Poems

What We Are–Maybe

in ,

Neither spiral up,
nor spiral down.
There is only one spiral,
after all.
Both manifest and unmanifest.
Not just creation itself,
but also the uncreated.
The energy below the spiral, of the spiral,
and beyond the spiral.
What we are–maybe. 

Happy for No Fucking Reason

in

Happy for no fucking reason.

Or because I let my body move as it wants.

Or because Saturn is off my back–for now.⁣⁣⁣⁣

Or because I meditated.⁣⁣⁣⁣

Or because life is beautiful.⁣⁣⁣⁣

Or because there is chocolate in my mouth, ⁣⁣⁣

tea & water at my side.⁣⁣⁣⁣

Or because grace.⁣⁣⁣⁣

⁣⁣⁣⁣

The happiness will pass.⁣⁣⁣⁣

She’s fun though, like a flirty friend, a ⁣⁣⁣⁣

hummingbird on the move.⁣⁣⁣⁣

The joy is something deeper.⁣⁣⁣⁣

The contentment—the bedrock.⁣⁣⁣⁣

⁣⁣⁣⁣

Happiness has a way of ⁣⁣⁣⁣

shooting up from the cracks ⁣⁣⁣⁣

like a brilliant geyser ⁣⁣⁣⁣

eager to announce itself, ⁣⁣⁣⁣

a bedazzled teen who simply 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 ⁣⁣⁣⁣

be the first to shout ⁣⁣⁣⁣

𝘚𝘜𝘙𝘗𝘙𝘐𝘚𝘌! at her best friend’s party.⁣⁣⁣⁣

Usually, she returns to the earth ⁣⁣⁣⁣

just as quickly as she came. ⁣⁣⁣⁣

An offspring of an alchemy.⁣⁣⁣⁣

Only the good die young.⁣⁣⁣

Nothing personal.⁣⁣⁣⁣

⁣⁣⁣⁣

The joy is something deeper.⁣⁣⁣⁣

The contentment—the bedrock.⁣⁣⁣⁣

⁣⁣⁣

Happy for no fucking reason.⁣⁣⁣⁣

Or because I cried the other day.⁣⁣⁣

Or because I'm being totally honest with myself.⁣⁣⁣

Or because I haven’t looked the other way.⁣⁣⁣

Or because I'm working with my dreams.⁣⁣⁣

Or because this flatbread is so damn good, ⁣⁣⁣

and the sun is out, and I am alive. ⁣⁣⁣

⁣⁣⁣

The joy is something deeper.⁣⁣⁣⁣

The contentment—the bedrock.⁣⁣⁣⁣

⁣

HapPy ⁣

f⁣

o r ⁣

no fuck⁣

ing ⁣

re a

so n.

⁣⁣


Altar of Your Life

in

When the fire of love burns in your heart,

everything you say leads you on the path.

Sit beside that fire.

Be warmed by it.

Let it burn away the questions.

Let that fire be the center of the altar of your life,

the middle of the compass,

just like that.

Listen to it as it

reminds you 

Who you are,

Where you come from,

Where you are going.

Listen to it as it reminds you

of your Self.

Again and again, return to it 

in shadowy nights—when you forget, 

let it ignite you with the secrets of your soul.

II.

Be the hearth of your own desire.

Let the flames be fanned by your witnessing breath. 

Disappear into the molten smolder of your unfolding,

and be reborn—

For it was only ever your own heart

begging for itself.


What to Do with Yourself

in

Read this slowly.

Make a warm cup of tea.

Draw a hot bath, add epsom salts,

bring a candle into the bathroom,

put some popcorn on the stove.

Drink a bit of water, watch the

popcorn pop as the tub fills,

light the candle, take off your clothes.

Walk naked to the kitchen, turn off the stove,

blow out the candle,

get some coconut oil and bring it into

the guest room. Get on the bed,

spread your legs, wander completely,

do not kiss and tell, save the

best secrets for yourself. Lush

and blissy, walk barefoot to the bathroom,

put the fire to the candle, turn off the lights,

slip into the bath, you are your best girl, melt away.

Later, lavish the popcorn in ghee, return to the bed, prop

up the pillows, read poetry, let it all course through

your body,

no one is beautiful in the same way as you.

The Whisperings

in

There are so many secrets inside of you.

Place your ear on the creek bed of your being

and rest there, stay there. 

The secrets will swell to meet you and 

soak the base of your listening like the

deep river goddess

who cannot be stopped.

It’s like this: Once you know the sound of your whisperings,

you’ll listen for nothing else.   

Just To Be, and To Be Still

in

Just to be,

and to be still.

No need to even pray for

all prayers are already woven into my blood.

My prayers for my son—

for the women, for the Earth,

for my own growing soul—

just to be,

and to be still—

Let the prayers travel the soundscape of before life, after life, and life itself,

just to be,

and to be still—

the strongest prayer there is, 

the need to pray dissolving,

as all is already-said in stillness, and already is. 

My prayers for my son

are your prayers for your sons,

and your daughters,

and your family, your life,

the God-given waters. 

My prayers are your prayers 

and when I pray, your prayers are sung—

the stillness within all of us,

a prayer for each ones life—

holy and inevitable—

just to be, and to be still. 

The Light Beam of Your Love

in

I drop my robes at your door—

the robes of Devotee,

of She-Who-Is-Trying,

of Eternal Seamstress

and all my other slow and hurried selves.

In my nakedness 

you ravage me—

leave me with nothing but 

Light,

with the golden quivering body of

My very Self.

Thank You

in

I.

Life

is a swimming in love,

like doing the backstroke in a bird bath

and song is drenching your soul full with light.


II.

Thank you for this chance to dance and

pray and sing.

Thank you for this chance

to be.

Message from the Kaleidoscope

in

The road erupts into a field of daisies. 

Mailboxes pull themselves out of the ground and begin to dance.

The dogs join them as their leashes turn into circling glittering smoke—

(their owners into frozen statues of disbelief).

Blades of grass become epic green things dancing in the wind,

caterpillars into butterflies, 

fish into birds,

fetus into child,

rain into harvest,

day into night—

and the humans, perplexed only for a moment before the corners of their mouths float upward, stretched well beyond their face, taken by smiles that melt them entirely—

turn into crescent moons.

This life is a wild, sacred thing.

What do we need—to get it?

Destiny is a Malleable Thing

in

Destiny is a malleable thing 

that does not interest me much.

Take me deeper to the kiss that does not end.

Take me through the spiral of your tongue,

to the vast landscape of your heart where you

and I and all living things merge into ancient song—

where destiny is nothing more but a question that sparks 

the dance, and then a dip in Your arms,

where our hearts, like wildfire,

burn, burn, burn.

Mortal Mother

in

I am a tiny flame in the house of love,

and I am the house of love itself.

Everything I see, I am

Everything I am, I see. 

What a Wonder

in

What a wonder—

we can lay on the ground,

breathe in the grass,

bask in the smell of life—

That we can do these things,

know these things,

at all.