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Preface: I wrote this last night in a fit of anger. I thought I’d found certain truths that matter of factly indicated deception.  Then, I re-thought it in the face of what I recognized as my own paranoia.  Then I wondered if I’d reached such a state of confusion that I could no longer tell the difference between intuition and paranoia, or if I’d become so clouded that I could no longer separate my own opinons from those of others.  I felt guilty for having written it, and took it down.  This morning, as I read the description of Weasel, I realize this poem describes weasel energy precisely!  I still don’t know if what I’m feeling is intuition that’s warning me, or paranoia that’s keeping me from seeing the reality of a situation.  I still don’t know whether or not I should be trusting, or if trusting would paint me to be the fool… again.  And, while I wrote this last night, I had one situation in mind – one “trigger” that penned the thoughts.  However, this morning, I can see several situations to which this might apply.  That being said, in the spirit of being completely open and honest with myself, I’ve decided to re-publish this piece.  Yes… I’m confused inside myself, and torn between past, present and future pains and promises.

Surely, You Jest! (Almost the fool… again)

I was a fool for you once…
Unabashedly, unequivocally,
Undeniably, unstoppably the fool
For you… once.

I will not be a fool
For you again.

So smooth are the words,
So cleverly formed,
So expertly delivered –
That any of three or more maidens
Would by them be wooed…
For who among us doesn’t dream
Of being swept off her feet
By a gallant and chivalrous knight?

I swooned for you once.
Nearly twice…
I will not swoon for you
Again…

So long had it been
That the pain had nearly faded –
Or it faded, at least, in the midst
Of the deeper pain I was feeling
In the moment…

But one moment of weakness
Does not make me a fool.
I was a fool for you once.
I will not be your fool again.

I know how to look
I know where to look
I know when to look
When it’s clear I’m being deceived –
And it’s clear… so clear… that deception is at hand!

And in spite of how much
I’d have rather believed,
Truth rears its head yet again
And all I can do is laugh…

Laugh ’til I cry
’til I laugh again.

Men!

Surely, you jest!

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Resting Place

If I could,

I would string a hammock
Between the stars,
Beneath the Moon
Above the Earth
Amidst the Heavens…

I’d climb in Heaven’s hammock,
Curling myself in fetal position,
Covered by the quilt of night –
Blanketed in twinkling darkness,
Cradled in comfort.

Rocking gently back and forth,
Swinging to and fro
From one dream
To the next.

Close the window of opportunity,
Hang a “do not disturb” sign
On the other door that opens
When one door closes.

Leave me in this resting place
Where I can synchronize with the Gods
And rejuvinate my aching body
And exhausted soul.

Yes,
I would string a hammock
Between the stars…


If I could.

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Opposing Forces

Want to reach…
Know better.

Want to cry…
Need to be strong.

Want to run.
Must face my fears Self.

Want to love.
It is forbidden.

Want to be loved.
Yet unworthy…

No, not unworthy,
Just not destined.

Destined…
to stand alone.

Crave a hand…
But fear the knife it holds.

Must move forward.
Want to travel backward…

~ It wants
What it knows
It cannot have ~

A fire sign dwindling
In a Water World

Where wind whips
and earth quakes

Yet refusing
To be defeated.

Faltering,
But refusing to fall.

A need to protect and defend
That which is most hurtful to her.

The war
Is internal.

The swords of Dark and Light
Clash in the night –Sparks fly

And her battle cry
pierces

the illusions
of reality.

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The Void

With one eye looking left,
One eye looking right,
The view is all encompassing.

A Caw escapes the beak
As black wings unfold
To carry me through time.

Wind in feathers,
Echoes and whispers in The Void,
I am transported.

For or against my will
Is as of yet undetermined
As the fabric of space folds – or unfolds.

So far back in time… And so far forward.
Is it this life or another?
Either way, it is you I sought.

I can see you. I can hear your voice.
Yet I do not know who or where you are.
I am rattled and riddled by laughter and tears.

I feel, as if it were this morning.
I yearn. I cry.
I try to heal…

Try to forget
Try to remember
Try to let go

Try to move on
Yet only hover…
Circling.

A kite, caught
In the cross-winds
Of love and of lies.

Crow cries
…. for me
Crow flies
…. for me

Fingers in feathers I grip,
Not for fear of falling…
But to squeeze through the pain.

Further back in time,
With head in Mother’s lap…
tear-stained night-gowns.

“I know. I know”
Mamma tried to console
But there is no cure

I’m fourteen.
I’m twenty-eight. I’m ninety-three.
I am maiden, mother, and crone.

Absorbed by The Void,
Surrounded, but alone.

Crow zips and flips
and twists in time
and my daughter’s hand in mine

As she cries in my lap
and I try to console.
“I know. I know.” But there is no cure.

Yet still we seek
For that we know cannot be found
And that which we’re hollow without,

For that which we know will burn,
That will shred our hearts and stab at our souls
Because something inside us compells us to believe…

Crow cries
… for me.
Crow flies
… for me.

… And I close my tear-stained eyes,
Resting my head upon a feather-bed in flight
Holding tight

To dreams that never come…
And never die.
Endlessly searching

The Void.

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Intro: A kind and wise man once said to me: “For everything, there is a reason – whether for a lifetime, or just a season.”  As the seasons change – physically and spiritually, and as certain losses appear to be inevitable, these words echoed in my head as I drove to work in silence this morning.  Tonight, I’d gone to bed, but woke up to pen these thoughts.

 

No longer a sprout,
No more a fledgling,
The leaf reflected on her prime –
Not yet knowing
The best was now behind.

Change was in the air, she knew;
Yet, she was seemingly unaware
of the magnitude.

Unaware of underlying vibrations –
Yet, completely attuned
To the abundant beauty that is
Life and Love
On Earth.

The sky’s once pastel hues
Of soft pinks and powdery blues
Had evolved to burning embers of
Fiery orange and flaming licks of lavender.

While sky smoldered,
Earth cooled –
Breezes danced on air,
Carrying crisp scents of apple
And pumpkin spice.

“Life is good,”
Thought the Autumn Leaf.

The birds that once flourished in her presence,
The caterpillars that fed from her
Were now few and far between,
Yet she wasn’t at all lonely
Because the squirrels came out
To gather and store for a future
They were all too aware of,
Even if she was blind to their truths.

She clung to her tree,
Evaluating herself and her being –
Her place in the Universe,
Taking stock of the changes
She’d endured – and proud
Oh, so proud, of how she, too,
had evolved and flourished.

Her colors changed, she’d noticed –
A copper tone much different than
Her earlier greens – but she was open
To change and accepting of circumstance,
Happy to be a part of life,
Eager to flow with the seasons of change –
Even if that meant a few wrinkles
And dryer skin.

But the sky grew dark
And the nights became long
And she became aware.

She became aware,
But there was nothing she could do
To change the course of destiny…
To alter her existence –
She was what she was…
And what would be would be.

And then one morning,
When the air had become cold and frigid,
When the sun’s fire was extinguished by
A veil of gray clouds,
And the winds whipped
And the rains came,
She reached for the Tree,
But the tree closed its eyes,
Turning its head from her.

The vibrations of change permeated her being.
She thought she was an extension of the tree –
A part of its being, a piece to the whole,
A compliment to its existence
But the tree, knowing better, gave one final rattle,
Shaking her violently with truths
She could no longer deny.

She was, after all,
Only a leaf
amidst an Autumn Sunrise.

In spite of her efforts,
She’d been shaken loose.

On her decent, she took one final moment
To evaluate what had been, and –
In spite of herself
She’d decided
That life was indeed good

And she was still graTeful

Silently, she drifts to the ground –
Returning to earth
-dust to dust –
As Autumn unfolds
and Winter prepares
to set in
Without her.

s

 

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On the edge I stand…
Neither here nor there.

The edge of night
As morning dawns –

The edge of time
As seasons merge.

The edge of dreams
As sleep dangles before me
Oh, so close
And yet, so far away

On the edge I stand
Looking over the horizon

With Winds of Change
Brushing through my hair.

There are Whispers
Moving through the air.

Neither male nor female,
Neither loud nor hushed

Neither questioning
Nor answering

Neither asking to be heard,
Nor keeping secrets…

Just voices that whisper
Through eternity
Whether or not
Anyone’s there
To dare or care
To listen

On the edge I stand…
Bare feet gripping solid ground
While my gaze and arms extend
Towards the Heavens

Aware
That I am neither
Here nor there…
And that I belong
To them both –

A product of
The precious love
generated between
Father Sky
And Mother Earth –
Father Time
And Mother Nature.

I see the Sun and Moon
Side by Side
Sharing space
in the womb of the sky.

Like sibling rivals,
I hear them debating…

“Should the earth move
From beneath Her feet,
Would She fall…
Or would She fly?”

On the edge I stand…
My laughter echoing
Through the Grand
Canyon of Life…

“Solar Power and Lunar Glow,
Here’s the truth you both should know…
Neither of you right shall gloat…
I’d not fall nor fly —
I’d float!”

On the edge I stood
As the Winds of Change did blow
And it’s there I found the courage
At long last… to let go

And become One
With the All That Is
In the infinite
Universe –

Where I am simultaneously
Empty and full
Everything and nothing
Lost and found

Where my voice
Joins in harmony
With the symphony of life…

To be or not be
Heard by a soul who
Cares or dares
To find themselves
Standing
On the Edge

Neither here nor there

Listening to the voices
Of the Winds of Change

*

w.l.f.

~Written between 11:55 p.m. and 12:05 a.m. on 8/13 and 8/14~

*Original, unedited, raw, imperfect creative expression*

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Intro: If I checked my calendars and sources, I’d know which natural disaster was taking place when I wrote this… probably the tsunami.  I wrote this back in 2004, but it’s another that rings so true to the “Five of Cups” Tarot card I’d drawn this morning, and with the way I’ve been feeling lately.  Something about dipping into my past is calming in my present.

 “Night Fog”
December 30, 2004

There’s a fog rolling in
Through the mists of the waning night
Wanting to know what it is
I’m hiding from
And whether or not I’m aware
That hiding is impossible.

Days on end I sit here
Chasing my own tail
Fighting to keep the head above water
While leaning into the flow
Of life’s currents and current
Needs and desires.

Somewhere is air, but where?
I ask myself half heartedly
Knowing that I breathe just fine
And that I’m not as lost
As it feels like I am
In the moment.

Mysticism seems far away
Determination is taking a coffee break
Ambition has grown wrinkles
Monkey mind clashes his symbols
And I try to find the signs within
But all I want to do is close my eyes

And dream the dreams that will not come
For other dreams are in the way
Visions of broken yesterdays
And the slopes down which people
Cast their judgments upon me
And the tomorrows that may never come

Thousands upon thousands dead in a day
And the grim reeper is still taking roll call
But here I sit with the handy dandy laptop
In my baby blue running suit
At nearly three a.m. with no clue
About what it is I’m feeling

The answers aren’t in the ceiling
No matter how long it’s studied –
Because answers cannot come
To questions yet unformed
Or validated
As important in light of it all.

Purpose is a funny thing
To man’s simple mind
But Earth begs to differ
As she swallows man whole
Then spits him back out upon
The land’s disassembled core

What is the core
Of my problem? Where has my mind
Wandered off to in this late hour
Momentarily relenting
From the constant barage
Of intimindating inquiries of
“Well what are you gonna do now?”

There’s a fog rolling in
Through the mists of the waning night
Wanting to know what it is
I’m hiding from
And whether or not I’m aware
That hiding is impossible.

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