Cicada Boys In Twilight

Cicada
With your back to the earth
I must’ve harkened
to you yesterday-
When i paused, ear grasping-

my infant strapped to me,
translucent fingers trembling-
limbs flailing
in shock of open space-
As I marched him, Onwards...

It was you- life’s horn blower
who caught me, unaware,
up on high- Swaying
in This twilit Cottonwood,
amongst your throng-

all of your brothers, agile drunkards-
eulogizing yourselves, a million splayed legs,
weaving your voices, knowing,
utterly together
In long last “hurrah!”

What is your armor
for- folding inwards the wings?
Holding them silent when the sun drops?
A hard shell to fall upon,
A glimmering statue to chastise Us?

Another naive generation of Mother am I,
Zealous, marvelling, wondrous, stupefied-
Open-mouthed, awed; dancing- still
encased; descending crescendo
swaddling my soul...

Forward, my Son’s new eyes
Upwards, those angels’ horns lowing
Backwards, bodies falling-
Meant to be found
Emptied, along my path...

Realize Something New

She stares, motionless, transfixed,
her eyes reflecting a paralyzing, vacuous light.
She peers out from deep billowing clouds
of luxe feathers hemmed in by infinite
white softness and a trillion tight stitches.
Her sight is fixed upon a tiny insect
traversing the buzzing tv screen
who thinks he is trapped in this field of static,
a blazing mine field of blips and pixels,
draining life energy and fueling madness.
He is so frantic for escape,
going around and around the edges,
it makes him all the more unable
to see the whole rest of the world beyond.
She marvels, with a fraction of sympathy,
from her silken cloud of repose,
at how a mere quarter inch
of cheap, flimsy plastic lip
could become desolate canyon walls
when the capacity of quiet consideration
is lacking or denied.
On and on does he circle the perimeter.
Over and over again does he recover old ground,
his boundaries a pure machination
in light of his easily observable abilities,
clear to omniscient eyes.
A corner holds possibility for him here!
The center sucks him in there.
The intense pulsing blindingness
emulates the gravity of a black hole,
and he is inextricably gripped
by this real nightmare built on pure perspective.
She reclines and watches.
Hoping.
Hoping…
Then wonders,
Should I help him?
Or should I be the one
to realize something new…
And suddenly, a deep vibration of thunder rolled out
like a god shaking out the tapestry of her world.

Love Incarnate

Before bed, I remembered it was the night of the full moon. I couldn’t go to sleep without greeting it, looking into it, savoring it, the last full moon of the year 2013. Outside, the trunks of the sycamore trees were glowing in the light, and the shadows they cast on themselves were of a quiet and soulful beauty. I stepped onto the deck and sat down on the patio in a spot where the moonlight was flowing down all over me. The light was so clean... I felt it was sterilizing my whole being. So glad I was to have come out to discover this scene; I felt how sore my spirit was, and that I merely had to take the few steps out the door to begin anew. I was awed, soothed, revived, healed by soft, cool, and swift moonbeams. My imagination ran out into the shadows, answering a primal fairy call in the trees near the ancient creek.

There was also a gentle wind whispering through the night, sometimes silent. The silence between the wind was so complete that I could hear a leaf fall in the distance, or a boulder roll over in the creek. For awhile, I just looked up at the moon and felt it’s power. I let my thoughts go where they wanted. I traveled the usual spectrum of fears, feelings, twinges; I realized how I had let THEM become my life. I thought of how white the light of the moon was, and that led to thoughts of the chant of protection: “I hereby surround myself with the white light of protection.” I spoke this aloud uncountable times. I looked to my right and there was a black cat, I looked to my left and there was a white cat. Soon the words “I AM surrounded by the white light of protection” emerged from my lips. I felt how my fears were surmountable by conscious self-protection; I took example from the moon. She is herself, and all energy directed at her is reflected back. She doesn’t absorb; she passes forward the light and dispels the darkness, while allowing it. She downplays the darkness, diluting it in the beauty of total night, and in the silence, the stillness, she nurtures budding mystery. I thanked her. I thanked the world for my life. I asked for help to fully live it. The wind rose from stillness into crescendo within one moment, as if in raucous hilarity at my question.

I felt called to clothe myself in light, in her light, in her honour. I unzipped my robe, let it slip off my shoulders, and lifted my heart to the sky. Looking down, I saw my skin glowing. I saw that in this light, I was perfect, and beautiful, a simple child of father universe and mother nature; loved, supported, and enjoyed. I reveled in the beauty of the moon, and she in the beauty of me, and we once again taught each other how loved we are, and how we are physical embodiments of Love Incarnate. I felt renewed in my life desire to bring forth the full acceptance and realization of this to others, just by simple living of this timeless ecstasy, reminding that there is nothing to regret, no way to forsake this truth other than by just forgetting it. Remembrance soaked deep into my being; pure, unadulterated light saturated me to the core. I had forgotten for a long while.

Where I Really Am

A quiet day was full with
wind and warmth and sun.
I was happy and healthy
and though I was working
indoors, behind a counter,
in my mind, I was running
through the grass with my brothers.
My mother was brewing tea,
infusing it with sunlight,
and so it became a beacon
of love and care and refreshment
ready for us when the time came.

In my heart, I was drawing
on the street with chalk of every color.
Friends from all parts
of the neighborhood would be
showing up out of the blue, and
suddenly we would find
ourselves deeply
involved in hop-scotch
until the sun's touch grew long.

In my soul, I was licking nectar
from the spouts of tiny living clover blossoms
picked by my brother's hands.
"This is a really good one," he would say
and hold it out to me as though
it were a chalice of immortality.

Specks of Dust, Moving Away

I see my father standing in the bedroom, it is morning and we have awoken to a bright sunlit day. He leaves the room and I begin making the bed in the way my mother and I always did; tucking in all the corners very carefully and making sure everything is perfectly straight and layered for maximum effect. I am pure love, energy , and happiness; how glorious it is to be me, here, now! The room's windows are in the east, and the light slanting through the white lace curtains turns everything to soft gold, and sparkles of dust float around me. I reach out my hand, pushing and swirling the sparkles. A song comes on the radio which is playing in the bedroom, Born In The U.S.A., and my father comes in and starts singing it, turning the knob for the volume up until the sound fills the room, and it is such a wondrous moment in time, as though perfectly designed for us by the world. He looks at me, picks me up, and we stand together in the light of the sun. He says he is going into the army soon, and I don't quite understand. I do have a sense though, and I feel a sadness which doesn't lessen the wonder of the moment, but takes it to an higher, more complete level.

First Innocence

I remember a beach, playing in the sand with my grandpa; we were having a blast together. The day is overcast, and the lake and the sky are one, insulating, close, and warm. Grandpa and I dig a hole, as deep as I am tall, and the sand keeps raining in the sides... I can talk a little now, and I see a black girl for the first time. I want to touch her. I ask her, why is your skin different from mine, so dark? I innocently wait for her to answer, and I can see that she is wondering the same thing, and she's about to answer me, but then my mom grabs my arm and pulls me aside, apologizing for my question, and the parents of the black girl are saying it's not a problem at all; they smile at me. The black girl looks up at them questioningly, as though wondering, why should that have been a problem? We continue to look at each other longingly as we are pulled farther and farther away from each other.

What's happening - Crystal Elixirs

I'm working on increasing my sensitivity level to whatever extents are possible. Exploring the more subtle aspects of the world around us, picking up on bits of magic left in the dust of our society's grand stampede to I-don't-even-wanna-knowhere. I'm open to the idea that metals, stones, and crystals harbor hidden characteristics, consciousness, and application; each individual molecule, being uniquely configured, has a different electromagnetic fingerprint, as well as scientifically-known properties which seem to give each different species of crystal it's own general personality. On top of that, each separate crystal can be imbued with information and memories, just as our own souls are. To me, just like proximity to a certain person or chemical substance can have any number of effects on my body, mind, and soul, so can ancient rocks, metals, crystals, and minerals absorb and pick up the energies of things happening to them; they would be affected differently, of course, and they have a much broader scope of experience. This is perhaps the reason why we feel a certain "wisdom" when we interact with stones. It just takes practice and the heightening of the senses in order to pick up on these effects. Ah, how I continually lament the lack of attention of humans to the auspices of nature. So many wonders in place to provide so much fulfillment and support to the human experience, yet, our technology cannot prove it, our faiths are too shaky to accept such unknowns, and the capacities to even perceive it are being forgotten, lost, in favor of easy-to-grasp gratifications. In recent years, the book The Hidden Messages Of Water by Masaru Emoto broke through the scientific strictures with actual experimentation and documentation on the effects of different emotions and intentions on the very easily influenced crystalline structure of water molecules. It's one way to see very clearly how feelings, thoughts, words, ideas, dreams, and wishes really change, move, and re-configure the world around us, beginning on the smallest level imaginable on up. So, being that I feel so strongly about this, and very much wish to stretch and use all of capacities which have been written into my own DNA crystals, I recently began creating crystal elixirs. I play around with different waters, crystals, flowers and leaves, sunlight and moonlight, as well as words and pictures. This is a hobby for me, I take great joy in combining elements of the world around me, just like cooking. It goes far back in life for me to play like this, back to when I was a very young girl making "soup" in an old steel pot I found in the ravine (a ravine which we we're not supposed to go into, only making it that much more exciting to explore). I would ask my little brother to help gather certain "tasty" ingredients: any number of small rocks, twigs, choice shoots of grass, rose petals, clover blossoms, apples from the tree in our yard, maple bark, those little "helicopter" seed pods, crab apples, all sorts of stuff... it was a strenuous task I put him up to, which he quickly and excitedly obliged me in. My eager little sous chef... Here I am as an adult, verily making "soup" with energies and unproven beneficial properties, as well as colors and shapes; I feel belief and conviction is what keeps these magical aspects of nature alive and very real in the world, and if it works for me in a more tangible way, it could possibly provide some kind of testament to show society what it's moving away from and on the verge of losing all together if we all continue down the path of turning away from inner beauty.