Initiatory Images

On the book cover

Rectangular and bare

I would first layer blotches of red

Red raining down

As I ask the skies of my purpose

Praying, yearning, weeping

And torrents of blood, answering

This would be the first image

There would then

Be an image I’m not quite sure how to form

Me, pacing wildly, heart racing, sweat beading

Swirling images of stirrups, scrapers, torture of eras past

Crying, hyperventilating into the phone

Terrified of what was happening

Fears of impending doom

Gasping, gasping

That would be the second image

Then there would be the Darkness

Coming over me on that twisted highway

Contemplating endings as tall pines gleam in the sunshine

How to form an image of the juxtaposition

Of brilliant, warm rays and the uselessness

Purposelessness

Confused and betrayed by my flesh

Not knowing whether it wants to kill me

Or initiate me into coming alive

Choked up, tearless silence

Darkness, Darkness, Darkness

Perhaps the triplicity, Hekate, would be there

This would be the third image

Spit-soaked pillows

Tear-drenched sleeves

Twisted sheets and heating pads

Shrieking at each small movement

Me, defeated and prone

Nowhere to go, no one to be

The cage of pain

What color can capture that?

Next I’d probably layer images

Of a succession of scales

Measuring cups

And the face of ticking time

Mysterious perpetrators

Hollowed out torsos

And gaunt, famished stares

I’d put a mirror up to them all

I’d put me finally

Facing it all

But I’d also draw thin circles

I’d draw them everywhere

As if emerging from the Nothingness

Hands, and circles, holding

Yes these would be scratched and repeated

Over and over again

The background color is still a mystery

In fact, perhaps it would be just that

The color…of Mystery

Dark, star-pricked indigo

Auroras intermingling

Roots and branches and webline lineages

Moon phases morphing, fingers pointing, crescents dancing

Coming together, weaving

Cradling it

Cradling it all

Finally, I’d take out my scissors

Cutting haphazard letters from ironic magazines

I’d line them up, carefully

Over the entire display

Until glued, they joined forces

And screamed

A Woman’s Experience of Menopause

And I would sit back

And give thanks

That this deep, deep body

Not caring what anyone else would think

Reached out and shook me awake

Blood Mysteries!

Yes, I’d sit back and give thanks

That today

I can remember

Hearing Her

In three short days

I will sit in a room

Feet up in stirrups

Painkillers in my belly

Friend by my side

On this day

(Barring my body’s own refusal,

A fainting or other somatic scream)

An instrument will be inserted

And a part of me will be sucked out

And placed into a container

Clear and clean

I will hopefully rise from the table

Grateful for such grace and ease

I will smile at my doctor, and friend

I will walk out into the world,

Having faced the medical monsters

That terrify

Meanwhile

This part of me, suctioned

Will be in a tube

And will travel to some laboratory hands

It will be studied, dissected

It will be judged

As good or bad

Several days later

I will receive a call

(or message if the news is “good”)

I will be informed if this part of my body

Has passed the test

I do not know how I feel about it all

Besides straining to trust

That no matter what

My body is taking me on an initiation

Its extreme cries urging me

To reach out

To overcome my resistance

To hospitals, and pharmaceuticals

And diagnoses

And to sit in a room

In three short days

Feet up in stirrups

Painkillers in my belly

Friend by my side

While an instrument is inserted

And a piece of me

Is sucked out for its journey

I am so grateful

To have the luxury of friends

Of caring staff, and sanitized medical tools

And despite my fears

I will go with the intention

Of hearing Her

In the swirling mind control of the System

Hoping for meaning

Hoping for an understanding

Of this Great Body and its terrifying symptoms

Hoping for a translation

Of what She, who I refuse to see as faulty

Is trying to say

Emanations

From the Zero

All pervasive, fullness, emptiness

Electric whizzings throughout the whole

Comes the One

Centration

The definition of Self

Some say this Self is unique

Never having existed before

A state-of-the-art singular embodiment

Of the Universe

This One, then

Becomes attracted to another

Be it in flesh or mind,

This One becomes the Two

Setting its focus, day and night

Something grows, resulting

Between the One and its focus of

Desire

This Two begets the Three

This Three

Formed by the uniqueness of the One

Formed by the desire and passion of the attraction

Begins to grow, stabilize

All is well

The garden flourishes,

Bright blossoms reveal

The Sun shines

Suddenly great tremors cross the land

Violent shooting crevices slicing

The petals, the careful tended formation

Torn to shreds

The Four becomes the Five

It always comes

This necessary destruction

Devastated, the One stares down

At the mess of the garden

That focus, that desire, that beauty

Gone, gone, gone

And has two choices

To wish for the Four, to pine

For what once was

Or to leap into the terrifying unknown

To trust, to release, to open

To what wants to now become

With risk of the next severity

To take on, and into the Six

Granted the abyss is crossed

(These choices do not always move forward)

Here the One lands in a shimmering light

Where all filaments connecting, felt, seen, heard

Beating, beaming, filling with gold

The Five has become the Six, overflowing

With the Great Fool’s knowing

That this too shall pass

Surely, as if by mode of prediction

The Six feels the illusory beams dissolving

The center standing strong

But all else, everywhere, flounders

Here again, a question

Dissolve into past’s bitterness

The inevitable victimhood of the Five

Or make another leap

Choose the vision quest

Dream a new dream to reach for,

Rack the mind for meaning

Turn inward, reflection

Reframing initiation

Again?

This then, is the choice of the Seven

Holding onto these reins

Staying centered, open, alive

Feeling the great void, the risks

All that has been

In the Silence, in the Seven

The One begins

To receive

Codes, new language, receiving

A symbolization of The Journey

It takes root, the One becomes scribe

Pages and pages of the tale

Begin to gather

In the Eight, the One somehow knows

The task will be to bring all of this into view

To give it life, to walk it out into the world

But first, the One also somehow conceives

That time in the Nine is necessary before the birth

The Nine of absorption, of preparation

Of sinking into subconscious terrors

That may protest

In the Nine, this One tends

To all that was forgotten

And, again as if prediction

The One arrives into the Ten

Feeling, knowing

It is time to bring their understandings forward

To serve, to deliver, to shine

This great brilliance they have maintained, bellowed

On their path of unfolding

Here, at the Ten

The One walks daily, humbly beaming

And knowing, that soon

Into the Zero

They will become again

If then,

This whole structure is truth

We can see that to

Know Thyself

We can see that to

Follow true desire, true passion

Is what turns this whole Wheel

So if it fits, if these words somehow spark alive

Tend to that unique flame within you

Follow its yearnings, imaginings

Even if it is so very dark

Believe and trust it is there, with all of your will

And that you too, have a great and burning orb within you

Keeping all of your planets alive

Follow it, let it lead you through the night

And may the journey of Emanation hold you

On this wild, devastating, brilliant and unbelievably

Beautiful ride

Featured

Not Alone

At least once

In every human life

There is an Initiation

Ripping, tearing, gutting

Leaving us weeping

Empty

Alone

Questioning everything

Our whole world reduced

To ashes

To harrowing silence

To a chest, too heavy

For the next choking breath

This alchemy

This darkening, nigredo

Doesn’t just visit the wicked

Doesn’t simply punish the damned

And it ain’t no precious spiritual knighting

For the martyrs who roam

Nope

This stripping happens

Whether through flesh, spirit or mind

Perhaps, for some of us

All of these, at once

We are killed

All of us

Onetime or many

In a life

But hey! That’s the good news!

Whereas the view is faceted

And each of us chooses how to reassemble

The opportunity

The fresh direction

The wide-open vista

Becomes

Somehow

In the deep, deep darkness

Fumbling, starving, in the Abyss

If we stay with it

If we stay with ourselves

Even if it takes years

Or decades

Or lifetimes

If we but trust the Initiation

We will find a ladder

And rise, rise

Out onto a new world

But

We have to let go

Of that old one

And truly, truly fall

Hopefully, while descending

We remember

That we do not do this, alone

That each time we look over

At that person

Speeding past us

On life’s highway

While we grip the Wheel, screaming

Hopefully, we remember

They too, no matter what

Have, are or will go down

Into that dissolving

That they, too

Will crawl

On their naked, bleeding bellies

Pleading for things to stay the same

Begging for the crumbling to stabilize

Wailing

Curling tightly

Into slobbering ball

Are

Killed

All of us

Onetime, or many

In a life

But hey! That’s the good news!

We are not alone

And there are some of us

Who have been twisted on numerous occasions

Drained and maimed and refilled

Over and over again

Solve et coagula

We almost welcome the next slaying

((But not really, please!))

Because we know we’ll meet you

We wait here

Arms open

We will help you

Re-member

We will call out so loudly

Sounding out

That you are one of us

Human

And that this

This

No matter who you are

Is the Initiation

Featured

You

Photo by Being.the.traveller on Pexels.com

No one ever told me about you

Isolated in the halls of insanity

No real peers to inform

Although I’m sure I at least knew of you

In that horror movie way

I can hear their laughter

And her shrouding terror

As clear as day

I personally found out about you

Through the round package of pills

They gave me in my hospital bed

Shortly after coming back

From my botched-up death

Even after this introduction

Pink plastic

Cold and sterile as it was

With descriptions of my faulty flesh

Not one time do I remember you coming

Nor how I felt about it

In the halls of insanity, and under the spell

Of other swallowable things

There is just no

Memory

What I do remember

Which says a bit about our culture, I think

Was being shown how to diet

And how the visceral feedback as a result

Could catapult me

Into a new identity in my tribe

A modern-day initiation

I suppose

Although skeletal crazy

Is not really a good look for a teen

That initiation I remember

But you?

Sad sad sad to say

My sacred one

Not one memory lingers

Not one

Even with the now dead man

I don’t remember you being there

In the midst of our sliding skins

Panting together

Never was there a mention

Or at least not a memory

Of you

Not one

The first time I actually remember you

(Aside from that round package in my hand)

Is years later, a decade perhaps gone by

Hiking in the hot and wild hills of Topanga

Suddenly, on the decline of that dusty trail

I knew

This, after years of departing from

(That round package of pills in my hand)

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

After waiting

And waiting

And grieving

After finally seeing you come

To be with me

By the sheer force

The sheer normalcy

Of this body

I knew

At your return

That a body is sacred

And can come back from anything

And has its own timing

And deserves to be honored

And witnessed

And its journey

Shared

Somehow I knew

As I felt the reality of your presence

Hanging heavy

That you were a part of my calling

To honor

To witness

To share

Your journey

In a circle of sisters

Validating this miracle

The power of life

And death

Through words

And song

And Craft

Descending on that crunchy gravel

With the hawk cry circling above me

I knew why I was here

To look in those eyes

Those confused, scared, perhaps rebellious

Eyes

Those eyes in such a pulsating uncontrollable mass

And say yes, this is your body

Your sacred body

Saying it is time now

To begin to learn

How to ride that edge

Between reality

And conception

To hold the void and all possibility

To choose, to hopefully choose

What this sacred companion could create

To befriend

To bless

To let her be seen

Initiation

A real initiation

With you, at center

Coming when it is time

Marking us with the window

Readying us to hold magic

I knew

I would forever be grateful

And would hold space for the ones left alone, lost

Confused in this increasingly complex reality

To gather

To honor

To witness

To speak

To dance

To paint

To sing

To cry

To howl

Of blood

Of You

Initiation

It begins and It ends

With Love

Wide-eyed babe

Born into arms of darkness

Swimming

Heart’s beaming anchor

Finds no ground

Born into the seven tongues

Whispering, snickering

Sneering and wiping

The Love, the Love

It goes

She falls

She forgets, spiraling

Until one day The Hermit

Wolfen by side

Meets her in the Night

Deep in the darkness

His lantern revives

Floating, floating

Absorbing, absorbing

Drinking in the light

Suddenly

Death comes

And its great scythian teachings

Prancing in with the Tower

Demolishing the bud

Of re-memberance

Of re-membrance

Of Love

Hanging by threads

She passes Death’s teachings

Through the pillars and pylons

She rides

Riding with Emperor

Structuring and building

A life anew

The scent of Love flapping

In wake of pointed spear

Sure that she’d survived it

Sure that she’d found plateau

The hunger, the hunger

For Love, it returned

Scanning and seeking

Amongst her fertile kingdom

She could not find it

Here, amongst the green

It was gone

And as if responding

To growing emanations of despair

The Magician

The Shaman

Appeared

Schooling her again

Re-membering her

With Love

On the wings of a dream

She travelled to far off lands

Following the traces

Following the symbols

Following the drum

Becoming shining babe-like Fool

Wandering

And again

Invisible worlds

Of terror

Shook her hand

Filled her core

Infusing the crevices

With crazed imaginings

Shadow overloading

Feeling into pain

Of Paradise

Smiling eyes feared her

Drunken revelries urged her sleep

Mind murky

She stumbled

Death came to her again

Knocking, grinning, asking

This time? This time?

Do you have enough

For Love in the Darkness?

Sleep so easy

Disappearance a gift

This time?

Somehow

She survived

The raking

Burned, shrunken and weary

Somehow she survived

A wizard met her there

In ineffable deepening layers

A magical castle appeared

He of great machinations

He, he reminded her

Of Love

While psychotic waters lapped

Begging for entry

The rushing river full of fishes

Soothed her

His hook and teaching of ways

Saved her

One day wandering away from the castle

Full of both aimless gratitude

And a growing gnawing desire

She stumbled across the river

Into the gates of a Grand Temple

There she was welcomed

The Priestess, smiling

Great cats pacing her sides

Even though hidden

In a gnarled knot of forked tongue

The Priestess met her there

The Priestess chose her

And said again

“Love”

The Priestess beckoned

For a pilgrimage to hot waters

Nestled in canyons

Of dusty oak and soaring vulture

Although she trembled

The trek concluded

With deer and angelica calling

To the lair of The Lovers

How to be Mother

To the Wounded Son

She tempered, she tempered

Between the internal

External

Eternal

Weaving bodies and minds

Slicing cords and sealing

Keeping silent

The Lovers changed her

The Lovers broke her heart

But fueled the Dark Mother

To realize

How to Love

How to Live

How to Serve

How to Breathe

Light, Dark, and all Between

How to hold the line

And honor

Ripped open by teacher

Over and over again

She rose, she rose

Stronger

Father Fire

Loosed her

From Lover’s Nest

To cold concrete

Again, again

Death threatened

Whittling her matter

Trying, trying her skill

Yet this time

She stared in those cold eyes

And recognized

The initiation occurring

She took up the blade

One hand grasping

The other embracing the cold bone

Of this Mother

A darker kind of Love

It is only recently

She has made her way to The Chariot

The evanescent winds of belief

Letting them in

Stepping into the carriage

Holding the reins

Looking out, onto the vista

A field both fenced and wild

Her tigresses, waiting

Her center, alight

It is only recently

She has fully re-membered

What has been and always has been

Along the many meetings

Archetypal collisions walking

Testing, testing

Urging her

To Love

This time?

Death is never far away

This time?

Do you have enough

For Love in Darkness?

She holds the reins

She feels the soft leather, sliding

The bodies of force, pulling

Raring

They say yes

She says yes

To Love,

To the deep heart of remembrance

Waking and reminding

We are here!

There is a path!

Great forces

Within

Without

Circling

They have made us!

Wild and mystical tendrils

Webbing specific faces

And places

These gates, hollows, temples

Soul breath, we look into each other’s eyes

And exclaim

It is time

To go

Love, love, love

Through darkness, madness and fear

Great veils of self-initiation

We’ve walked

We’ve carved sigils into heart

Bleeding, gathering

Recording

Love, love, love

We do it all for Love

It began

With Love

It ends

With Love

Your

Our

Initiation

Love

In the Darkness

Image from The Tarot of The Spirit by Pamela and Joyce Eakins found on: https://www.elitarotstrickingly.com/blog/the-tarot-of-eli-minor-arcana-thoth-tarot-3-of-cups-abundance-tarot-of-the

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!

https://anchor.fm/raven417

Deep Below

Thought I’d switch it up this week and share a video poetry readsong. Hope you enjoy :}

Come

From deep

Below

Been

Here

Long

Time

Come from deep below

Go to get the magick

Down

Come from deep below

Been

Here

Long

Time

Come from deep below

She’s wandering, heady

Think she’s got it all

But lo, she kisses not the whole

I am grieving and

Hold

Her

Key

Come from deep below

Been

Here

Long

Time

Come from deep below

Soul, Soul, Soul

My cries will call her home

Go to get the magick

Down, Down, Down

Come from deep below

Been

Here

Long

Time

Come from deep below

Haggard, dripping

Starving,twisting

Beaten, shackled

Refused, judged

Fixed…Or attempted

Turn

Rage

Soul, Soul, Soul

My grief will call her home

Go to get the magick

Down, down, down

Come from deep below

Been

Here

Long

Time

Over

And over

I come from deep below

Been here

I’ve been here

A long

Long

Time”

The Final Proof Reveal…Food Memories!!!

Hello amazing people. I hope this reaches you and your loved ones in a well place…so much going on these days. I send my love out to you.

I am so grateful to have this outlet to share this process. Thanks for tuning in with me. Especially anyone who has followed my journey from the beginning, to finally seeing this completion.

So. I finally received my proof copy in the mail. I waited two days to open it, nervous. Nervous it would look bad again, requiring another round of fluffing. Nervous it would look good, requiring me to finally push the publish button. Despite my quaking, this morning I drew a tarot card and decided to dive in. Here’s what happened.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is image1-1.jpg — Nine of Pentacles and the waiting package

The first card I draw is the Nine of Pentacles. A lovely lady in her fruitful, peaceful and protected garden. She is admiring the completion of a physical creation. This gives me solace as my hands shake whilst ripping the package open. I certainly want to have the calm, full of gratitude kind of aura this lady has, but all I am is nervous! My breath shallow, I slowly lift the copy out of it’s package…would this copy be the one that urges me to finally release it into the world?

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is image2.jpg — The front of the final proof, and Tower/Fire cards…yow!

The first view is of the front cover. I chose to change the arrangement of the picture and title so I could use a different template for the back cover. It isn’t the most amazing arrangement, but it ain’t half bad. I kind of like it, actually. I also chose to switch to a glossy finish, which looks classy too. I’m kind of feeling more like that lady in the garden now. I flip through the inside, I really like the look of the formatting. I really like it. I feel…gulp…it is time to decide to be done. To press print.

I am drawn to choose two more cards now that the worst part is over…ones that exemplify my next step with the book. I choose the Tower and the Knight of Wands. Double gulp!

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is image3.jpg — The back cover and looming presence of the initiation cards

Satisfied with the front and inner matter, though a little nervous about the nature of these cards, I turn the book over to inspect the back. I like this view a lot. I included a picture and a little bio here and it looks nicely spaced out. Triple gulp…I think it really is ready.

But what of the cards? The Tower, showing a lightning bolt decimating a structure, ablaze and people jumping out of it, is not exactly the warm and fuzzy nature of the Nine of Pentacles above. A peaceful garden it is not. And the Brother of Fire, he’s also not just sitting around being grateful. He’s moving quickly, aiming towards his goal with passion and determination.

What this means to me is that in the course of just a few minutes–before opening the package to now holding the final proof in my hands and writing about it–I have gone from a safe, contemplative place to one of readiness for a powerfully transformative stage in my creative process. One that requires strong and determined action on my part. One that requires the risking of heading into major foundation shaking. Often the Tower card might indicate to not do a thing, but coupled with the Brother of Fire, it feels like it is saying, “Yes this will totally rearrange you, to hit publish and release this into the world…but you must! You must! We must! Let us ride into the fire and be transformed!”

I think I just might be crazy enough to follow that guidance. By the next time I blog, I very well may have pressed “Publish” and have Towerish experiences to report to you. For now, I am sharing these images with you, shaking in my boots but also feeling the Brother of Fire within me. I do believe I am about to ride into the Fire.

*Nine of Pentacles from the Golden Universal Tarot by Roberto De Angelis; Tower and Brother of Fire from the Tarot of The Spirit by Pamela Eakins.

How To Be More Confident

How To Be More Confident

Acknowledge and honor the past
But let go of the archaic ways that no longer serve you
Let the Old Bear grieve
Take him into your arms
Dance
Like a jaguar
Merge the opposite energies
Harness your focus
Disperse to unifying

Own the story of your journey
Of Meaningful Coincidence
Of The Chosen One
Ripped apart
Into disbelieving embers
And
Rise from the underworld of nothingness

Hold the opposites
Dance with skeptics and believers
Start with the Dream

Ironically
And perhaps
Crazy making
To some

How to be more confident
Involves
Paradoxically practicing
The wisdom
Of insecurity