“Bird Man’s Dream” was painted over yesterday’s painting (previous post “Layered”).
I usually paint and paint, until the energy matches my energy. Painting helps me process many depths of emotions and energy.
I noticed he is ‘shitting’ on the current life picture.
One
Loneliness
Enchanted
She rises
Moving to his calling
Summoned: The cave
Of beginning
She rests there
In twilight of ages
Singing song
Her sunlight unmarred
A brilliant star
Set out for the multitude
Risen as morning
Dove to dawn
Victory
Summoned
He cradles
Swaying to her chasms
Soothing: The child
Of heavens
He comforts there
In folds of lace
Pronouncing name
His mane undone
A bold stallion
Cast out in the quietude
Bent as blue
Bird to morning
Dancers
Birthed
They enter
Pulsating to rhythm
Surrendered: The one
Of peace
All opens free
In belly of time
Eradicating emptiness
Their names erased
A united flame
Set out in holiness
Marked as blushed
Bride to groom
6.21.19, Samantha Craft
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
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
I. She
Who am I? But a shadow onto self, spun out of what was and what shall be. No more less than this moment, yet, substantially more. A dichotomy split, sorted into an effervescent substance in continual rotation: never still, never stagnant, and always all ways.
Who am I? I ask the shadow self, her dismal silhouette parading across my very wall of being. Laughing, she is, at my disillusionment, my want to harvest her and dismiss. Her gaze upon my soul like rapture to the flame. She is the fire-thrower. She is the one that sets licorice sticks of black to suck. The flavor rich and poignant. My flavor, same.
Who am I? The merriment in me ceases to exist, and I succumb to the suffering of all, the misery layered over in thickness upon the glass of sight. I am this light and I am this flame, and I am still this oxygen that breathes life. I am the darkness behind the eternal sunrise and the evening that calls the rest to sleep. What is this peril bedded deep within the seed of self that calls out for justice and rings into my ears evermore? The silence deafening, and the agony extreme, as twilight returns.
Who am I? Alone they preach, a quickening to my fear, alone and in destitute; spread out in such extremes, as I. I wander into the valley of substance, casually displayed for the mighty ones, so named, and reach into the hollowed part, pulling out what can only be the sunrise. Oh, how it thusly burns and scorches the messenger garbed in guise. This one claimed me, delicately spread as melting yellow upon the bread of hope. How I merge into the being of naught, and find only the answer of lost.
Who am I? To smell the sweetness of your face, where you once were, standing at my threshold, the touch of you the answer to my lost dreams. How you moved, the land excavated, dug out, floating in an ocean without sea, the waters dripping dry, remnants of space, a holding ground for the memory of what was and is to come.
Who am I? I plead with the echo of being for your return, cradling love in the divinity named home, housed in the outer region of heart, the causeways glowing of riches and overflowing with the love of you. I walk here, amongst the glistening gold, no value found in the monetary summons, no answers given in the temple of man. I walk alone, angled in the wind of morrow, touching down to the sparkles of yesteryear, mourning, and re-mourning the time of your coming.
Who am I? But lost to this way, wishing upon a thousand fallen stars to rekindle the light within and make way to claim this shining child.
II. He
Rest in me, sweet one, my dreamscape reborn, my answer returned. Rest in me and bring forth the pleasantries encumbered in the wake of your storm.
How I miss you beyond the capacity to feel, beyond emotion, beyond reality. How I miss you as the blind man misses sight, once pierced and broken down, in that last corner state of misery, when all hope is lost; before the return of goodness perches in his heart, the light returned: burst open.
How I miss you, even as I know not why. Your presence lingering, interwoven through my mind, your scent the chambers themselves, over-flowing and releasing latch after latch; every door inside this dwelling space deemed I, flung free, dispersed, with an endlessness unknown to man.
How I miss you, and work my way to freedom, a prisoner locked in the moment of now, wanting to surpass the day and return forward to the time of your gathering, to press against your flesh and feel you within, for my light to penetrate your very skin and leave you intoxicated in the delight of us.
How I miss you, as I sit upon my bedside counting the endless tears that water the sheets of discovery, where you once rested your weary state, reminded by the starlit whisper of my thoughts that you are loved everlasting. Where I touched down and swarmed in your eyes, as morrow beget morrow, dancing into endless days of pleasure-making.
How I miss you, a tortured soul left as one, the hollowed place of me, severed, the half dispersed and set out upon a distant river of causation. My one, my traveling one, ever more distant than the last starlight that beckons. Cometh again and again, I plead, from a cavernous calling that is neither seen nor revealed from depths the of dwelling, where the truth lives and heaven is reborn with sound.
How I miss you, I cannot express, for the words pour empty in their lacking, mocking with the misery of here. For we are beyond this stage, hand-in-hand somewhere in a land we cannot see or recollect, but only recall with every fiber of our living. I dance there, with you, under the moon of moons, the absence of light, in the bearings of our upbringing.
For we are the glowing chamber of reason turned love; we are the flame; we are the sun. And I bleed into you my entire self.
Sam, Belly of a Star
As child, I roamed this neverland
In search of distant you
To find my one, the ancient truth
Who knew the green of blue
Of nourishment, of evermore
Of long and lasting life
Of calmness and the still that comes
Within the growling night
My soul grew old and ancient, then
Stood watch as time played out
Whilst rivers dried and wisdom’s toll
Caved in from all about
I asked, I begged, I threw a fit
Akin to lover lost
As one dropped down
Entirely, planked, and at a cost
My dreams I’d paid, my worthiness
My golden light held dear
And everything I poured for him
If only he’d appear
My diary bleed out to earth
My voice in poems, scrolled
My entirety let out for all
Every single secret told
I’d sacrificed, I’d held on strong
I’d collapsed in dire pain
Tears, they came like lightening-storms
And panged me to no end
Since child, I roamed this neverland
My half, in search I lived
Until He came, like fairy-man
And turned the key within
To hidden chamber, tucked away
The kindling to my kin
A second heart, in place of mine
To accompany in this land
He keeps the peace inside formed thoughts
He shelters body, pure
He treasures full, like none before
And sees me, I am sure
I travel empty space no more
Now weary legs shall rest
As soul she slips in cherished bliss
For sweet love, she does attest
Sam, Belly of a Star
Loved
I am afraid
In the deepest part of being
Alive
Where my breath was formed before lung
And my sight before eye
In the rewinding of self back to the start of then
You remembered before I spoke
Before word
Before any utterance became known
A waking profound
The winter-birth of greatest summer
The moon shadows over the serpent’s light
You saw as none other
You touched
Where none had dared
I, fair maiden turned
Into the very silky rich
Assaulted
Surrendered
In your presence
Capturer, stood as captive
Sacrificed into slivers
Fed to the dandelion flame
Burned anew
I loved
And impossibility was given hostess
The last pages of searching wiped clean
By your delicate coming
I trampled
I galloped
I milked myself dry
My riches your honey
My whisper your name
And in this I recognized my own folly
Opened bud, vulnerable
Pierced
Without choice
For forever
I would remain
A part of your biding
Abiding by your grace
Your holding
The manner in which endearment
Claimed each shade of me
Your very own
Creation
Wings
Tethered
Wings
Wrapped with twine
And painted fingers
Nibbled, tickled flesh
Your teeth upon the wake
Biting through
Trespasses
Welcomed
Beguiled
And torn
Tis the way of fairies
Wings set aflame
From bitter-turned intentions
Captured
In the hope
Of love
Momentarily
Caged
Clipped
Surrendered
Until passion
At the door step
Begs
And flight returns
I am
I am
The water below my feet
Trickling down the limited slope
Into the singing brook
A captured form in blended splendor
Without beginning or end
Only this
A cascading fluidity
Without purpose
But to move
In the direction
Directed
Undetected by the undetectable
Alive in the absence
Of knowing
Boy
Weather boy
Still
Palms seeking rain
And sun-dripped kisses
Carry on
Into the moonlight hour
Beckoning the daffodils
Their dew, sultry mist
To spring forth
Surrendered
Before morning breaks
The delicacy of submission
Claimed love
I am shrouded.
I am shrouded in your glory and beauty; oh, compassionate one. How I dance as the ember to your light, first thirst quenched in your goodness.
I am shrouded.
I am shrouded in the roar of your name; rivers move through, mirroring the circling of wild horses tamed; the fire burned down to the simmer of dreamscape.
I am shrouded.
I am shrouded in the circumference of your making; woven into the intricate ring of life; made without edges, mended without claim, turned whole with the thought of your presence.
I am shrouded.
I am shrouded in the whisper of the ocean traveled; tucked up on the highest peak of wave, and brought forth in the bounty of your doing, fed to the sand as sunlight to pores.
I am shrouded.
I am shrouded by the graces carried forth; each an opportunity for more, not as there is less, only that there is endless abundance; in the dreamer rests the sleeping hope.
I am shrouded.
I am shrouded by your calling; how my name radiates in the sunbeams of your existence; your face neither open nor closed; blended into the vision I am, the truth that is us.
I am shrouded.
I am shrouded in my breaking; yoke glorified in the coming of your bounty; endless cycles of birth undone; your echo etched into the lamb of thee.
I am shrouded.
I am shrouded in your eternal goodness; set free as the dove from cage; set upon the outskirts of angelic breathing, cradled against the chamber of heartbeat true.
I am shrouded.
I am shrouded in the richest sense; let loose golden into that which is deemed joined; fluttering into the open; sprung forth in the coming of your truth.
I am shrouded.
I am shrouded in the sunrise of your essence; lightning struck down as answer; forgiveness transpired as ending, love reopened again, as blossom to the wind.
I am shrouded.
As blossom to the wind.
I am shrouded.
I love you infinitely and abundantly so. You as no other before and no other after. For your eyes are mine, and mine yours, the drifters found in the merging of ocean blue.
I am that which you are, in my essence, at my core, in the semblance ignited by the flame that is us. Birthed of you, I be. Made into the vessel you demand, and handed down to the generation of generation.
There is no guidance beyond your starlight, no suffering found, no emptiness devoured. All is all; and in your effervescent glow I shine; as the mountain to the climber, and the waters to the thirsty, I am beheld in your presence as the source of goodness.
I bow down to your mercy in my feeble grace, begging for your compassion and forgiveness; not that I am less to be as this: a blended source of greatness; only because I have found that within there is a bountiful mystery that whilst uncovered delivers me speechless and tormented by the unfathomable.
I apologize therefor not for the part that is we, but the part that is ‘I’; this indistinguishable evaporation that claims foundation. I apologize for the dismissal of reality, that of you and I combined, and for the acceptance of singularity.
For my sin, if sin there be, is only found here, and even here an invisible ghost remains. For nothing is found in nothing, neither substantiated, defended, or surrendered. So again, I bow down, not as my self in resignation, but as you in reflection of your worthiness.
I am that I am, and I sing to you, as lover to falcon, begging for flight, for the claws of your reckoning. To be gathered beneath your feathers, the wind against my spirit, a blanket to this babe, cradled in the forging of your coming. Moved through the invisibleness of air, made blue for our senses alone.
I celebrate, I call out, I remove this voice, and then scream again, the piercing the only movement torn through, the only substance allowed beyond this realm. A sound onto sound, vibrating with reverence and grace into the region that is you. I am, and I am again, delivered and redelivered.
Oh, can you not see me here, again, your precious servant, calling and dancing to the stream of your name? At last I am free in the day after day; at last home in the presence of your glory. And how I ring this golden bell of honor of my found home. Ring and ring, until the sound echoes into millennium.
Belly of a Star 