Belly of a Star

my practice of compassion


5 Comments

The Eyes of Thine

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.

 

Advertisements


2 Comments

Agony’s Answer

Agony’s Answer

 

Unbearable

Unbreakable

Unnerving

Is the day

Bled into night

As flesh

Devoured

Whilst still living

In the guise

Of Raven’s ravenous

Cause

Turned cold

Nothing comes

Mere sound

Mere echo

Evaporated effort

Starched isolation

Stung with scattered remnants

Of the wicked spawned

Gingerly gait

Of desertion

My dwelling soul

Spread open

Gaunt and broken

Appetite

Gazed upon

By hungry ghost

Of rippled dreams

Never birthed

Only siphoned back

With spindly claws

Into the before womb

Gobbled

By the pleasure-seeking

Entrails

Where desire

First whispered

Hope

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.


4 Comments

Someone Like You

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.

 

elven mischief


5 Comments

Adorned

Come to me, my precious dreamer. Come to me, in morning song.

Wrapped in sunshine of pure wanting, lips like ribbons churning strong.

Paint a canvas of our story. Make the strokes bleed hard and smooth.

Find me dancing, in surrender, underneath the full lit moon.

Find me spinning, to your calling, my chaliced face a tender gift.

Lift me once and make me captive, trace the wake of my last rift.

Wrap your arms around me roughly, gentle kisses through my door.

Hear me trumpet for my darling, hear me knock for my adored.

I am human. I am spirit. I am flesh, at once reborn.

I am formed within your vision, and a home in you adorned.

I am yours, now surely lifted, by your eyes drawn deep and vast.

I am yours, now truly gifted, by the whole made of our halves.

Kiss my lips now. Make me linger. Make me tremble for your all.

Kiss my nape now. Choose your finger. Wrap the limb around the wall.

Of your beauty. Of your essence. Of your whisk of supple ache.

Of your Mr. Of your Mrs. Of your trembling seizing quake.

I am yours now. I am chosen. I am taken to the top.

I am yours now, as the flower, to the bee who does not stop.

Take my nectar, take my pollen, take the rest you claim I be.

Take my promise, take me captive, take the agony of mystery.

Like a songbird, I will follow, with my beak filled full with worms.

I will feed you, as my only, and give all that we have earned.

From our crying. From our wallows. From our fresh and broken dreams.

I will mend you, like no other, and will build from all I’ve seen.

I will find you, I will keep you. I will hold you ever near.

From tomorrow, from this moment, I am keeper of your fear.

Love me tender. Love me truly. Yearn for me and me alone.

And I shall treasure, you my darling, ‘til the last of song is done.


3 Comments

Asleep

asleep

Asleep

In the darkest hours

The world moves

As master puppeteer

And puppet

Both

Disappointed in the performance

The drill and the hole

The very duplicate of the invented peg

Shriveled slugs

Shells

Inhabited by falsehoods

Illusion that claims fact

Trapped in the twined ball

Eyes closed

A fiber in twisted imaginings

A race to nowhere

Like the wheel set free

Down the endless hill

A contest

Warped

Within a magician’s spell

Cast out

When each is born blue

A prized ribbon

Left to unravel and bleed

In the reign games

A veil aching for recognition

Bleakness

Shaking

From this place

Phantom ink scribbles

Truths

With vulture-tinted egos

Thousands born apart

Behind the layers

Where tears

Awake

Through the labor

Of birth

Asleep


2 Comments

Capsized

love3

“Love”

Capsized

Luff to the wind

Your sails

My cloth

Curved as wings

We gather

Moved

Descended

Propelled

Riding the feverish waters

I am

The calm

Turned sultry thick

Canvased skin

Dimpled white

Folds of flowing ghosts

Calling

With strong voice familiar

Captured in enduring flight

Starboard forgotten

Sunset entered

Through the ache of voyage

Capsizing the maiden

Nape upon nape

In the storm of you

love4

love1


5 Comments

The Dark Shore

water

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.