~
I remember
arms and legs
working
everything into my mouth
pebbles dirt bees
I sang the earth
running rubber knees
kicking the sky swing
standing where the rain just……..stopped
laden fruit trees
~
I was used to shining light in the dark
glasses in the sun
hiding blindness
running ahead
while looking back
I trip upon the truth
~
now that I am on
the outside of the mountain
~
I’m trusting
that
love knows
~~~
~~
~
~
photo credits: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jp_42/4930340343/
to bury us
in the knotted masks of tall grasses
before setting fire to the cairn of chaff
~
our children
lie dormant
as seeds of light
~
we
as we were
are gone forever
~
now
defying gravity
I am here to witness
love breathing
~
through my own flesh
~
painting: J.H. White 2007
~
I want to thank my fellow traveler, Geo Sans. Even though it is a solitary journey, no one goes alone.
~
~
~
You cannot return
to defile
the birthing of intimacy
within you.
~
My body is not a graffiti wall
absorbing the mark
of your disconnect.
~
The lack of boundaries you impose
will never dissuade the love
that takes us continually back to itself
as it births us anew.
~
Hear me
~
I am you.
But in this act
of willful indifference
you
are
not
me
~
this seed, so stung
germinating without sun
grown from biting roots
ungrounded in pain
birthing emptiness
returns to earth as dust
as dust
as dust
“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
One Billion Rising
This poem was written for everyone who has been sexually abused….men, women and children. It is also for the abusers…those who clothe their own sorrow in indifference.
It is not a poem of exclusion. It is statement of strength and a prayer for the return to a sense of self and connection.
All aspects of sexual abuse come from the same seed. A seed that needs to lay fallow, bleach in the sun, and return to the earth as dust.
“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/henrygrey/1202156133/”>henry grey</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>cc</a>
In my winter dreams
I look for seeds that have curled up in dry dark corners
caught there when the floods washed through.
I pull away the broken limbs and detritus that collect
and watch the seeds that float to the surface
~
Like mirrors end to end
they shift and turn
reflecting the barbed light of other suns.
Birthing memories.
The only heat sometimes is in memory
passing through the heat of the wound.
~
I wake from these dreams disconnected
I have instinctively stretched out in time.
~
Deep in the night
no birds singing yet
waiting for light.
“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
I’m not
frozen in this moment…
My memory is as old as stone.
Relative to the rhythm of a tap dance
it is entertaining
but no longer of use
for direction.
I am
entangled
in the estrangement of local weeds
the cadence of direct deposit
the allegiance of filtered water
the geometry of home.
There must be
a more reliable guideline
in chaos
I tell myself…
I’ve worked hard to lose
the map of my soul.
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/lindenbaum/392018531/”>tlindenbaum</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>
Winding down
inside the mountain.
Fingers tracing the edge of shadows
Trusting
this is leading
to air and light.
Spinning slowly
arms freed from gravity’s holding
into the deep.
I used to think archetypes were stories we collectively tell ourselves that eventually, over time, become the fabric of our personal considerations, but now I understand they are more like skin. More real, more intimate than the clothes we wear to define us. More intrinsically ours. The calluses, wrinkles, birthmarks and scars.
It would seem that in order to have weight, to be as intrinsic as skin, an archetype would have to hold more than just story. We are our skin. Skin is experiential in every sense. It is our largest sensing organ.
Going deeper…individual cells make up the structure of skin. Cells replicate, know their purpose, are in relationship with other cells, have memory.
Archetypes are both the macrocosm and the microcosm of skin. Experience and memory.
photo credit: D. Sharon Pruitt at http://www.flickr.com/photos/pinksherbet/338444355
Poetry of Light 