WINTERING

In the formless, long nights, I withdraw into deep stillness.

A calm cocoon tenderly nourishes my sleep,
while a wild lawlessness, absent of rules, 
informs my waking.

You see, I’m wintering, resting, clearing the field.
I'm dreaming of seeds,
while giving time for old wounds to heal.

I’m listening for the whispers that come from my womb,
they’ll guide me in springtime,
to where I’ll best bloom.

Here, in my sanctuary, I lay serene and quiet,
giving myself rest as the phases of the moon
illuminate my nest.

Starlight twinkles and reflects my spirit into the night,
like a still pool mirror, void of rippling fright.

I am the fire that greets the suns and stars,
with a persistent but gentle flickering, from afar.

TITRATION

I’m grieving the death of my Mother. Not the one who birthed me, in her living being and body. But the one that lived in my dreams.

I treasured a lovely image of her, the one I designed in my sleep. It kept me enclosed and warm in womb-space, protected from the elements, but also, from breathing life itself.

I kept this lovely picture of my her hanging in the sacred rooms of my heart, but the reflection of her likeness was simply a cherished ideal. This myth was written from avoidance of the infinite well of my own, personal, maternal love.

This happened after life activated a systemic upgrade; while I traversed a totally and seemingly unrelated cryptographic maze of pain. Then, and only then, was I catapulted through a sacred threshold. A threshold into the mystery, and into love.

As I continually waken from the dream, I oscillate from falling back into the field of fables, and my growing capacity to accept reality; compassionately titrating both the deep sense of loss and the deeper-rooted sense of freedom, and possibilities.

I have the code now. It is based on original ancestral instructions imbedded in the cosmic spiral of the infinite. It’s a simple key that unlocks the mystery, and gives access to the soul.

The key is simple, yet the code must be remembered, and remembered, time and again. The remembering must be lived as real, through the limbs of the body, arms and legs, extending outward but stemming from firmly planted roots.

ERIC OF THE HAMLET PINE

From a grove of conifers,
a lion’s heart pranced bright!

Like an intricate, yet heavy
gold treasure chest,
filled with glimmering gems
in every color,
including sunshine.

He grew to be my one true king,
my eternal warrior.

The shield of his royal chariot
was etched with but one,
ravishing red rose,
and smelled like
a field of beauty.

Eric of the Hamlet Pine,
honorable, fierce, and oh, so divine!

Your wondrous whorls of sacred sap,
surround and embrace me
in a golden, spiral wrap;

infinitely widening,
into forever.

~ for my beloved Sahar Eric Jamie

DARKNESS SPEAKS

Remember me. 

Don’t run, sink in.

You were conceived 

in the absence of light,

in the nurturing warmth 

of your mother’s belly basket.

This temple didn't expel you, 

but held you, in life’s embrace.

It didn’t shine with starlight,

just a muted, un-ceremonial 

ray of the world’s motion, 

seeping in through her flesh.

Summon my grace and peace.

I won’t swallow you, 

I’ll free you. 

I won’t cloud your vision, 

I’ll clarify it.

I won’t cause you suffering, 

I’ll relieve you.

The long nights are calling out to you,

inviting a return to the sacred incubator,

a visit to the shadows.

Feel me, I am longing for your touch.

REVERENCE

Hearts intertwine, 

mirroring limbs;

two souls mingle as 

one amorphous cloud in 

the solstice moonlight, 

a silver silhouette 

defines the formless 

shape of love.

Melting together into 

beauty, depth, reverence 

and ecstatic love;

far beyond the visceral, 

so much so, that

even a remote 

awareness of death, 

is no cause for alarm, just

grief. 

ASHES OF LOSS

Grief burst into my life like dry tinder exploding into flames.

It had taken residence in my being at some unknown date, implanting a sense of discontent that couldn't quite be named.

Not until it combusted, and the ashes of loss flowed through my veins.

I awoke when the blood reached my heart. Then, and only then, did sobs of sorrow escape their containment.

Grief, my companion, my guru. You tenderly and fervently teach me to feel fully, to love wildly, to breathe, to love, and to live.