spiderweb mess

i'm not tangled anymore.
it's courageous to dive into the story of transformation.
i wear it now. this new skin. a tattered cloak. with wings.
i'm researching transformation in all of its forms:
how it works 'in love'
how it works 'in creative process'
how it works 'in conflict'
how it breathes.
how it weaves.
it's mystery.
accepting what i cannot know
accepting what is difficult to see.

my favorite part:
no matter what --i will probably always have a voice that wants to sabatoge me, criticize me, judge me and abuse me. this is going to be a part of me for the rest of my life. so i accept it and it doesn't have power over me anymore. if it's here, fine. but i'm not going to buy into it this time. i'm on a different rhyme. spirit rhyme. spirit time. soul time. soul is fine. this soul is fine. sometimes i step back a few steps to gather some things from the past. and then i accept what is uncomfortable and then it moves swiftly. red earth is the best teacher. and the other thing i know is this: transformation is essential. and it is visible and invisible.

ode to passion

dedicated to k.c.

brutal sea. brutal moon. brutal waves. and brutal foam birthing a multitude of bubbles dissolving on stones.
brutality is misunderstood.

you swell. so does the sea. the moon rises, falls
and eats itself in less than 30 days.
every night eats an entire day without feeling guilt.

we flow in the blue-wash of dusk
and dive straight towards the unedited surge of tides.

fingers trace and tease stories
and breathe a new cosmology,
where words and body language collide into conspiracy.

passion!
you teach yes and no
and the graceful rough edges of pumice stones
grinding, pulverizing and
annihilating
seeds
into nourishment
for the belly
eating the belly

passion!
bringer of inconvenient truths from deep waters
and the innocent taste of salt upon tongue.
as if sweat could be that simple.

passion!
you who are terrify and strip
vulnerability and willing
expose and explosion
and
the convulsions of creatures denied at birth,
thrown unconsciously
and unselfconsciously
upon the gritty sand
while foam and wave wash over them.

there is no duality within the sea.
admit it:
you are horny for the ocean's violent birth, death and rebirth
reenacted through your tears.
you have an addiction for Aphrodite's violent thighs born from testicle foam
born from ancient stories
of men and civilizations and sacrificial gods rising and falling
again and again
and again.

oh pilgrim of passion!
remember this when you feel afraid:
regeneration will never kill what is eternal.
you cannot hold onto what is essential.
water is going to slip through your fingers.
and the waves naturally lead you where you are meant to be.
you are never lost --even among the edges where lighthouses do not shine.

passion does not wear spectacles.
nor does she
send out a formal invitation with perfectly engraved letters.
because of this
i trust her.

passion inhales
breasts and thighs
cunts and clitoris'
dicks
balls
asses
tits
pinkies
toes and nipples

i like her unpredictable navigation
and the way she penetrates secret realms
between hurling waves and resting sand
where debris and starfish try to hide.

she fucks seven days into a week
through the end and the beginning
she ask for nothing in return
except recognition of this:

every single night eats an entire day without feeling guilt.
day and stars are born because of this.

navigating

don't try to figure it out.
stop making sense.

circles navigate towards the center.
opposites attract.

what the rabbit said.

sometimes fear tries to crawl up the side of a house.
it gets caught in the gutter.
it twitches. nowhere to go. it tries. it fails. makes noise. can't go up or down.
no use going down the rabbit hole.
no use climbing a gutter.

alice in wonderland already lived down under.
the queen already went 'off with her head.'
now she's in her heart. she integrated the non-sense place
so that it makes sense.
someone pulls the rabbit from the gutter.
that same someone laughs, crawls on all fours and eats dirt.
fear is a weed.
love is a sprout.
seasoned hands pull out the weeds.
the calm innocence of rain helps the essential sprouts to grow.

wheels

the wheel brings me here:

blue sky green earth hues.
i think of 'spirituality'
there isn't separation anymore.
this word has become extinct
through all that has died and been reborn in me
i mean that in the simplest of ways.
i don't mean it in a buddhist or christian or shamanic way
i mean in it the way that
the tall summer grass speaks
with a grasshopper symphony
amidst the poem of chocolate brown mullein stalks.

it is the last year's yucca fruits opened and dried like stars.
while this year's yucca fruits ripen.
it's the memory of the sharp prick
that holds a yellowing cactus flower.
it lurks in the cautioning poison ivy
i hear her speak long before i see her
it's a simple red stone
a prairie meets high desert song
and a mountain i'd like to climb.
but it is more than this and less:
it's the street and the hot steaming asphalt.
and me driving down the wrong side of a road.
it's that guy i once judged
and the kids i forget to fully see.

it's a pain in my belly
rising to the occasion.
sharp and full, pregnant and forgotten, birthing and beginning.

two.

the fox has a friend.
they travel in twos.

she filled out.
he isn't as scrappy.

sometimes one of them is mischief
while the other is simply
red.
and bushy.
and wild.

don't ever forget the greatest gift of the fox.
you could tame it
but why would you want to
though if you do,
and let it go
it might want to come back to you.


here's my secret for today. it isn't so difficult to remember.
it's more difficult to re-member it in the body parts
be what you love.
trust 'createlove'
from a place of being.

and trust the simplicity
of two foxes playing free.

that's it really.

soft

digging deep for words lately.
many decomposing thoughts.
body wants to sleep.

discovered a new way to say love.
i walk towards it.
he walks towards me.
and it unfolds essentially

i love this.
i love the skin upon skin belly upon belly story we are speaking.
i love that i know myself as well as i do.
i like it that he knows himself too.

did you know that if you spend time alone in nature --lots of time
to know yourself
you will discover things you never knew
and universes inside of you
stars and pond scum too.
it's different in body than in theory.
and by lots of time i mean isolation/solitude one year maybe two.

it's all there.
when you've listened to all that the story has to say --at least for now
you might meet someone who knows how to explore his inner universe too. it's unusual to contract and expand with another butterfly who is willing.

space can make or break ya. may as well let it do both.