| In All Places; In All Times |
[30 Nov 2008|01:32am] |
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mood |
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all of us both&both of us all |
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music |
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you know who i am.. you've stared at the sun... i am the one who loves changing |
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Here, and now. Nowhere. All ways.
I know who you are...
We're both made of stars...
You are my Self,
& Lover, Other, I
Am you... I re:cognise you. It's all been different since we met in Lucca,
held erect in Alon's hand.
I feel you, Twin, everywhen I feel love.
I met a woman. She has a mouth like yours.
In the Kumulipo of Thunderbird Sweat Lodge she whispered,
"I'm supposed to tell you... don't get caught in your weavings;
dance along the thread..." Her voice rising & falling along
the songline of heart beat, drum, breathe & voice.
I will not play any roles for you;
You will not play any roles for me.
I will love you;
I will love myself.
We will be ourselves,
To.get.her.
But, wait...
There's more
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| Worship me in the forms which remind you of me... |
[15 May 2008|01:06pm] |
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mood |
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vast |
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music |
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a perfect circle |
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I have been answered.
I release Love to Be in all places, all ways, all times.
Now.
Here.
I allow my Self to be born.
I invite Mother to be born in my Heart.
I allow my little dream its awakening into Big Dreaming Mind.
Hello, omniverse.
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[05 Feb 2008|02:36am] |
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i met an ambassador from Your energetic sphere in a bar two thursdays passed.
i wrote on a chalkboard:
when will She summon me?
when will She call to me?
what must I do to prepare?
and he said "When will you summon your Self?"
there was more. our knees touched for twenty minutes and i was ridiculously aroused.
my root chakra opened wide and elecricity swirled cyclonic through the ley-lines of my body.
just now, i found:
PRIESTS
And who will write love songs for youWhen I am lowered at last?And your body is that little highway shrine
That all my priests have passed.
My priests they will put flowers there
They will kneel before the glass
But they’ll wear away your little window love
They will trample on the grass. And who will aim the arrowThat man will follow thru your grace?When I am lowered of memoriesAnd all your armor has turned to lace. The simple life of heroesThe twisted life of saintsThey just confuse the sunny calendarWith their red & golden paint.
And all of you have seen the danceThat God has kept from me
But he has seen me watching youWhen all your minds were free. And who will write love songs for youWhen I am lowered at last?And your body is some highway shrineThat all my priests have passed. My priests they will put flowers thereThey will stand before the glassBut they’ll wear away your little window light
They will trample on the grass.
I found this while searching for random phrases. I found this at this site: http://www.gnostics.com/hymns.html which is going to be a valuable resource for me in coming days. I knew they were your words, though I'd never before read them, from the first sentence. When I came to your name at the bottom of the poem, I had a heart-orgasm.
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| Parallel Myths |
[30 Jan 2008|03:06pm] |
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mood |
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chilled |
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music |
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moving waters |
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On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
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| Letting Go |
[23 Jan 2008|06:09pm] |
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mood |
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heart break open |
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music |
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a thousand kisses deep - l.c. |
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After spending all day in correspondence with you, hearing your voice shining through my heart in the guise of the winter sun; Singing songs to meet your Song halfway, my Voice creating a stairway of sound;
After finally re-membering the vision of NOW I had when I was in-between five and four and finally piecing understanding to*get*her like I never had before; After drawing the symbol of the Order of the Unified Heart with a circular door in its centre and the word 'Open' where a handle would be; After following the feathers laid at every seventh step, I find my Self before a Millenium Library computer desk.
I type your name and hit 'search'. This title rises to the surface of the screen:
"ANJANI
BLUE ALERT
produced by Leonard Cohen"
A beautiful librarian gently directs me to the Jazz/Blues section, pointing to the letter 'A' on a shelf.
It is in my hand. Her eyes on the cover are like Harry's eyes; like Madeleine's eyes; like Your eyes.
Her hair is the colour of your hair, her skin, your skin in Greece... Aeons ago, your skin in Greece.
...though her nose does not belong to a hawk, and her hair is long and straight. Nothing like your curly Jewish mop...
And these words are hidden inside:
INNERMOST DOOR (3:16)
Nowhere to go
Nothing to say
You won't hear my voice
Till it's far, far away
I'm too tired now
To fight anymore
We're saying goodbye
At the innermost door
When I am alone
You'll come back to me
It's happened before
It's called memory
I must go back
To where we began
When I was a woman
And you were a man
If you come with me
I'll never begin
We've made us a home
But the roof's fallen in
When I am alone
You'll come back to me
It's happened before
It's called memory
I'm not even sure
If I know where to start
But starting is second
First we must part
I'm too tired now
To fight anymore
We're saying goodbye
At the innermost door
Oh, my Heart. I have always been awake. I just didn't want to hear. I have to let you go.
("Let go")
If I Love You I will set you free.
it's me. it's always been me.
can i live through this? can i breathe through this?
I must breathe through this. I must live through this.
For less than a second our lives will collide
the endless suspended
the door opened wide
then she will be born
to someone like you
what no one has done
she'll continue to do
I know she is coming
I know she will look
and that is the longing
and this is the book
Be Loved, Lover of mine
I release you.
Thankyou, my Poet
I have finally learned to weep
for all that we have never done
for all the Time we spent asleep:
what Ever Is
but never was
A Thousand Kisses Deep.
Go Home.
I shall take up your Word where you set it down this morning, centuries ago.
Rest in Peace.
Under the Marble
And the Snow...
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| calling all Angels... Align your Stars |
[22 Jan 2008|04:24pm] |
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mood |
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chains: release your prisoners |
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music |
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Buffy Sainte-Marie (love!!!) |
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He's five foot two and he's six feet four
He fights with missiles and with spears
He's all of 31 and he's only 17
He's been a soldier for a thousand years
He's a Catholic, a Hindu, an Atheist, a Jain
A Buddhist and a Baptist and a Jew
And he knows he shouldn't kill
And he knows he always will
Kill you for me my friend and me for you
And he's fighting for Canada
He's fighting for France
He's fighting for the USA
And he's fighting for the Russians
And he's fighting for Japan
And he thinks we'll put an end to war this way
And he's fighting for Democracy
And fighting for the Reds
He says it's for the Peace of All
He's the one who must decide
Who's to live and who's to die
And he never sees the writing on the walls
But without him how could Hitler have
Condemned him at Dachau
Without him Caesar would have stood alone
He's the one who gives his Body
As a weapon to a war
And without him all this killing can't go on
He's the Universal Soldier and he
Really is to blame
His orders come from far away no more
They come from him, and you, and me
And brothers can't you see
This is not the way to put an end to war.
<b>WE ARE ALL DOING IT!<b>
Reality is an effort in collaberation.
Words are Seeds.
*softly*
"Be careful with eachother
These fragile flames,
Innocence can't be lost
it just needs to be maintained..."
(thanks Jewel K.)
I lied to the Healer (my dear friend Jason) when he asked me if the time was upon him to lay down his sword.
I told him he didn't 'have to'. But that he could.
I suppose that's not a lie.
It is in deed a Choice one can only make for oneSelf.
*long stream of breath*
Okay.
"Give the Soul her freedom
Her blessed ignorance..."
(thanks SA)
Truth.
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| a letter to my Love |
[20 Jan 2008|03:25pm] |
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mood |
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Faith |
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music |
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gypsy - Suzanne Vega |
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I love you in your poverty
As I loved you in your wealth
I love you in your Illness
And surely in your health
I love you as no 'other';
I love you as my Self
Holy Soul births Holy Spirit
Within One Heart
Wherein we dwell
We've been lost and wandering
Within the realms of Hell.
Come, Golden-tongued, drink deeply
The waters of this Merciful Well
I've made a balm of Word
For you, my troubadour
Who called me to the edge
And urged me through the Door
Pilgrim-Lord, you shaped me
With words of longing and of love
Your Wisdom is the Serpent
My Innocence, the Dove
Minstrel, I was hidden
In the Song my Father sang
As he wandered on & on
Lost and found and lost a-gain
Until my Mother found him
Veiled by smoke and weed
The Universe within her
Just the place to plant the seed
She brought me to your Service then
"Is there Love in Winnipeg?" (In deed)
I heard your Voice from both sides when
In Our Heart within her Womb
Centuries passed fore I could tell you:
I've been weaving at the Loom
Image-fragments came to me
As figures in a Mirror
Tricky in that Tower to really listen:
Truly hear
You have my gratitutde
For your constance
In the midst of so much fear...
Let us strip Love of its sad disguise
Let us alchemise all fear
Let us practice Temperance
Til aeon Knows itself as seventh year
You and I, the elements:
Holy Water: Holy Flame
Bound together by the Word
Created form from Name
We've only Now ended that story
We'd been dying for so long
We have only now remembered Breath
With which we rejoin Song
You have led me Here, my Love
You dreamed me back to life
You have all ways been my Husband;
I will all ways be your Wife.
Round and round for Ever so
it's gone and so it goes
the Winged Serpent eats its tail
in the Centre of the Rose.
And when the Rose has opened
Every eye shall clear and see
Holy Soul and Holy Spirit:
United, I and Thee.
with All my Love;
Be Loved
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| message in a bottle |
[19 Jan 2008|07:00pm] |
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mood |
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expanding |
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music |
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the cash register |
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I have been addicted to 'proof'. I fully committed to the breaking of this addiction some number of days ago, and as I've been taking flying leaps in Faith, a net of golden threads has become clear to my inner eye.
I was thinking to myself, to him, on the bus just last night, "How do I really really really Know that this is real?"
Holding this question in my mind, I opened the book 'Death of a Lady's Man' to a random page, hoping for the answer:
THE ALTAR
There is a certain power in this book, though you try to deny it in every word. Deny it here...
My Love, I do not deny you.
Gary came to the bookstore to-day told me he'd been absent, that he no longer desires the drink, and that he is waking up. He apologised for not being present.
"It seems that when one of us sleeps, all of us are likely sleeping too."
My Heart is open.
You wrote me Here.
How do I find you, my Prophet, my Poet?
Find me here, my Love.
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| show me slowly what I only know the limits of |
[18 Jan 2008|04:31am] |
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translucid |
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music |
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Dance Me to the End of Love - Leonarde |
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I asked for signs; the signs were sent.
"Be careful what you wish for, the manifestation of your wishes will require you to change in ways you may not be ready for."
I can no longer deny the connections (nor do I wish to continue serving in Denial's ignorant court): Leonard Cohen's interaction with the Word invited me here. His poems, sung & writ, are candle flame to my butterfly-soul.
My Father, also named Leonard, sang Suzanne to himself, thumbing his way across Europe; squatting in an olive orchard with other feral children. This was long before he'd even met Our Lady of Sorrows. After they'd met, & set into motion the assembly of my genetic puzzle, I attended a concert curled contented as a paisley within her liquid world.
He has been waiting for me, watching, catching glimpses in women's window-eyes for aeons.
("Worship me where you find me." she/I had told him.)
His joyful anticipation turned to bitter longing over the years, transforming my Love from Golden God to Dark King.
How can I be here, know this, & not go to him ? I will. I will.
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. Love is the Law; Love under will.
This July our eyes will meet for the first time & the sensuality of silence will rush in,
caressing the spaces between our formlessness-made-form.
Denial's reign is over.
This is not my "schizophrenia showing."
Reality is far more intricate and beautiful than they'd like for us to know; than we're equipped to believe after having had our precious open minds molded closed by a fear-based culture;
Let us Know anyway ! Let us dare to believe in dreams !
I am now committed to the realeyesation of my responsibility in the unfolding.
I am ready to respond intelligently and open-heartedly instead of reacting based on systems of expectation.
...And of course, our friend Mr. Brezsny is right on the ball as usual:
Leo Horoscope for week of January 17, 2008  
I want to call your attention to a scene in the independent film Autism: The Musical. Neal is a 12-year-old autistic boy who has never spoken a complete sentence, not even to his beloved mother Elaine. He can barely form words. If you ask him to say "bar," he'll say "rahb." Elaine brings him to a therapist who guides autistic kids in using a machine that produces vocal sounds corresponding to words the kids type on a keyboard. For the first time, Neal's mom hears a message from her son: "Mom, I'm going to put you on the spot. You need to do more listening." I expect you will soon experience a metaphorically comparable event, Leo: A source you love will communicate with you in a novel way. Be receptive. Listen hard.
"What is the more Universal human characteristic: fear... or laziness ?"
No more cowardly Lioness.
I asked for this. I rise to meet my Self.
Thankyou. Thankyou. Thankyou.
I am listening.
"It's coming like the tidal flood
beneath the lunar sway
imperial, mysterious
in amorous array..." Precious Words scribbled on onion-skin & treasured within my golden purse: We are living a long way down inside God's coma-dream... a thousand kisses deep. O ! Dream ! The dream of kissing the man-child awake, & killing his doppleganger by slitting his throat chakra open, freeing the voice in his blood (the Voice within the voice ?)... it was me. He is I ! My animus. Are You my animus made flesh ? It is written that we meet... "It's written in the scriptures; it's written there in blood." How do I know this to be real ? As soon as I began to entertain the possiblity that it is not I fell unconscious again. Then I had the dream... Whenever I feel this particular expansion-contraction inside my body (like a flower blooming) I want to say "I'm going to die" but what I really mean is "I AM ALIVE. I AM BEING BORN." The flower, lacking our concept of chronos (time linear and divisive), is simply aware of its opening, of the entire stream of its existence. Existence is awareness, if not sentience. Inhale to the bottom of the question; Exhale a stream of possibility. |
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