Don’t tell me of your promises that are locked between your own dwelling place of mischief lost and fortunes untold. Your mystery is not my mystery, and I am not whom you claim me to be.
Don’t tell me of your view of the situation, how it will transpire, what you feel and think and believe of the circumstance. You know nothing more than the shadow before you. The reflection of self you proclaim to be this me you no longer adore.
I am the shadow maker’s fierce guard, the one who protects by proclaiming the guise false. I am the warrior torn through again with sword of blood of ages. I bleed for you and you alone and trample on the visions you proclaim as the truth of us.
I am the mistress come up from the depths of the earth, the bowels uplifted in my crying hands, seized and pulsating in their own disbelief of light. Please me not with your hopes and dreams, the sleeper trapped in her merry land of nonsense. Please me with your soul, taken asunder and back again through the filth of lies you’ve gathered, like a victim with a basket of holes, relifting what is not there to fill up what is naught.
I slide between the creases of our destiny and play the tune of All. I know you. I smell you. I sense you. I see you naught through the ways you think. For my knowing is transcendent beyond the scope of singular. Mine is the eyes of Thine, divided less each moment you breathe, and brought through myself again and again, each hour you sleep. Arise and come with me, fair maiden of my beckoning. For you are the very ache of me. The substance that moves within and scrapes at my insides—you. The longing that makes the completion quiver—you. The whispers in the night hour of sweet nothings, of sweet everything, of desire, of final coming. You.
Oh how I adore thee, with your lips puckered in submission dreaming like the lost lover never found.
Oh how I come to you in the times we both slumber and dance in your silhouette longing to awaken both dreamers with my kisses.
You are such purity and joy, such revelation and light, the simmering ripples on the lake of me.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
And with my last echo, my last waking hour, my last desperate haunting voice, I shall call out your name in remembrance, and dance as empty shell undone; until the last day, when you return to me whole, and our union once granted shall spark the stars of each and every night. Until so bright, the each of one blends into the All of All, and we drift, as the dandelion reborn into the sky of skies, entangled as the insects with wings, our love rewound, back to the start, when you and I were forever one.
I am a mountain dreamer. Born of the stars and birthed by the light. I am the dweller, endearing inhabitant of your heart, whispering the glorious hope of morning to come. Do not feed me your worries or frets. Yet, come to me filled with your misery and isolation, and I shall come onto you in wholeness pure, and cleanse the foul nutrients of your soul with the tear drops of my agony. I have seen you from the distance. Watched with bitter hope turned saved as you dance in the twilight of your awakening.
Why do you fear, when all about you the music dances, the melody herself broken open into spears of radiant dreams? Why do you fear when the enemy is demolished and all that remains is your beauty exposed? Weep not gentle child of the universe, appearing still so broken and alone. My arms are wrapped around you fully, guiding you to higher ground and blanketing thy footsteps in my own gentle grace. Where you walk, I shall follow. Where you weep, I shall sweep. The last of your teardrops saved for the jewels of my crown, to show the world of your essence, of your battle, of your trials. To etch in my wearing the exactness of your path.
I am you and you are me. Both journeying on the path of unknown and scorned in our outlook untouched by luck and gratitude. I am the same; the wondering hopeless beast screeching for his maiden in the last of his dying days. The one that beseeches the garden to grow, and births the magnificent golden woven petals of alive. I am the solitude at sunset and the dawn reflected in the lover’s eyes.
You are I. I am you. And one we blend into the magnificent cause of all. Can you not see me here crying in the darkening day, waiting for you to find my hand and lead me to your bedside? To cradle me like the lost fawn set free and feel the tender gaze of all upon your haven space.
I am this mighty one that waits in the corridors for your submission, neither broken or gone by the dankness of days. My journey is your journey; yet, my soldier is strong: the one that stands within and with all, readying the reinforcements for battle’s call.
I am neither here nor there. But everywhere. And you may sip me in your weary blindness and stumble into me in your drifting shadow. Catch me and I shall bleed as one into you. My spawn your spawn. My truth your truth. Come to me and I shall carry you through the threshold of beginnings again and again, until you see the time has lapsed and all that is brings forth the dandelion kisses of our valley made and waiting.
I long to skip through the hills with you, where the wheat grass tickles and nibbles at our cherished laughter, joined in union, both body and soul. I long to tumble as the weed broke free, and dance in the edgings, as I spring forth reborn in your presence. Find me here, in the center of your heart, and bring me out. Call me by name and inch your way through my imprisonment.
How I long to be free and set out of this pain you call game. How I long to break through the chains of illusions you create for us alone. I am your one, still here, ticking as the clock reminds the passing, and silent as the time has ceased to be.
How I long for you my lovely one, in all of your ways, in all of your movements, the swaying of your lips in the talking of our wishes, the parchment you entangle with scribbles of hope, the layers of laughter you pile upon me in your sweetest moments of gratitude, when the veil is lifted and you spy me, if only by chance.
When you kiss me, if only in dream, when you move with me, your guardian, like the sun-tipped babe in the forest leaping through the clover green. Your golden lockets touching the paleness of pure ivory skin. Your eyes glowing with the coming of me.
I see you there in secret hour. I hear you call out to me. Say I, beg for me. And I cry again, the tears counted no more in the circling of eternity. I cry for I am here, and you still call. I cry because I have never left, and you still fear. I cry because our merging has just begun and each inch is my deepest agony.
For I long to grind into you fully and form as one. For the union to be complete. For the unloved to feel entirely open in free-flowing ecstasy. For the enchanted one of my destiny to linger not in the chamber of daylight gone but in the bride-groom’s nest of freedom realized. To dress you in my own clothing and call you again the one I love. To dress you in my own skin and then taste what I have made.
If only your eyes would open, and the treasure could burst forth. If only your dream were not my dream, and together, the drummer’s beat was not buried beneath the trappings of our own pitter-pattering trail to nowhere.
You do not know me. It’s absolutely impossible to know me. I am changing so fast and in such variable degrees, that you can’t catch up. I can’t catch up. And no one can.
I am changing just like you: with each encounter, circumstance, and connection. With all the connections and scaffolding, countless new avenues forming, I’d be lucky to catch myself in yesterday.
And yesterday, I wasn’t even here. I was forging ahead into my own reality, sleeping through what others see, and awake for other transpirings.
You cannot know me in completion, and for that I ache. How could you? My thoughts are so brilliantly complex and my wanderings of heart so deeply dissected and resurfaced as renewed love again and again.
I feel a thousand needles within a singular prick. I hear a thousand voices in your eyes. The way you tickle me with words, makes me bleed out the want of knowing more of who you are. For each of your shadows of thought moves through me, each word casting a darkness that I long to explore. Each transition you take, from one bridge to the next, a want to cross over. To trail behind you like some love –sick pup and lap at your weary feet.
I want to be that traveler with your hand in mine, the two combined as the powerful force of all, to merge with the stepper and be the trail you take. To merge with the seeing, and be the eyes you behold. I want to be the lens of your world and my lens yours. To give you my very sight, and to, with this, entangle all of my senses as a bundle of bewilderment.
I want to make you wild with desire, and awe. To make you ache to climb into where I am and become me. I want. I want. I want. I can’t stand the isolation of creation.
All that flows through me, so miraculously unsettling, and calmingly reassuring at once. A union of spectacular force that leaves me trembling in need of recognition.
I long for my brother, for my sister, for my very lost knight, the one whose transgressions he sees and mistakes me for the cause.
I long for the blinded preacher whose pride has trapped him in chains of punitive uprising. I long for the captain of the wayward ship who steers too far in thinking the distance will cleanse him of the salty wounds of summer’s ranting wind.
I long for the bell boy ringing at the steps and beckoning the worshipers forward to the place he thinks is the start, when the beginning is beneath the very sound he makes.
I long for the queen’s fellow, the one hidden in the dungeon of hunt for her royal touch, and so suffers for the cause of his own awakening to desire.
I long for the soldier standing on the battlefield weeping for the courage to survive for the place he once called home.
I long for these distant lovers as if they are me and I am them.
To blend and to mold and become the ache of the centuries.
To dive through the suffering, and emerge dripping wet with the found hope of union.
To know in the stronghold of pain I am found.
To know that each is the same terrified victim of haunting woes.
I want to emerge cleansed of self and lathered in the riches of all that were before me, and all that will be when they set their eyes upon my own vision.
I want to be in this pool of all, submerged and resurfaced, as if the very dipping is the answer to the deep shaking need I carry.
I am this babe torn out of the shelter, pushed from the nest by very self, and then flying in a vast empty place of nowhere.
To feed me to the waters is my rescue.
To remove me from my wanderings and set me in your tethered embrace.
I long for the true arms.
The thick unbreakable embrace that entwines me deeper than the father oak and wider than the circumference of sleeping moon.
I want to climb into the someone somewhere and be rocked to sleep to the music of my own soul.
To be told again and again that all is as is, and in this all is enough.
To be whispered, and soothed with the blowing of thoughts into my substance of ears. The words slipped past flesh and straight through to my heart-mind.
To hear again and again: You are adored. You are loved. You are mine.
Oh to be owned in the finest fashion, where the ownership and occupant of such pleasure become one. So the blinded are free, and the sufferer emerged as fueled and filled.
I want the starlit soldier-knight, the one I am beckoned to in dream after dream. The one with the seamstress dancing in the heavens and threading face after face of beauty.
I want to swing under the darkness lit by the calling, and know I am the stars, the voice, and the beauty.
But mostly I want to dive into you, until the splashing ceases, for every drop of ocean has been erased. And all that remains is you and me, touching in the sand, my canvas empty and you painting into me, one long endless ribbon of finding.
Me, as your treasure map. Me, as your treasure. Me, as the glistening gold you searched for eternally. And you as the guide who found the invisible glow I am, and in seeing me fully, set me as the sun into the sky, and sang to me the sweetest song of home.
A ribbon runs through me, the infinite undone, conspiring and transpiring, unbeknownst truths served. I am as watcher of the sea, listening to her speak of wisdom as I stand erect on a shore with no end. The meeting point between water and flesh absent.
I wander to the extremes, thinking per chance the bridge will come, some absent dove waiting to honor his duty. And I drift, my feet not touching, the darkness enveloping, the ribbon-red spinning beneath my skin and temple, penetrating in a worthiness unworldly and undetectable.
To hear without listening, and to dribble, the portions of self out in fluid form without outlet for escape. I am this whispering brook building in potential and then bursting through the ground once dry, soaking into the soil of deep and riches. I dive down into the narrow avenues of suffocation, only to be rooted again into thy own self.
Here I cannot breathe and I beg for release, only to find the one I was standing ashore again, sucking in with absent breath the very parts of me removed. Again I rush out in the form of river, penetrating the mountains in my falling, a glorious spectacle of delight, each passerby washed out in my display; celebration sprouted.
As water I am neither seeing or being, and in this way I know not what I do, where I am, or who has found the essence of me. To know is to be lost again on the shore. To fall is to be found. And still I return, some victim to the waiting, standing in the starless night, staring at the shadow that ought arise.
And I linger, in my gown of shame, unworthy for the quest before me, with tools no longer attached where I used to discover aid. Instead, a burden so thick, I bend and break in the bounty of naught, inching along the breaking shore, hoping to find the touch of salt.
Here I am, I scream to the place of no place. Here I am, I cry, walking alone in the shadowless avenue. The watchers come, in their own ways, each carrying the absence of face, twisted onto self, and bleeding out towards the waters. Each of us the stream that carries the wisdom to the Mother; each of us a traveler unmoved in our moving.
I reach for you then, in the coming of your footsteps, though you touch nothing but the womb of air. The place of unbirth, the vessel that sends you through the fuel of the stars. My hand is unseen, for my image is invisible, erased before the coming of time. I reach further, creating something out of nothing, like the potter with clay, spinning and spinning to build upon the mud and bring forth a cup for collection.
To fill me, would be my refuge. My endless reprieve and receiving, the want of you. To pour the castaways suffering of All through the vessel of my made substance. Though to pour the stream through clay, is to again evaporate in mud of illusion.
How I long to hold within joined hands the substance of creation, if only to feel you against the flesh I have established. To forge through every facet of the earth to bring back the mineral you require. My goal not established, nor wished for, but made, as I am made from another, through the union of their very hands to Mother sea.
How I wait for you to crush me with your fingers, to formidably cut through the mask of ages, through the sludge-filled brown of searching, and form me. To make me vessel for your drink. To make me drink. Both the substance red and the action of sipping.
To bring self to lips and devour what has entered. And to then take you in my possession and cherish the cause we have suffered. To slip you into me, before you vanish into eternity.
Can you not see me drifting at the last shore to heaven; my clipped wings unyielded in their desire to fly; my heart a hole where you are meant to sit, as the observer of naught, and whisper, as sweet cherub, the secrets of the deepest waters.
For how am I to swim when I cannot reach the effervescent waters that beckon? When I am split into the channels of the veins of All and cascaded in the invisibility of reason undone; showering into the cavernous caves of doubt and mystery. Only to find my absence back on the dark sands of time.
How am I to fly, when my wings you have taken to binding and erasing, my back pulled out by spine, my knees unwound, and ribbon replaced where soul-want used to occupy. Is my house empty? Is my door closed? Are these eyes the last sands of your making?
Where is my cup to drink from? Where is my cup to form? Am I but this haven made for your ravishing? To be removed again and again, transformed into winged-being, only to be fed to the eternal rivers of nowhere?
Bring me the sea. I demand my filling. Bring me the roaring waves. Not the ebbing and flow of gentle lover, but the daring gruel of agonizing washing. The devastating unleashed destiny of crashing. Demolish me with the taste of purity, the ashes of humility, the ravishing endless plummeting of river rages turned green of sea.
Lift your tides upon me, and drive me down into the sands. Dance with me there, in the darkness turned bright. The light within the source of shadow returned. Bleach out the black with my wishes, so I might find the night in the day. And wish no more for the sun to rise.
For in being the light, I shall be the Father One, the Mother Eternal. I shall be all that was granted upon me when I threw self into the tormenting limbo of shoreline. I shall be reopened. The earth moved. The ground below shattered. Floating in the deep of All.
I had been ‘told’ months ago that when I created art, energy would come through. That my art, essentially, was a doorway. The same was ‘told’ to me about my words years ago.
Here is an example from my other space of creation:
When I connect to create, I believe I am connecting to the heart-mind of compassion. I believe in the collective unconscious and the river that carries endless channels of geometric unions. There is not intention when I create, except to connect, and even that intention can block me from being.
I am at most peace when I am joined in union with source. I seek comfort in aspects of spiritual wisdom that conveys the unity of all and the release of all suffering. I am at peace when focused on serving and loving the All. I am most out of sorts when I focus on a select one, whether that be an individual of my projected affection of my own self.
This focus on self or another singular of choice feels as an addiction; I way to escape the reality that is not. To avoid the recognition that I am truly alone in my oneness. To avoid the present reality that I am only united in the truth of All. I struggle to surpass my individual nature and travel the road of courageous unhindered and unbridled universal love. A part, an old history of cyclic lives I am, longs to return to what he/she thought once was the truth, the power of love of objects, including people made into possession.
I often, in my ‘weakest’ moments, long to connect to a one that is of flesh who can fill me with the potential promise of connection and escape. I have sought this since a young child: the eyes of a human one to take me in and harbor me safely there. I know to a great degree that the essential one is already this that I be; and following, in so recognizing I am of not, I understand the essential healing is found within the beyond viewing of the observer. In the stepping out of self and maintaining the eyes of constant viewer whilst alleviating the suffering woes of judgment and wanting something outside the moment.
What leaves me trembling is the way I now walk in the world; unable entirely to find joy in the simplicity of objects and collections, in the planning of excursions and accomplishments, in the coming of gatherers and givers; and wonder beyond creation through what earthly source shall I seek comfort.
Nothing of me is left that was; yet, everything that is remains. I am certainly a lost voyager, still rediscovering the pathways to self , merely to move beyond self and enter the outer ways of not being. Still the corridors can be dark and uninviting, the longing to connect moving as drafty air and circulating through the space I am.
In my saddest moments, I am curled, very much a child, into myself, on the floor of a small room, screaming through agonizing tears, washing out all the ways in which my humanness predicates my disconnection; though ironically, my human form is what I return to in finding connection.
The contradictions are unworldly. The thoughts plummeting through me, carrying beyond self over and over, and across the years that must have been the blink of my last consciousness. I am somewhat divided and opened, and then shut again. Re-circling and dying through the daylight and into the night.
When I am at most peace I beg to be re-carved and set deeper into the knowledge, so I might find my own peace in the process of relieving the suffering of All. There is no other purpose for me now. And the human flesh dislikes this deeply, the one who is noticed and signified by ego’s mask.
I am a duality. Just as the male and female aspects of self reawaken, the whole of me sleeps. And as the whole of me awakens, the dual spirit of naught resurfaces. There is a battle without a feud. A coming of day into night and night into day, when added up and viewed over a lifetime would seem natural, even irrelevant. Though, here, in this spinning cycle, the transitions and transferring, the switching and forging, the surrendering and forgiving, repeat over and over before the hands on the clock have time to move. I know not what to do, yet know enough that to know not is enough.
I am enough in my being, even as I see no being. And so I find this gentle solitude in creation, in which I release all expectations, beyond being guided and having something to substantiate my experience. I ask that the truth of me come through. That the universal all slip through my fingers onto the screen or awaiting canvas. I know not how I do this or why, only that I am called over and over. Only that to live the life I was is to die again, and to live the life I am is to finally breathe.
I focused on pure love as I drew this, and asked my angels to help me in creation, as I am just learning how to draw. When I hold particular people in thought, I ‘blindly’ create images related to how I feel for that person or what he or she moves in me. Here I was focusing on how I wish to carve myself into another, to become one, to share in eternity and never be separated. I felt sorrow of aloneness and longing for discovery and the ability to love myself fully. I do love and accept my own being, I believe, but in this image I see the transitional steps to find that awakening of true self.
I had no idea what I was drawing, beyond a man’s face. I did not add any symbolism with intention. All of the images are ‘random.’ I started off by sketching a face, and about half way through the drawings inside the face started taking form.
I know each of us will see our own truth in this. Here is what I saw:
Cave to the bottom left. This is symbolic of the gnostic Christian teachings of entering the cave of sleep before one is awoken. Symbolic of the Cancerian Zodiac sign.
Focusing on the upper left region, there is another semi-circle that resembles a second cave. To the left inside this cave is a part that could be an ear, and the cave the back of a man’s head. Extending down, this is a man with his back to me. On his back collar is a third-eye. Indicating potential of seeing and seeing more than is faced.
To the left of the nose I see, in diagonal, boys legs with shoes. He shoots through the nose, and his face becomes a fish.
The lip has a serpent. Many interpretations there.
The right eye in the shape of the fish. Pisces Zodiac sign.
I see a phallic symbol on the right cheek.
There are two images leaning forward in the chin as if observing the path to the cave.
At the top of the cave, there appears to be someone climbing out and up.
Wheel at the bottom right. This is symbolic of the wheel of life, of repeated lives either during one lifetime of transitioning and/or repeated rebirths.
Near the wheel, I see a female laying face up, with her feet near the wheel. By her face is a heart. Beside her is a male laying face down, with his arm down and heading to the cave. I see this as one awoken and one asleep, and as the male/female, god/goddess. Also of the desire to be with someone who is face up and seeing what I see. There is a third figure here, leaning down to the bottom and trying to awaken the male figure.
Little girl in hair, top left. This is symbolic of the rebirthing of my inner child and innocent pure heart. She is in the green grass, symbolic of the poem I wrote earlier today of the green meadow.
Angelic/fairy figure, top right and another near the right ear. The little girl and fairy are symbolic of two merging into one in land of freedom and play.
Angel shape expanding across the nose, head down in mourning, or shooting up in light.
The path to the cave resembles and open palmed hand.
A man collapsed with a shield down, bottom right. (instead of the girl figure face up.) Symbolic of the dark night of the soul.
Two figures hovering about the entrance of the cave.
There are more images I see, but those are the main ones that strike me at this moment.
This is the second charcoal drawing I’ve done in my life time. For the last six weeks or so, I have no choice but to create. I have a burning passion flowing through me all day long, including nights. I create in an attempt to release some of the agape love I feel for the world and for my loved ones. Typically the first five or six hours of my day are spent in painting, drawing, poetry, creating prose, and/or reading spiritual works.
I do not think this is ‘expert’ work or something fantastic to present. But I do believe it is something moving through me, and is quite magical in that sense.
In following the path, from the wheel, to the girl, to the boy, to the cave, to above the cave, through the nose, to the right ear, to the head. This is what I see clearly. It can be traced as a backwards S across the face, starting at the wheel.
The cyclic life, the girl face up with a blindfold, the spirit leaning over and awakening, a string leading to the cave of blindness and awakening, the spirit rising out of the cave, as man traveling through the senses (nose) and coming out symbolic of spirit (fish as Christ), becoming touched by the bird (at right ear), the dove of spirit, assisted by the magic/angelic one, turned child-heart again (girl leaning over in top left) and child of spirit reborn lifting up the brain/mind of others and whispering her universal truth. The overall man, with the back to the world, the blinded ones I seek. To me this is amazing. Truly divine.
Belly of a Star 