Aftermath

The morning coffee is too sharp

Ashen kiss of emptiness

When bitter words have cost us more than we knew

Sleep had drowned the memory

But sleep ends too soon

And I am longing for your arms around me

The possession of your kiss

Instead of the chill and the ache

The acrid, stinging lack of you.

Love and the Dark

She knew only how free she was, how the darkness removed the bonds from her heart and her soul. Somewhere in the impending dawn, she was a slave to opinion, a gilded bird in a tattered bamboo cage, and all her songs were only noises to fill the white space of her enslavement.

Flying over the cobbled streets, feet bare and skin chilled with the night, alive, prickling, tingled eyes flared wide, she was fully open to the ardor of her own divinity, and fully defended against the overbearing will of those who would own her.

In an eternal night, she would be always free, but sunrise was ever looming over the horizon, pearling the sky and signaling the end of her dreams of flight. With the dawn she was returned, trapped, imprisoned by flesh and the demands of the world. Knowing the false promises of night and the myth of love, her cage was a hard comfort, the bars real to the touch as the night left only fading memories of feeling free.

Image is Songhees, copyright Photos by Heather, (used with permission). I have walked this path many nights, seen this mythical city of light in person on those rambles and in all lights. I still miss my island home, but I doubt I will ever return.

Spin

A leaf fallen, eddies and swirls. When I close my eyes all I can feel is the spin, the tidal crescendo building, sweeping, roaring up inside my head.

Dreaming of you, feeling your hands and soft breath, your ache and desire. How far we will have to reach to find each other, and what depths of the elements we must survive? Time is a mirror, a river that flows, always.

But are we rocks, standing firm, moving only by tiny increments? Are we walking within, able to fight the current to find each other?

Or are we only the curled fallen leaves, caught in eddies and swirls... spinning...

(art is Michèle Dessureault – Tourbillon #45)

Ache

No words can capture Spring, or sadness.

My heart is aching as I consider a lifetime of lies, and learn to be true. I would live verily, and soothly. I would let go the sins of my past and find absolution in doing better this time around. I don't know if it's possible to be absolved of damaging others, or if the pain I live with is the karmic price of those crimes. My heart aches with how happy love makes me, but my dreams are jagged and sharp, as though my sins, acid etched on the surface, have allowed the under layers to erode.

Is it only justice, and am I able to fight free? Will I only deserve joy, contentment, fulfillment, when I have atoned?

Or do I earn absolution by struggling to live as beautifully as I can, to never do again as I have done?

As with everything else, I can only look to the mirror within for any answer.

Once Upon a Time

The fable opens, and we are brought into a poetic, archetypal world, a fantasy of ideals and actions, where the punishment always fits the crime, and the reward always repays the good deed. The threefold law is supreme: all events precipitate in threes: three challenges must be faced, three goals achieved, three wishes made. What I tell you three times is true...

The world is more than it seems.

We are all Divine and whole.

Love is the single most powerful thing.

A fresh start, a new day, and a promise to follow the advice of that meddling old man who died behind a curtain: I will to mine own self be true.