of dying

so we’re sorry

but it’s time

for you to go

.

no

i am seventeen

and i have cupfuls of prozac stashed

and i want you to save me

and i want to be locked up forever

and my mother is suicidal

and my boyfriend is far beneath the earth

and somebody tore me open long ago

and i’m sitting here by this refuse knowing

if you let me go i’ll be dead

.

so no

i will wait here

and i will feel that hunger

until you find me

until you hold me

and it is

warm

inside

again

Ingal, The Kitchen Witch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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