Spirit in Refrain

I was angry at my body this morning for feeling so weak, worn, and willowed, 

My ears too sensitive to man made sounds. 

In that headspace, hidden behind a dingy door painted in blackest blue, 

The halls to my spacious, yet fretting safe,

Call to me as an internal contemptuous cave,

Walls adorned by faces scorn, close callously in on me.

An overwhelming pressure persists amidst my skull and behind my eyes,

Making the wind’s gentle whistle 

Through the sloth shaped branches and leaves 

All the more lovely. 

I tune into surrounding singsong chirps, 

To then doze off to the sounds of Michael’s  

Melancholic melodies that magically melt my mind.

His muse now setting down her personal musings,

No more can I manage to write and instead, fade from physical frustrations

To disconnect, then emerge as sunshine stained leaves,

 Left alone to swing in silent slumber.

Drifting. Drifting.

I thought of green metamorphic patterns, ablaze in our golden orb, 

Transcending the sphere to extend infinitely, 

In a kaleidoscopic prism of warm hues. 

A mandala of sunset death to sunrise birth,

Exploding colors of yin and yang. 

Blossoming butterflies, dancing dragonflies, and lightening lady bugs 

Communing in a cyclical flutter of electric emotion and divine devotion

To form Laputa, our sacred space for lamentation. 

“I hear the real, though far off hymn, that hails a new creation...”

Then those delicate winged words waken my lips.

I taste a hunger for my love’s embrace and honeyed tea. 

Still gently swinging as I lay on my back,

I open my eyes to the sway of vibrant green above, 

Reflecting lemon rays from the too bright sun.

Just one black bird is present in the clear, omniscient sky.

I delight in this pristine peace, until children across the fence 

Send shrills of late spring joy through the air. They are too loud, my hazy head sighs. 

‘Tis understandable, for the sun sings, “Summer Solstice is nigh”,

But I so desire the still that comes with heavy velvet darkness and a roaring fire.

My fire did then come, my sweet love with his Bee Gee’s hair and poetic air.

He sat with me on the swing as I still was in pain.

A sloth wanting not to move—arms, legs and spirit in refrain. 

I sat up and held my love tight, abandoning a few tearful breaths 

To let go of all that was draining me. 

Kisses and connection, 

Eye to eye,

Ajna to Ajna, 

Deep well to deep well. 

This man brings me to grounded life, no matter where I stray and seek to obliterate.

He makes me sane within this fertile, metamorphic, impossible love. 

He is my fate and slowly with him, my heart’s tethered bile shall dissipate,

As I dissolve into God’s unwavering waters of Heavenly heroin,

To become the heroine who needn’t stay from wholeness and faith. 

I breathe in once more to breathe out fear. I am here, only ever here.

Forever holding up a mystical mirror for all willing to see this God of love

Who deems we two become one.

Swimmer’s Dance

 I feel heavy today.

An unseen pressure taking residence upon my homebody.

Will this resulting restraint end? Will I ever feel the freedom to fly again?

I must admit I am in a state of depression, melded to my seat,

Awaiting tragedy, apathetic to life. I want out of this poor me feeling.

Sensitive to the sorrow and overwhelm of others. Packing everything up as my own.

I know I can let this all go and I will. One day.

But right now time is spiraling out of control, 

And no matter the moments of soul satisfying stillness,

Where I find myself floating above a ravine 

Into divine nothingness,

I am right back here in this gravity.

That’s God for you.

What do I do about this life? How do I be about this life?

There must be more. I’m Jonah, trapped in the whale of my mind,

Overthinking the waters of life.

Fear pulls me down into a blue abyss,

Where I choose to lean on substances or other’s energies to endure the kilter.

I’ve got to get out of my head before I mentally drown.

If I commit to the flow will I lose myself, swept up in a tidal wave?

I am saturated in salt water tears, forming an ocean of bittersweet reverie.

Perhaps my dissolve into these waters is the solution.

It’s August and I am falling into a deep inferno of confusion

For how to keep being a human rather than a bird.

In reverie of planes and soaking in the surrounding foliage

As though Autumn is upon us.

Do the trees weep as their leaves fall?

For this death I witness is actually beautiful and inspires me to keep breathing

And writing and doing and being.

Each moment drifting into something I feel I shall never get back.

An ever-changing spiral of words I aim to grasp

And understanding I wish to attain.

Yet time sews this Fibonacci life web eternally.

I am forever in this now.

Alone, nothing at all, and simultaneously connected to the divine everything.

A car slowly passes by with the windows rolled down.

Their resounding music halts my musings

As Tears for Fears hits my nerves then reaches my ears,

“Something happens and I’m head over heels…”

A song about love that I have always held dear. 

Music continues to save me and bring me to the present.

The heaviness almost dissipates and I become lighter on my feet,

Swaying to the lyrics lingering in my mind,

Taking form to my body.

I am now the ocean, awake to the depth of my sorrow.

Embracing the heaviness that empathy often brings,

I flow through a space of ephemeral melancholy with Sophia, the soul of wisdom.

She holds my hand as we twirl with time

In a swimmer’s dance.

Heaviness still, but in the letting go flow.

Our Rose Garden Island

Your radiance is like sunshine bloomed rose

Sweetness wrapped in mauve,

Glowing of natural morning dew, even upon the evening.

Authentically uncalculated in approach

Your voice a melodic whisper

Communicating curiosity and wonder.

 

I gaze into your eyes for hours

Pulled deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole

Of untamed questions and musings,

Honey heavy on our lips.

We watch the sunset together

And though it’s far too cold, we commit to the feeling.

Seeking maps to our own internal saunas.

 

Cotton candy skies whisper to me,

“Be free and notice the sweetness.”

Surrounded by perfume scented earth,

We are in anew,

Grounded and awake.

I fantasize that no one else is around

For this moment is ours.

 

Together we exchange seeds of thought

And I am gifted a remembrance

Simple and succinct

To slow down and be here now.

How easy this is to forget.

 

Hummingbird thoughts flicker throughout my mind

As my butterfly center dances

And teeth chitter chatter.

The words won’t come out quite right, but that’s okay.

I listen intently to your wavering words and breath easy

For it’s not just me.

 

The ever-changing sky draws a pink bridge

Hovering above us as we shiver

At our rose garden island.

I meld into the moment and notice the moon

Reflected too in your eyes.

Now I see.

 

Now we contemplate archetypes, time, and to be

In a daze of symphonic melancholy

And sustained enchantment.

We are saturated in starlight

Existing in untethered love

Partaking in our own communing sacrament.

Our velvety vehicle to the vast above.

 

I forget all the rest and welcome profound stillness.

An Offering

She just wants

To be respected

For the profound passion she holds.

 

There is a lion inside,

Full of pride and innate serenity.

Sitting and waiting

Listening for the call

To stand up for reverence and truth.

 

Solar spirit brews.

Her fire sparks.

 

There has been pain and anger,

But the lioness is unrelenting.

She’s ready to fight for what is right.

 

Be still. Go in.

She’s fanning an internal flame.

 

She just wants

To create

A world of deep feelings and profound beauty.

 

There is a swan inside,

Full of grace and stubborn authenticity.

Traversing the deep,

Feeling for the call

To respond to saturated emotions.

 

Moonlit hope emanates.

Her waters sparkle.

 

There has been sadness and fear,

But the swan is releasing.

She’s preparing to speak for the suffering.

 

Be still. Go in.

She’s painting an offering of eternal love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Jedidiah Piper

River Tweed Bed

The train just passed and whispered your name as I lay in my river Tweed bed.
I keep wondering why you’re not here.
I see your smirk in the desk top mirror,
though I’m looking at my own reflection. I prefer your face.
Especially when it’s near mine.
I want to Velcro my parted lips to yours and not have to let go.
Shall we run away together someday?
Seize time and collect postcards from every place we feel those three overused words?

The triad bursts from my mouth like fireworks and I expect my tongue to burn.
But I just taste notes reminiscent of jasmine pearls.
I’m tea stained, soaking in your warm arpeggio of tears.
A shower of pelagic pleasure dissipates the fear that your embrace will one day disappear,
like dream-work condensation in a drought.

I’m blue tonight, though, because nothing seems enough.
I just want to hear you whisper my name as we float in a sea of tangled limbs.
Your hands in mine. My lost soul is seeking an unerring compass
to the path that bears to your deepest heart.
I am a flood of desire when it comes to you.
I often find romance hopeless, but I’m threading my lyrics of love to create for you a blanket.
It’s kind of ragged, but it will keep you warm.

When the train passes again I’ll be on it.
And when it sweetly sings your name I’ll hold my breath.
The tunnel will come and I’ll pray for a light at the end
That comes with dream drenched sleep.
The sight of your beautiful face.
Until then I’m in this beach house, listening to the crackling wind and Sufjan,
Curled up in my water woven words for you.
Let this love not unravel.

The rains are coming and that’s the time to breathe you in once again.
Upon the dark spring we'll lie in, together, until we float along Orion.
Those perennial three just may point us home.

Autumn Equinox

I am settling into a place that is intuitively my own. 

Under a sacred tree, leaves are observed dancing in the wind,

Shaken and released by a sudden change of season.

Immediately plastered to the ground, like the inevitable mosaic of a bittersweet symphony,

The leaves are still soaking up the healing warmth of the sun’s rays;

As am I. Like the fallen foliage, I have found myself in the dirt,

Trampled by a child trying to find his way in the dark.

We can all benefit from the light.

I have now experienced the darkest depths of my psyche

And I don’t want to go back.

I was so certain I would not make it out alive.

Fortunately, no matter how trampled I may appear and feel,

I am surrounded by growth—mushrooms, moss, and monarchs.

At the base of the magnificent tree, protecting me with its shade,

I will eventually meld into the mother’s dirt and commiserate with the unseen roots.

Together we will communicate the truth of the depths

And discover we cannot ever die. We simply let go.

A squirrely creature leaps my way unknowingly and begins to dig.

Pulling me out of the earth, this new companion suddenly carries me upwards to its home. My refuge. A nest resting on a sky rise branch,

Creating safety for its feathered friends.

I was once trampled, but now I am soaking in the energy of the setting sun.

A chorus of chirps and sighs burn through my veins to revitalize me with new 

Purpose—an indescribable energy that transcends my own.

From this new perspective, I am aware of the horizon.

I receive clarity that I will always be okay.

The Autumn Equinox is upon us. 

Light banishes darkness like a tender blanket on fire. 

And even when the radiant sun sets, there is a light to hold onto.

The pure orb of night that makes dreams possible.

The Lion and the Wolfe.

“It’s about looking inward and blooming outward. It’s about navigating the world as a woman, balancing strength and softness and connecting with the divine feminine. It’s an incantation and an offering… what do these songs stir in you? What do they help you remember? What do they awaken?”

-Chelsea Wolfe, regarding her new album Birth of Violence.

These illuminating words were sent to my email today, along with further information on Chelsea Wolfe’s new album. I recently listened to this, along with an album by a group I cannot recall, their cover art like a sky full of fractals, and the newly released album “Fear Inoculum” by Tool. This was an intense, ego-shattering event in honor of the September 13^th Full Moon.  Going in, I thought I would be compelled to write; instead, I died. The creative energy did not seek me out until today.

When I say I died I don’t mean it figuratively. My human self immediately desired the sweet relief I’ve believed death to be, but my soul wanted freedom and fought for the human experience to continue. My soul was in crisis- a void of nothingness. I tuned into the frequency of pain I feel in my dreams when the shadow man appears, then successfully kills me. A wrenching pain that I hardly know how to describe. A searing pain that crawls up my spine and can be felt prominently in my upper back, neck, and heart. I leaned into that feeling and stayed, not wanting to, but needing to. It fucking hurt and I thought I might never get out of it. Most of the music is a blur, lost in the moment, until Chelsea Wolfe’s lyrics filled the air like a huge sigh of relief.

After the more aggressive, masculine energy served by the first group (and then cemented by Tool’s percussion), the soft, haunting voice of Chelsea Wolfe emanating from the speakers took me back into my own body and brought me to the divine feminine- the place I want to be. Before that, I was gone, and death was surprisingly real and final. I must have sobbed from fear and pain for at least an hour, the entire time with my arms holding onto my fetal positioned body as tight as possible. I dared not let go.

“The lion and the wolf. Gnarling at eternal sleep. Let it burn. Hear it groan. Restrained desire. Cast it down. I cannot stop. I want to be all things. I’ve got to let it go. I want to be all things.”

These lyrics chill me to the bone. And in that moment, they were my refuge. The beginning of the song Be All Things states, “Walking the old path turned me towards death” That’s what I faced. I have tried to enter the realm of my shadow several times before, and in my own way have succeeded, but I was unaware of how deep I could now go. The man taking me through this experience, a figure of wisdom, safety, and love, was no longer that for me. This time he was a catalyst of chaos. My eyes burned looking upon him and I thought even just that action would surely kill me. I was in his fortress of Hell. He had tricked me and was getting what he’d wanted all along- to murder me.

“What the fuck, I’m truly dying right now?!” my soul cried out in anguish. “Please, no! I’m not ready to die. Why? How could you?!”

I was outraged, then sad and silenced. I let the overwhelm settle within me and suddenly the end came. Never again would I smell the fresh rain. I wouldn’t see the Full Moon gleaming through the tree branches; the sacred tree I always notice from outside the window, with its blue painted eye, always there, and always aware.

My love would forever burn alone.

I experienced four deaths.

First, immense pain in the dark underworld, an alluring cave of wonder alight with red candles, red velvet, and raging flames. The man was a spiteful liar, a vengeful leader, a demon or angel, like Lucifer, so radiant in appearance, but hateful in his presence.

Second, drowning, unlike ever before. There was no calm, peaceful release. He pushed me into the depths and held me there. I could not relax. I could not take it. The water stung my throat and chest.

“When anger turns to honey. In moments like this, I can understand you, for pain is the great connector.” Chelsea’s words ring through me as I write.

Third, death of feelings and emotions. I was reconstructed as a robotic figure—a metallic being distinguished by the inability to express myself. I was still my soul, but trapped, never to be an eccentric artist again. Surely that would lead to a death of the soul.

Fourth, complete silence. I no longer registered music. I would forever float in the void, nothing to see or hear, no experiences to be had. Time and space did not exist. That must have been when Tool nearly finished playing, after the stimulation of chimes, gongs, and sound bowls.

When I heard the rawness and warmth of Chelsea Wolfe’s voice, I experienced the joy of simply hearing and feeling again. I wrapped myself into a cocoon of safety with my own healing energy, ignited by the goddess, and comforted my fear with compassion and love. Divine feminine energy drove out some of the darkness, like a blue ribbon tying up loose ends. I was made whole, body and soul, and submitted to the strums of the guitar as I settled into my strengthened bones. My delicate skin. My home.

The words “I want to be all things” resonate in such a heart illuminating way. I can’t be everything. I am a woman and a daughter, but not a mother. I'm not ashamed, but sometimes society makes me feel as though I should be. I crave deep connection and vulnerability, but hesitate because it’s painful. I want to live expressively, but oftentimes I find it safer to pour my words into a secret jar that I keep hidden, even from myself. I hesitantly choose to lean back into the pain from earlier, once again searing, until an earth-shattering storm erupts. Thunder and lightning. I observe myself curled up in my own womb, fragile but safe, not yet cracked open. I can be that again. Just because I had to break does not mean I will stay broken. The divine goddess energy is a reminder that I am still alive and have more work to do. I’m strong enough for that.

The folk-like sound ends and shifts to a new sound and new voices; actually, not new, just different, and all too familiar. I hear: “Dark red. Light years. Brought near. Cold gone. I want to lie in.” Beach House, of course. This band's music seems to follow me. My body finally feels like my own again and I just lay on the padded floor, inspired to stay awake and just be. The man hands me a clear crystal to hold tightly in my right hand. The light from the still flickering candle hits the opalescent fragment perfectly to form hues of blue and yellow. Lemon glow. “The color of your mind” sings to me in a trance.

Time passes.

11:11 hits and I am still in a trance, pressed against my stomach, limbs stretched out. “I just want to take up space”, I think to myself, perhaps for the first time ever.

“Love is you”, whispers to me.

Eventually the strength to go outside came and I was not prepared for the emotion that would arise from seeing the Full Moon—a glowing orb of hope. Officially Friday the 13^th, the time of werewolves and spirits. The moon stared me down, and though I thought I might go blind, I could not look away. I stood in the middle of the street sobbing, the air inviting and healing, asking me to present my pain and then let go. A storm of emotions caught up to me and I became an expression of sorrow, then elation.

No longer undone, I took a deep breath, then released.