The Hanbleceya.
The cry for a vision.
The Vision Quest.
The space between worlds.
In the presence of the Great Mystery.
I went down to the fire,
and she, the self I aim to be,
was not there.
I became her.
And maybe just for that moment on my blanket because I needed to be her.
She is on the eternal quest.
Forever in search,
forever seeking.
That magic I was hoping for did not emerge in the way I believed it would...
I let instead the Earth, and only her,
hear my screams.
Hear some deep agony within me,
maybe not even completely of my own.
Maybe the ancestral pains of the women who carried lives before me.
Red is the road to my heart,
is the color that bled out of me on the way up.
Dripping prayers down my legs,
each step became even more sacred.
Together, we sang our warrior song.
They are my amor, my comfort, my shelter, my warmth.
But on your blanket in your circle of prayers,
there is only you and the Creator.
You and the Great Mystery.
You and your fears, your pains, your demons.
You and your truths, your reasons, your prayers.
It is your choice whether to feed to thirst and hunger in your head,
or the hunger in your soul.
There is no greater pain than a soul not enacting its purpose,
its duty, its agreement with the Divine.
No greater pain.
And those screams that emerged from me,
from depths vast and deep,
was everything I ever let block me.
When we are broken open,
when we cry that deep soul cry,
we are breaking to let love and truth in,
we are watering our gardens.
So what magic am I believing was not present?
A vision may have not been shown to me,
but the courage of a single moment was.
To decide to not shut my eyes,
but to pray.
To offer compassions back to the Earth and take less for myself.
To not **** a single mosquito,
but rather walk off that blanket four days later marked with their persistence.
I watched their points enter my flesh
and saw their bodies fill with my blood.
Maybe they were extracting from me all that I no longer need.
And what itch is worse?
That of a red bump,
or that of the soul's need to incessantly scratch through its flesh suit to get to the core of its truth?
There were hours upon hours I let myself fall silent.
Listened to the sound of the woodpecker,
watched the spider crawl,
saw the turkey run.
They know how to be at home here.
And it is nothing grand that they do,
but they understand their purpose and place and they do not strive to feed and ego.
They do not "Ease God Out."
They are of God,
they are a God of their own.
So how do I remove myself from all the ******* of this world
if I do not place my being into the womb of Creation and sit?
The layers strip down,
the sun rises and sets and does so again.
I began to know before the sky would lighten that the morning was coming soon just by the sounds of the forrest.
The great trees barely swayed and the Earth was uprooting.
What am I doing here?
The days were long and hard and filled with a frustrating buzzing in my ears.
Buzzing like all the nonsensical thoughts we have on a daily basis.
If only our ears would buzz and ring every time we had a thought that backtracked us from our truths
and the inherent love that is within our beings.
If only we had the persistence of the mosquito that does not,
will not stop until it is filled with the one nectar it was meant to live on.
There were moments of bliss and moments I felt anxiety bubble up within.
Such a rare form of myself,
a piece of me I do not know too well.
I wanted to crawl out of my skin and be gone.
Be wind, be ether, be smoke.
Be gone.
And then they came,
bearing compassion.
Just a single sip of water.
Just a little.
They handed me that cup and I just cried.
Cried from the depths of my being.
"Do I even deserve this?"
And I let some moments pass,
held that cup in my hands and prayed in the form of tears.
That water,
that precious gift bearing life,
it touched my lips and made its way into my being.
And all become calm.
I am here for a purpose,
on this blanket, I mean.
I am here and meant to be no where but here.
And gently they spoke of the 6 pointed white star flowers surrounding me.
Not to me,
but a message for me.
A reminder of the beauty all around,
if I would only just look.
There I was,
sitting upon the hands of Creation.
If I had just stopped to listen,
stopped to breathe,
maybe I would have understood that on my own.
But that is why we tie that red prayer hung to our Ancestors.
He said,
"that prayer is your reminder to come back."
So for the next 360 days until I sit upon my blanket again,
the only prayer is to remember what I learned on that Mountain.
To remember what a blessing it is to drink a sip of water,
to be alone,
to look not into the eyes of another,
but only see the beauty of Creation.
I went out there wanting to be silent.
To just listen to what the world had to speak to me,
to shut out the voice in my head,
but there were moments that I could not hold back the words and prayers from my throat,
moments I needed to send my voice up or else I swore I would get up off that blanket and just walk away.
Moments I swore I would have filled the Earth with my screams again.
And when I spoke,
it was with such softness.
Maybe to not disrupt the frequency that Mountain has known long before Creator ever chose that spot for me to pray.
Maybe because when I spoke I barely recognized my own voice.
Because when you speak to Creation,
it is the truest version of yourself whose voice rises up from the very depths of your soul.
This is the voice that Creator knows.
And I just need to say I'm sorry that if for any moment I used my voice not pray
or to talk myself back into my heart and out of my head.
I'm sorry if I wasted a single moment on that Mountain.
The minutes seem so long when you're out there,
but now as I'm back home,
I'm wishing I could have just a few moments back on my blanket.
That I could have just one more opportunity to pray.
I would say to the Creator my name,
I would say please help me because I am struggling.
Please help me because  just want to make the best out of my life.
Please help me because I want to make sure I am on the right path to my purpose.
Please help me because I never want to know a life without you,
without prayer, without this Red Road.
Just one more time I want to speak those truths and let my tears become offerings of myself to the Earth.
But that is why we tie that prayer in Red.
Because I can go back.
I will go back and again be given the holy space to send my voice up and pray,
to cry,
to fall into silence,
to watch the sun set and rise again.
And I can stop now and breath.
I can stop and close my eyes and be on my blanket.
I can smell the freshness of Earth and the copal cloud of smoke.
I can pray and cry with myself on that blanket,
because there is a piece of me that will always be there.

Who are you?

I trace my finger over your lips
Slowly…slowly
I want to take it slowly.
I want to learn the language you speak when you’re in deep.
You breathe out,
And I breathe you in,
Inhale you
And exhale poetry.
The warmth of your hand on my skin
Intoxicates me.
I want to hold you closer
Even when there is no space between us,
Even when you hit all the way to my center.
We swim in the depths of holy waters-
Where all the layers are exposed,
Where we are speaking new languages,
Where we search for the undiscovered.
I want to bow to the poetry of you.
Worship you in your kingdom.
I want to make love to you in a way that is biblical-
Prophetic-
That reaches beyond what is good
And touches the holy-
The sacred,
the poetic.
I want to feel the hymn of your heartbeat
As your breath gets heavy and deep
When you’re giving your all to me.
I want to dance with you in devotion
At the altar of Aphrodite.
How deep can we go?
Taste the sweetness of my nectar,
I’ll drink your elixir
And we’ll turn our demons to Gods.
Push the boundaries of possible-
How deep does it make you feel?
Does it give life to your pulse?
Can you feel it in the dwelling place of your soul?
Let’s go there,
Let’s melt there-
Combine all the pieces
Become whole.
But first
I want to take you apart
and examine how you’ve constructed yourself.
I want to baptize you in my rivers,
Dance naked through your forests,
Let you listen to the lyrics of my creation.
“Again,”
Play me on repeat.
Sing to me,
Tell me how my eyes look like the universe,
And I will place my hand upon your cheek
And remind you that you are beautiful.

Who are you?

Come,
Let me show you again,
And again,
My poetry.

Woke up
Early
Stepped outside
To pink and yellow clouds
Blue sky slight chill
Fell back asleep
To yesterday
Woke up
830am
Walked bare foot
Barely clothed
Through the fields beyond our house
A symphony of birds
The flow of the creek
And your footsteps
Running
Exploring
Were the only sounds
I filled my basket
(And my heart)
With milkweed flowers
And red clover blossom
And passion flower
And yarrow
And sage to keep it all clear
Lamented
That no wine berries were bursting off their buds
Remembered I’ve eaten hundreds this year
And smiled
Went to
The elder tree
She is in transition
From maiden
To mother
Holding so much medicine inside her berries
Not yet ripe
Or ready to give to the world
There has been
Sweetness to my days
And I’m savoring it
In the fridge
In a big glass jug
Of milkweed and red clover and passionflower and yarrow and sage

“When me and grief kiss
we use tongue”
Exchange each others DNA
And become made of one another
Become the threads that hold us together-
Change how we carry and express ourselves.
We are infatuated by the experience of getting to know
the shape of every curve and crevice
Before we dance our way into the center.
When me and grief kiss
we take it slow.
Conscious caressing of the spaces that have been silenced
Tender touching of the pain bodies
To reawaken sensations of love coursing through us-
No wiping the tears when we’re crying.
When me and grief kiss
we lick the tears streaming down our skin
Taste the salt of our wounds-
I let grief in.
Fully consumed
Swallow it whole so it can navigate my insides
And get digested
Break down to
Become the cells that nourish my love and passions.
When me and grief kiss
We get passionate
Like longing for the lover that breaks you open
And finally finding them in death’s darkest moments-
We spark fire,
Ignite ourselves into a version higher.
Burn the walls down that gatekeep our desires
And build a new empire.
When me and grief kiss
We hold each other close.
Press ourselves together-
I feel grief through layers and down into my bones.
No space between us,
The gaps are all closed.
Before me and grief kissed,
It courted me with hope.
Left me roses
Held my hand
Wrote me love notes.
When our lips finally touched,
I fell in love.
And now,
When me and grief kiss
We use tongue.

She is serene.
Samsara has no grip on her soul.
She lived a life of transcendence.
The hand of Cycles unclenched itself in the presence of her holiness.
Bowed at her altar,
Made prayers to her name.
She laid a hand upon the youthfulness of my cheek,
Wiped the tears from my eyes,
Illuminated the swallowing darkness
And took with her my grief.
“Let your heart swell in joy,
My little one,
Pray to me with wholeness in your heart,
for I have never known breath so deep,
or peace so unwavering.”
The waves no longer swell and break and crash.
The waters she lays upon are like glass.
Vritti cita niroda (the cessation of waves in the mind space).
I am still here,
And her love coats me as warm as a summer breeze.
I am safe here,
Where I can look into her emerald eyes once more
And just be.

The morning will be plagued by slow ripples from today.
The taste of regret and shame will coat my tongue,
and I won't want to look in the mirror.
I won't want to see my enemy,
and I won't want to face my conscience.
"Today will be the day,"
I will tell myself…
And I will want so badly to believe it,
but every cell in my body will remind me of
all the times those words have left my mouth
in days past,
and never followed through.
The frustration is an overwhelming cloud that is thick around my body.
I feel heavy and sedated by my own actions.
I feel weak and at a loss for control.
I am scared to be writing this because I know the power of thoughts and of words,
But I know no other way to heal than to release my life onto paper.
I can not look myself in the face and tell lies-
So although this rips me apart to put onto a page,
I must honor myself for speaking the truth,
even when it's ugly and hurts.
I will wake up tomorrow and tell myself,
"Today will be the day," because maybe,
tomorrow it really will be.
I will wake up tomorrow and brush my teeth clean of the past,
spit out regret and shame and wash it away.
I will pray for health and help and healing.
I will humbly say Thank You to the Great Spirit for my life.
I will remember the days I couldn't get out of bed,
and I will rise for those moments.
I will stand tall and look at myself in the mirror and say,
"I love you and you are beautiful," until I believe it.
I will let the tears run down my cheeks until the veins in my body feel dry,
And I won't wipe them.
I won't hide behind words that tell a story different from my own.
I will walk this road,
So give me lightening and give me rain,
that way I will learn to walk with grace and strength,
but I ask please, Great Spirit,
still let the sunshine kiss my face,
and relieve me from any pain.
Please have mercy on my soul,
and be my guiding hand
as I find my way home.

6/6/2016

I do not feel the Earth beneath me,
do not feel my feet touching down
being pulled in
to something deeper.
I do not feel the cold Appalachian air in my lungs
I do not yet know
the name of its life force.
I did not see the leaves turn from green to honey’d shades of gold and ember.
I did not watch the leaves fall or witness the sky give itself unto elder-hood
And take on its winter shades of ice and gray.
There are yellowed ginkgos
And maple leaves like crowns strewn across the street here
I feel stuck in this loop of left turns back to his house.
Odin pulls me out and in,
Calling me when I have lost my way
He eats the fallen leaves
And I wonder if he knows something I don’t
about the importance of ingesting something so close to death
Something that will never be quite the same again
(I’m sure he knows)
I do not feel the Earth beneath me,
But I look at the trees,
Barren and cracking
And I understand.
Without rest there is pain.
Your own body will turn against you
Put you in agony
Just so you will please. slow. down.
It will reconstruct all the peaks and valleys you’ve made in your mind
And the pulsing of a newness within
Will push you to what you think is your limit
Make you believe you can’t bare another second of the crippling pain
Even when you know that is the only way out
Must give into the pressure growing in your head,
The thuds,
the pounding,
A new way is being constructed
(I cannot look into the light because I am supposed to be walking into the darkness.)
Your body will expose all you’ve held in to the outside world
Until the only thing left for you to surrender is blood and bile-
nothing is yours anymore.
You belong to the current of the seasons now
and if everything here is giving away and dying
you must too.

Today is filled with headaches and their residuals,
with tears I wish I knew how to cry.
I keep ripping up fresh healed wounds
so at least I can feel something.
Have all of me,
because I know I’m not here to stay -
can stitch it up and refill later.
I’m full with emotions that I know all too well.
I feel too big to hide within myself.
I feel you sticking in my lungs (I can’t breathe).
My body turning against me
Demanding to be heard.
Soon there will be a ringing in my head,
knives at the womb -
twisting, ripping free,
cause my heart can’t help but hold on.
Will she rage at me again?
     I’m sorry.
I’m always sorry -
     for you, for being too much, for taking
     it to heart, for loving, for-giving.
Never for myself.
I do not deny that
I know my body language
and I know when I’m not listening.
I know my demons by design
and I know when they are starving.
My own hands feed them,
invite them to the table.
Too busy distracting myself from the things I know are good for me.
That love I want is far.
That love I need staring back at me.
Her hands, reaching out,
she feels the cold
and is pushing through,
reaching into abysmal distance
for something to take hold.
To pull me back home.
Voices I wish I didn’t want to hear
are singing and enchanting me.
I’m left to face this age old Demoness,
withstanding the trials of time.
Tell me what you feed upon
and I’ll serve you on a silver platter.
Nourish you so I’m not eating away at myself.
I’m afraid of any more withering.

Like the wind between my fingers
I know so well but can never hold
I can catch in my hair
Or in a memory
Like the days it blew strong on the New Mexico mountains
Rustling through the sweet high desert sage
A feeling familiar
I know you, Wind
Although to you, am I just another of the many faces you have blown upon?
I know you will always carry me
From the banks of the Ganges where I breathed deeper than I ever have before
To the space within my circle of tobacco prayers
I looked at the moon and it danced in the night sky
You blow beyond the realms of Earth
Into the queendom of Spirits and Angels
And she is behind you,
a light beyond the moon
My Grandmother’s Sky
Shines down upon me
I can still hear the voice
So clear.
I entangle myself with it before I sleep
And in the morning I wake still in dreams
Of catching you
In my hand
And it being real
That I can hold you
Feel you as more than just the reprieve of a soft breeze in summers heat
That I can **** you into me
And you will catch onto all of the tiny pieces
Where you exist inside of me
You are the one who has traced yourself along all of the waters
Who fears the edge of no mountain
But rather seeks the journey beyond human’s perception
Maybe you are God
Is there none but you so Ancient?
So incomprehensible
With elegance far unknown to flesh and blood
Or have you carried us with you since the beginning of time?
All there’s ever been is existence.
Death is like you.
Ungraspable and barren.
Omnipresent and miraculous.
I will turn myself into the wind.