Belly of a Star

my practice of compassion


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heart’s song

In the break of slumber
Thine eyes open
To black-feathered beauty
Sunray’s preamble
Trickling through ebony dark

The first call
Before first call
Silence sings
And dawn song echoes
Treasured daylight
Brought forth

Ribbons waving
From etched beak
Melodic fragrance uplifts
The chasms of nature breathes
The prelude before note
Adrift in honeysuckle
Boundless sky

Floats
A gentle gratitude
A gracious yearning
A blossom heart blossomed
A surrender sweetly surrendered
The last step brought back
Slipped between sheets

Heart song bumping in the overlap
Broken and re-broken
To bring forth deepest yoke
Nibbling its way in drippings
Forging a path of glitter-gold

All shattered weeping wrung dry
Longing’s longing
Announced in the rising
His platter of lickings, good

Lapped up
With hungry eyes
With starved gratitude
Of last crow awoken
Carry forth the new dawn

Samantha Craft, 6.30.19

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I Feel You

 

I Feel You

I feel you, a surging river, effervescent bubbles tickling my soul.

I feel you ‘rounding, serpent tail, intertwining thoughts.

I feel you resting, head buried in the rhythm of my heart.

I feel you catching, with ears open, notes of knowing, to listen once more.

I feel you hunting, the traced outer regions, where earth meets spirit.

I feel you looking, into the sunshine, in the splintered dark.

I feel you etching, into someone new, a rebirthing of flames, one from two.

I feel you maneuvering, my pages, thankful recognition.

I feel you touching, in the center of my being, tap dancing in step to music.

I feel you entering, one foot in, propelled, and then cautioned to return.

I feel you fearing, a warrior, wrapped in misgivings, the cons of journey.

I feel you tiptoeing, kisses to forehead, tips to spine.

I fell you questioning, to delve in full force, no holds barred, unable to stop.

I feel you ricocheting, joyfulness unraveled, recognized friend.

I feel you emptying, giver to giver, the silver streams of who you are.

I feel you pounding, my threshold awaiting, as the clocks turn back tomorrow.

I feel you plunging, as steer to doe, nature’s slave, populating passion.

I feel you spinning,  my hand in yours, lost on merry-go-round.

I feel you plummeting, a skydiver bouncing, through heaven’s clouds.

I feel you returning, to sheltered harbor, a sailor no longer sworn to sea.

I feel you moving, inside and out, everywhere I gather, justly spread out whole.

I feel you guiding, these words as maker, lessons in the drum of holiness.

I feel you beating, an undeniable rhythm, a captive to ecstasy, a pain like no other.

I feel you living, right where I scribe, moving my fingers, as weaver to loom.

I feel you echoing, reading these words aloud, edging your way into love.

Samantha Craft, 6.9.19


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Rest My Lover Sweet

Rest . . .

 

Rest my lover, sweet

Behold the temple of shelter, I bring forth

Evaporate into my ever-welcoming softness

Rest upon my armored chest

Soothe your woes with the weavings of safety

As I lace my fingers through your delicate thoughts

Nestle in my sincerity and bring forth the whole

Of your weeping mind

 

Rest my lover, sweet

Behold the embrace I offer

Bear down your troubled truth

In endless streams of heartstrings

Birth into my stronghold the delicacy of your days

Outstretch the ancient avenues bleak

And allow me to catch each drop

Of your weeping pain

 

Rest my lover, sweet

Behold the abundant kisses I place

Your dampened cheeks renewed

Emerge unburdened and unafraid

Ghost tears resolved

From my baptismal waters

Dip and rise as final fragrance, freed

Of your weeping secrets

 

Rest my lover, sweet

Behold the devotional cradle I bring

Let timeless mysteries unravel

Fairy ribbons dance

As I inhale your palpable purity

A vulnerability announced and devoured

Inching into nectarous casing

Of your weeping body

 

Rest my lover, sweet

Behold the caresses I lavish

Where ecstasy meets fantasy and nightmares dare not enter

Far from harm’s way

Demon memories shaved away, and countered justly

My sword hoisted as sign of my delivery

Forging through as gentle giant in heavenly forest

Of your weeping spirit

 

Rest my lover, sweet

Behold the towering warrior I am

Breathe in the light rising out of this hollowed space

Lapped in the kindled-fire hues

Reflecting the heat you inspire

The appetizing scent you bleed

Assigned guardian

Of your weeping heart

 

Rest my lover, sweet

Behold the arms I spread

Bird to flight

Open the book of me

A child to leaping pages

Grant permission to put an end to empty words

Your healing right, laden with the salvation

Of my weeping love

 

Rest my lover, sweet

Behold the devotional cradle I bring

Let timeless mysteries unravel

Fairy ribbons dancing

As I inhale your palpable purity

A vulnerability announced and devoured

Inching into nectarous casing

Of your weeping body

 

Rest my lover, sweet

Behold the caresses I lavish

Where ecstasy meets fantasy and nightmares dare not enter

Far from harm’s way

Demon memories shaved away and countered justly

My sword hoisted as sign of my delivery

Forging through as gentle giant in heavenly forest

Of your weeping spirit

 

Rest my lover, sweet

Behold the towering warrior I am

Breathe in the light rising out of this hollowed space

Lapped in the kindled-fire hues

Reflecting the heat you inspire

The appetizing scent you bleed

Assigned guardian

Of your weeping heart

 

Rest my lover, sweet

Behold the arms I spread

Bird to flight

Open the book of me

A child to leaping pages

Grant permission to put an end to empty words

Your healing right, laden with the salvation

Of my weeping love

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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I am not just kind

dancing

I am not just kind
I am aware
I am aware of my thoughts, my motives, my inclinations
My doubts, my worries, my fears
My loves
My woes
My struggles
My hopes
I am not just kind
I am open
I am open to my frailties, my flaws, my imperfections
I am open to new ideas, new ways of thinking and experiencing
I am open to radical change
In myself, in the world, in another
I am not just kind
I am wild
I am wildly compassionate, a fierce defender of the voiceless
A reckoning to the lonely, a chasm to the fear bound
I am wild in my imaginings, creation, connections
My loves
My woes
My struggles
My hopes
I am not just kind
I am strong
I am powerful in my convictions
I am powerful in my abilities
I am powerful in my attitude
I am strong in what I choose to take in, and in what I choose
To leave behind
I am strong in my determination to be the best I know to be
In my realization that I am enough
And that we are enough
I am not just kind
I am finely tuned
I am tuned with the precision of decades of introspection
I am tuned with eons of acceptance
I am tuned with the grace of self-dignity
My adobe is the musical reef
My loves
My woes
My struggle
My hopes
I am not just kind
I am a fortune
I am a boundless treasure, transmuted from the darkness
Upheld from the dungeon reserves
A fortune to be found and returned
To that which is
My loves
My woes
My struggle
My hopes
I am not just kind

Samantha Craft, December 2016


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Kindness, Intention, & Respect

Kindness, Intention, & Respect

I treat people, no matter their age, creed, beliefs, values, economic status, celebrity status, political stance, the same, regardless. I accept people at face value.

I am not easily offended.

I respect others and they respect back.

I try my best not to take things personally, and if I do, I step back and analyze what is in myself that makes me fear.

I have no need to prove.

I accept others have bad days.

I recognize the energy I put out there is reciprocated.

I attract kind people and open-minded people.

I believe most people have good intentions at heart.

When something doesn’t sit right, I say “thanks, but no thanks.”

I respect and accept those who are expressing anger.

There comes a time to let anger go in order not to breed further separation.

I appreciate others looking out for others.

I try my best not to participate in gossip.

By nature, I don’t choose sides.

I recognize I can do my works by staying true to my nature.

What I bring up from the roots directly reflects my intentions.

My intentions are not for self and self-alone.

My roots drink from a space of emptiness—a nurturing fortitude of love and service.

My roots drink from a place of absorbing and sharing knowledge.

I radiate kindness, because at the root of me I have others at heart.

People are drawn to what they innately are.

My life is filled with kindred souls who are open-minded, accepting, and honest.

They respect my fruits because they sense my intention.

By following my heart and calling, I have created a life full of richness.

People need to be seen, heard, and believed.

When I am an equal student, I am the very best of who I am.

I am in a state of neutrality and logic or a state of loving grace.

I recognize my opinions change over time and that nothing I do or say is stagnant.

There is a force that lives through me that urges, even pushes, me to love.

 

Everyday Aspergers Book on Amazon

About the author of this article: Samantha Craft is the author of Everyday Aspergers. Ten Years in the making, Craft’s book is receiving positive reviews and support from professionals in the field of autism and autistic individuals. Craft is in touch with thousands of autistic individuals throughout the world. Her book is available on Amazon in soft back and as worldwide e-book in many countries.


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Keeping Silent

There comes a point when we all choose to keep silent. I think if the motivation/intention behind the silence is a peaceful reckoning that all is as is, unfolding as intended, that silence is of benefit. When it comes down to it the most silent are often the most at peace.

In situations where someone is silent based on fear, such as being criticized, ridiculed, ostracized, singled-out, or any a number of measures of enduring emotional and/or physical wounds, that is another matter.

Keeping silent has become a modern-day hero. We are being indoctrinated with WithHOLD YOUR TRUTH.

It doesn’t seem like it at close inspection, but digging deeper, there appears to be a gross monogamy of error circulating the collective networks of communication. We are being told in a series of random bombardments to BE POSITIVE.

There is an error in such dogma that eats away at the bone of spirit.

There are drones of individuals gathered proclaiming that in order to change the world we must put out, literally extinguish, the negative thoughts and replace all states of being with this so-called positive.

The potential outcome is feasibly explosive.

First off, the very fact of proclaiming one knows a way or truth or path over the other creates immediate separation. In instilling onto others, whether through a degree of good-intentions or not, that to be a better person or to live in a better world, we ultimately must shed or disgrace the negative aspects of self, is to at the exact same moment determine that we are inadequate in our wholeness of being.

We were not given our so-deemed negative aspects of thought in order to extinguish them like a proverbial fire of the master’s home. We were given, and have therefor received, our negative aspects to learn, to be students, to flow and work though the ebbing of our very existence.

The way is not found in abstracting a part of ourselves as one abstracts the rotten, damaged tooth. I see this as bigotry towards the very self—an outcry to destroy what in completion we are.

There are fools and there are wolves, I have no doubt, in this instant about that. And to proclaim that the act of forgoing the rupture of negativity will smooth out the edges of deemed ‘evils’ is absolutely non-substantiated and nonsensical.

We are not built to master the positive and siphon out the negative, to inject ourselves with painful dissection and elevate the status of happy, while squeezing out the rest, drop by drop.

First of all, none are built wrong, and to imply there is something to hide, something to shame, or something to counter, is to imply wrongness and utter disassociation with the whole.

True, we are a part of the collective, a hive of sorts, very much a flock of birds, moving and flowing with the direction of our shared vibrational energy. And yes, to a degree, the premise of advancing our thoughts to a place of painless outlook is beneficial, but this cannot and will not be achieved through conjuring, force, or subversive measures.

As free as we are, we are not free. And to think one has the power to shift the collective through dominantly choosing and domineeringly forcing others to follow a laid out path is both confusing and stifling to the sensitive searching soul. The energy truly does not match the passion of service and love, and instead is a type of dictatorship in which innocents are trapped into thinking, in the very worst measures, that they are inherently flawed in their own thinking.

It is not enough to tell someone to hold back a thought, or, in an equally stronger fashion, to not proclaim a thought. It is not enough to tell someone to spread love and happy feel-good feelings; in this manner we withhold the very edgings of the soul that are weeping and crying.

There is strong and dignified error here. The same error found if a man was to open a flower upon himself and let the fragrance slip through, and then following, watch the flower decompose into the ground of earth, while concluding the decomposition and regeneration was purposeless and meaningless—negative and unnecessary.

Let us hold onto the scent of joy and discard of the withering—this is the mentality. To take a singular part of the cycle of life, of the human/spirit condition, and highlight it with marker as the best and ultimately only, while diminishing all that is before and after.

Beauty is not found in the eye of the beholder, when the one seeking is already in a state of separation and judgment. When the one seeking is still attached to the definition of positive and negative—he, in this instant, has made himself at once judge and jury to the masses. He at once has determined in the layering of his own mind and balancing of his own perception what is worse and what is better. He has failed to see the line between good and bad does not exist, but rather merges together in a murky grey area that is endless in potential.

Where he chooses to stand, in proclaiming to be the bearer of good, or all that is positive, is on a line somewhere between the good and the bad of his perception, perhaps further towards the good, and many a step away from bad. But the question remains of where and how he chooses to stand. What led him to this point? What did he collect in his basket to determine his reality, his illusion of positive and right? How did he decide? Who did he put his trust into? And where did these conclusions stem from?

Numbers are not meant to determine outcome. They are simple measurement. They measure the temperature, the degree, the value; yet, man lets numbers rule his life; in this instant, in where he stands is a factual number. Let him stand ten degrees east of bad, or one degree west of good on the linear scale of judgment; let his feet rest where they may, and in his standing he has chosen what is the best and what is the worse; he has chosen his limit and his extreme, and he has deemed in the exact same instant that everything on the other side of him, the deemed ‘negative’ side, as separate.

And this is where the pain begins: by stepping onto the line of attachment of good and bad.

For one to proclaim that his thoughts, and his mind’s ramblings, and his deciphering, decoding, and self-actualization are the right way, the positive way, the acceptable way, is to in the same moment to pour out all the elements of union from the collective and to designate himself a separate being.

Though he thinks himself honorable and purposeful in doing so, he is in theory delegating his ego and his illusioned ego-power as dictator to his soul. He is announcing to the world I know enough in my singular standing-form to point the way for myself and for you.

Here he stands: In being as I am, I am enough, and I know. Follow me. And in following me, swallow the same pill of recognizing you are not enough in and of yourself. For if you were enough, I would not need to lead you in such a way; I would not need to dictate to you where to go; I would not need to point such finger. And as I candy-coat my presence and essence with soft and sublime messages of positive, I so penetrate into the soul of your being the essence of inadequate, non-substantial and lacking.

How much more beneficial to say to another: I accept you in completion, in all of your meandering states, for you are ever constant, you are ever shifting, ever moving, never stagnant, and the representation of self is neither here nor there; I accept the changes in you with open arms and open heart, embracing neither your triumphs nor challenges, for you are not what you seem to be. You are more than you seem to be. You are an intricate part of the universal whole playing out as magnificently as you were made. I see in you all that you are and love all that you are.

There is no need to hide, to stifle, to pretend any longer. Your truth is my truth. Your frailties my frailties. Your heart my heart. We are one. And here we stand together as brother/sister reborn.

How much more beneficial to lather someone in unconditional love than in conditional directions.


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Angel Heart

unconditonal love 2

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:

The Wounded Healer

The Core of Fear

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.

unconditonal love