Belly of a Star

my practice of compassion


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Joy’s Pain

Joy’s Pain

Here I stand, abandoned.
Abandoned by fear, by doubt, by destitute.
Here I stand, embraced.
Encapsulated by love, by love, by love.
Her shadow emerged from light’s bowing down.
And I kiss her, my merry dancing bride brought to life.
The stellar glance of knowing.
The chisel of breath, against buried skin.
The emerging one, formed two.
Lightening shadow sparks in victorious rapture.
Stillness undone into solitude.
Envy bowing down to grace.
Laughing sticks, peering out over the valley of vines.
Inchworms soiling the ground in which they bleed.
Enough, enough, enough, the wise woman calls from the bounty.
Enough, my undone love.
Burry me with the masses.
Cast me aside.
Stomp on my chained heart.
Carve me with the pieces of him.
Just make the river dance stop.
Bring this ache to the caverned regions and rectify the cross in the making of my sacrifice.
Take what is yours, and feed me to the lion heart.
Take what is here, and lance the eyes I am from the corners of my logic.
Eradicate, separate, designate.
Do what is must, to remove the burden I carry.
Some ladened cauldron frothing with joy.
For I am not made to hold such passion.
I am not made to know this endless ribboned peace.
How it crosses the line.
How it marks me with swelling.
The light abiding within a fire set free.
Moving through skin as butter to sizzling pan.
Oozing its way through bubbling deliciousness.
I can taste me in your wanting.
Taste every aspect of humanity.
Feel my way through the scattered wilderness–thought upon thought, whirling in the twilight of dawn.
I am awoken twice-more.
Until morning dove sings me to sleep.
To the woven wolf centered in the start of me.
Formed before I breathed name.
Reformed before sound.
Can you not hear him?
My distant angel returned home.
Wrapped in the solitude no more.
Set free at the doorstep in which I laid my cherub gifts. Balanced at the opening.
Brought down from the starry sky to shatter this earthly maiden.
Crafted in the makings.
His hand, my hand.
His heart, my heart.
His coming, my spear-crested awakening.

Samantha Craft, 7.19.19

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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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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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The Wind

I am as the wind. I am the wind. And was the wind. Pressure pulled through, substance rallied and released, treasures unfolded, emptiness astounded. Less here than there, and summoned forward.

I am an eternal balancing beacon. Twice-revealed and mastered, rectified in my indignation, made whole in my completions, eradicated from the darkness. Tethered to what awaits.

I am human, made flesh and broken through. Divided into regions of unknown territory, sifted with flecks of gold into the adobe of awakening. Branded by self-made-self.

I am sight emerged, free to take what is and what isn’t. Seared at tattered seam, edged shut and welded wide to the masses. Prisms merged. Opaque glass pouring spectrums through high window.

I am everywhere and nowhere, and all at once I am splintered. Burst into centrifuge, cascaded upon the spawned pond of unraveled surrender. Pierced, as dawning gait emerged. Sunlight beckoning distant traveler.

I am the exact measure of awareness, bewildered by all, twisted into form, neither recognized nor denied, taken to the layers beneath the layers, the tunneled chambers of desires struck down and left flailing.

I am there, in the under regions, chasing my dreams as salmon-pink to pounding stream, pushing upwards upon a tear filled staircase to destiny. Standing, once-removed: birthing, dying and rising through the cycle.

I am there, some undone wind, seeping through the fissured stucco into the unyielding corridors of reason.

Samantha Craft

Everyday Aspergers the book available in 2016.
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