A rare and precious opportunity

I've taken a much-needed hiatus from posting, using the time to go even deeper within than I can possibly go with an audience. Not much poetry has come up within this time, only clarity--but it's a clarity I cannot speak of, not yet. The seedling is too fragile; it will die if I allow it to be trampled underfoot.

What brought me back was the call I received to serve on the team for the next Gift Weekend in Chicago. This is an absolutely unique event, an opportunity for women to connect with the deep innate Feminine wisdom in the safety of sacred space, a chance to receive the deepest longings of our hearts--even those longings we dare not even speak aloud to others. I would not be who I am today if I hadn't been dragged to an introductory circle back in 2007.

The Gift is a three-day journey, taken by twenty-two women at a time. Each weekend is an absolutely unique event and cannot be duplicated. Participants have the opportunity to create for themselves a unique, personal rite of initiation--involving the death of something that no longer serves, and a rebirth into something new. At my initiation in 2007, I released 30 years of pent-up rage and received a completely new mind and spirit--that was where I ceased to be Sarita, with all the old labels and judgments that had been placed on her, and became Linmayu. The other women there witnessed my initiation--leaving no room for any doubt that it was real--and I witnessed theirs, and saw a world of possibilities open up. Each woman's initiation is as unique as the woman herself--and nothing is too big for the Divine Feminine to handle. I've seen women break the chains of sexual abuse, create new and more fulfilling ways of being in relationship, and find firm, unshakable connection with their own divinity. I've gone down into the deepest depths of my despair and beyond--and felt completely safe to do so. I've danced with wildness and found an ecstasy and connection better than sex.

The logistics: The weekend will take place August 28, 29, and 30, in the Chicago area--exact location to be determined. We are already in the process of weaving the sacred container for the weekend. Currently, I believe, there is space for only 7 more women to attend. If you feel called to the space, or to fulfill a deep longing in your life--if that little voice in your gut is saying "Yes!" right now--then please contact me for further details. Send me a phone number you can be reached at and the best time to call, and I or one of the other team members will follow up with you promptly.

I'm feeling ridiculously excited about this event. I can't wait to see who will be there and what the Creator has in store for all of us this time.

On What Is #8

I'm sick with a cold, and it feels like I'm a completely different person. Stuck, heavy, inert to the extreme. I wonder if the cold caused these feelings, or if the feelings made me susceptible to the virus.

Boogersnot Girl has a life of her own, a body of goo wiggling about inside my body. Mucking up emotions, heating the furnace, stirring the swamp-soup.

Boogersnot Girl isn't pretty and isn't polite. She sneezes and blows her nose and scratches and farts. Boogersnot Girl isn't interested in sex, doesn't take showers, and chews with her mouth open.

Boogersnot Girl doesn't want to talk to people. She just wants to be a swamp thing made of goo, permanently merged with the covers of my bed.

Is that so hard to understand?

Why do all my poems seem to be about dudes?

This poem is inspired by a vision that I had during a session with sound healer Louise Cloutier, who is also a singer and songwriter, and is awesome. She performs about once a month at Life Force Arts Center, definitely worth checking out if you're in Chicago.

Rock-solid man
I breathe and melt
feeling your presence across the desert sands as you stumble blindly,
called to me by an unknown power.

I know you won't find me, not any time soon. Yet I will not move toward you.

I am here, standing on a sand dune as the wind plays with my hair and skirt. I am here, in deep communion with my Creator.

When you find me, touch me gently. If your sight returns, I will be with you.

On What Is #7

I was told by a psychic that rejection and betrayal are a part of my karma. I am apparently drawn to them like a moth to a flame. This is the first straw to break that camel's back.

I like cliches. So sue me. :D

Go ahead. Take this heart.
Stomp on it. Stomp it to death. Beat it to an unrecognizable, bloody pulp and throw it under the bus.

You will find that what doesn't kill me, makes me stronger.
And what does kill me, makes me stronger.

I will rise a thousand times from these ashes. I will dance wildly on my own grave. No one can keep me from this joyous communion, this passionate coupling for which I need no partner but my own soul.

Poegle: sitting depressed staring at the computer screen

I don't find poegles have the same healing power as poems that I write myself, but they can still provide insight into a situation. I should take my own advice and go for a walk...probably an astral walk as it is rather late at night...rather than continuing to sit at the computer and post here...I promise I'll do so right afterwards. :)

There was a car-sized chunk of lead sitting on my chest
I find myself staring at my computer monitor
Consumers are more depressed than they have been in a long time.
I have been staring at that the computer screen so long it beginning to morph ... The time passes and you're still sitting there staring
Depressed Sad Woman.

They come over to see you sitting all day at the same place
staring at the computer monitor for almost an hour waiting for ...
for a good conversation,
someone who will keep me away from feeling depressed

twenty kids sitting at attention in dead silence, staring at computer
No wonder they're depressed.
they are made to forage, hunt, exercise, and sleep.

the less time in front of the computer, the better.

Poegle: Christian dogma creates atheist dogma

Blame Google, not me. ;)

Actually, go ahead and blame me, I can handle it.

Right now, we are talking about the fundamental dogma of atheism
They are peddling their own metaphysical dogmas in the name of science
I became an atheist as the one alternative that is FORBIDDEN
homophobe religion dogma hate bigot
I have found Christian dogma unintelligible. Early in life, I absenteed myself

if God doesn't exist, everything and anything is permissible
the atheist has no use for religion of any kind
And MAN CREATED GOD
Beware of Dogma

“scientific” Christian’s view of God looks very similar to an “atheist”
Life creates order out of chaos, sense out of non-sense and fusion out of disintegration.
This is perhaps the most honest and forthright atheist group I have ever seen.
In fact, reason is intrinsic to the Judeo-Christian tradition.
Dogma, not faith, is the barrier to scientific enquiry

The proponents of the new atheism presuppose a naïve form of theism that perceives God,
It has been launched as a backlash to the heavy handed Christian ads
The dogma's bollocks

the Creator has created the living world
appeasing religious zealots only creates a culture of entitlement
both communist and Christian dogma make the present so bland, boring and hopeless
Bury Old Dogma

On What Is #6

This poem is one I want to judge for being too melodramatic and emo, however, when I had finished writing it, I LITERALLY felt my body change. Every old wound, every screaming cell, every scar dissolved into pure heat and just ran down my spine and out through my feet into the floor.

A hundred thousand scars cover this body. A hundred thousand defeats in a world where a single defeat merits death. And I am still alive--if barely. A hundred thousand taut cords and wires bind this body to the grave.

A hundred thousand old wounds cry out to be reopened by the relentless knife of circumstance. Calling in more and more sin, more and more defeat, more and more death upon me.

The universe produces all that is requested and piles it on so high, so wide, so deep that a thousand friends could not lift the burden from me.

Yet one Friend can.

One grain of faith smaller than a mustard seed takes down every opposition, heals every wound.