It never ceases to amaze me, I am awakened the night before last to the whir of my own stressors but watched from afar, not all the way connected, knowing I wasn’t awakened by my whir knowing there was a slam-fit hit to my solar plexus space, and like that I meandered through the day. By late afternoon the bubble bubble pop pop in my belly washrag wringing guts. My last session came late as Tuesdays always come and by then I had tended my core on my break gutbrain of the trauma body, and was curious, bc none of my retrieval called me back, kept floating away in the mist those mist clouds awry awry n all over the place such thick dense fog between Time and parts floating way away, then we got on, me and her and as soon as the field of us secured us our own safe, sacred space the blessed fusion of Other, I knew then oh, this has been hers all along. First thing she says I slept awful last night and I can almost hear the shame echo in her shadow I am so wrong.
I had gotten so good at– so strong in my own use of discernment when it came to the empathic body of my body, knowing what is mine and what is my beloveds. Who I walk with who I assist in learning to tend their own work. This goodness being anchored by the safety confines of my office, dear still sweetness of that little consecrated space. The circles of circles of kinetic light, the barriers of my sacred corner over there netted and held by beheld sentinels oh dear trees. The swamp just behind that drains to the bay that drains to the sea. The backroad clean-ups I organize there to honor the ancestral realm in plain site, devic site, mundane view.
I had gotten good at it but the bodies of my body mutating now still.
That’s the theme, no?
Mutation in the cultural soul.
I let go. Awake this morning so wholesome in my body so well rested I could drink myself, autonomy a cup of hot, ready soup.
It says write so I do I do I will, my will that’s what this is about, the will of my own verses cultural legacy and the w o r d s of my soul beckon me I will go bravely, I am and clearly see what appears is what I know only by having the sense to onward go: truly this is the Time. The Medial Walking its own excursion this isn’t auxiliary ego or persona, this is Will, mandate of CoCreation. Soul. Mine.
And Collective, and discerning discerning ahhh, the Great (ALLTHE TIME) In-Between?
There is no way out of a spiritual battle/There is no way you can avoid taking sides/There is no way you can not have a poetics…/
you do it in the consciousness of making/or not making yr world/you have a poetics: you step into the world/like a suit of readymade clothes… your words come back to me oh martyrd one, oh bhikshuni, oh ratted up grace the greatness this truth. I am whole and parceled again, I am divining the moves not just of mine but my collective, this my glowing kinetic transmuting world, sacred Other of us the fusion of what I cannot access,
The Death-Fanged Wolf of Unconsciousness. Death-Fanged Wolf to lead me cross the bridge, through the mists Right on etheric edge the Cultural Consciousness, it is habitat of Wild and Danger, it is All The Time
outside it is
So what do we do? With HIS~
oh mama i choose this sword, this emerald green light, this barrier, this swift protector, this force i receive as mine
of Us how do I know what is what isn’t
tell me the secrets of what from what
there is hope there, gold dust sparkle
particles of grain~
I ponder. Much as I tend and know how to do Sacred Other with Mine, I do not know how to do it with Mine. Insecure attachment totally lose self or totally avoid other.
Ah this. Fucking wretched In-Between.
Tension of Opposites on Beltane~
homage to Animal Danger, consumption Lust
This Mutating Virus Archtypal~
shake that rattle shake that rattle Dust to Dust
COMES! OH Wasteland, filth, oh Violent Love
in my feed IT calls to La Lorona, for me herenow M K SH M K SH it be not drought just/
but drought & dust
amid these both
m k sh sh sh m k sh sh sh help us sh sh sh SEE
help us weave