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.

On What Is #5

Home

Call in my home
As sunlight shines down around my prone body.
Kissing the earth,
I feel safe within here.
Safe deep within myself, from the life of the surface world, where I run, without stopping, for eternity, as though a tiger is constantly at my back.

Disconnect, and find the place of sunlight which you can never find by looking for it.

Spontanea 3/11/09

I've just returned from performing at Spontanea, which is Joan Forest Mage's weekly performance series. It is a hard thing to explain. I could say that it is dance, or that it is energy work, or that it is both, but does that really make sense to anybody?

What seemed to be happening, from my point of view on the "stage," was that I called a certain spiritual energy into the space, and then it came in full force and took us over and carried us on an amazing journey through the spirit world. An audience member commented after the performance that she had seen the story of the creation of the universe. I had felt the same thing--there was a point at which I felt like I was floating in an endless sea, the world being made entirely of water.

I was floating, riding and channeling the energy present in the space. It almost didn't matter whether anyone was watching or not; it almost didn't matter what Joan was doing. At times her voice would rise up and send me into another world, and I let the energies of that world flow through my body into movement. There was a great moment where I felt like the sun blazing at the center of the universe, with the solar system in orbit around me...and then the energy wound down, I stood facing Joan in a prayer pose and watched as the energy seemed to open her up from within. In spirit I was at the top of a cliff, overlooking the ocean, and I asked my spirit guides what I needed to do next. There was no answer but silence, and we allowed the ritual to complete.

Driving home, I noticed the full moon in the sky, as big as a silver dollar. Of course. Of course it would be a full moon tonight. It felt like the perfect answer to all the questions I had asked in silence earlier in the evening.

On What Is #4

I don't like
my poems
anymore.

On What Is #3

Embracing the raw, yucky truth

He is gone
and there may never
be another
in this lifetime.

The heart weeps--as much as a stone can weep.
Which is to say, the heart does not weep.

Only the useless flailings of regret, well-worn tracks. One beats one's head continually against a stone.

In this seasonless world one simply climbs the gray stone wall, blindly. One never knows if the climb will lead outside, to deliverance, or into the abyss of inevitable decay and death.

One climbs without asking these questions. It is not efficient to ask these questions.

And yet, were I to ask them...there is one who would answer.

I could waste a year or more just writing poegles.

Basically you google a word or phrase, and then take interesting phrases from the search results to make a poem.

Here is one about me:

Enter Paradise.
to break the cycle of my karma, from this day forward, Curse the Yagudo.
Everything you ever wanted to know (and some things you didn't)
Cats, especially gray ones. Dancing. Beautiful music. Dreams in Vana'diel, leave the body and walk the astral plane. Songs of the Inner World. An artist of life. touch the sphere.
a lovely, perpetually pantsless woman
FABULOUS naked pictures of myself
OMG! Thistle, stop molesting Curilla!
I hate it when my bait gets eaten by a rusty subligar.
Linmayu is wearing the tail that was made for her!

and one about Makani:

Get off your booty and vote! Sail Makani
what is the company's product? Stealth startup
Deranged insect noise art handcrafted from quality hard-shell gourds.
makes landfall on Oahu
remains true to the oldest form
We had been walking for hours and somehow
Coiled to face the gusting wind, power and grace in motion.

I could go on all night, but I will leave it at this. Feel free to post your own poegles in the comments!

On What Is #2

I realized that the imaginary man I have been calling Makani is in fact something else entirely. I am just now getting to know who he really is, just scratching the surface. Is he an aspect of me, an aspect of the Divine, or both? Is there a difference?

Makani is two men.
He rides the wind through my heart and body, he touches the deep, dark, hurt places and sets the waterfalls flowing.
And yet he is a distant man with a harsh lesson, a man who kicked me off the pier into the ocean, a man who stays out of sight and out of reach while I wander in the wilderness alone to do the work I must do, to find the answers I must find.
The promise of his love is like an endless smile from heaven. He carries me to faith.
And he leaves me alone in the water to sink or swim.
He is the Beloved and he is my teacher. I know him intimately and I have just now met him.
Something is beginning.