Cosmic Birth


She walked into the crystalline night below an inky sky her thoughts following her like giant insects who come out only when old furniture is moved. The apparitions that stalked her, breathing their hot voices close to her ears, were ever present. It was like the dead air sound inside her head when the pressure gets too much; or maybe someone just over the other side was reaching out, trying to say something, but she couldn’t make out the words. A rushing, like the blood in her veins, pushing and pulsing. They follow her, so very near.

Where was she going? And where had she just been? The night air felt like a slap, but it was a sting of stars blasting her awake.  Had she been asleep? Walking through her life, but not conscious. Faces, distorted with mouths that spoke at her, trying to swallow her and eat what she was, would swim out of the darkness, grinning. Often, she would find herself in a place she wouldn’t recognize, naked and unaware how she had gotten there. Just like on this stark night.

The mirrored hall of reality was a twisted place. It’s maze of unending pathways looking back upon itself reflected nothing and everything. Where did she start or end? The mystery of the beginning was unknown. So, she would keep moving because stopping would mean pain. The grace of fluidity kept her whole, in one piece, so she wouldn’t shatter into a million shards and fly off into the universe.

It was understood that this was a lonely place. The voices may speak, but they would never hear.  She would always walk alone on roadways unfamiliar and distant from where she knew she belonged. There would be a mist that would drift in around her and hold her like a baby, clouding the world around her and making the edges soft. But this made others wary of her, because when she stepped out of the fog, she saw with great clarity and knew when the others weren’t true. And this made her different.

So, it kept her walking; away from it all. It kept her separate, even though the voices followed. She kept going forward, step by step. The ghosts floated close by, but the cool, authentic air as she walked kept her present.

And as she walked, her head tilted toward the dotted evening sky. She thought about the stars, planets and the universes. Mostly about eternity. How it all stretches out on and on. It started before her and will go on after she is long gone. And how she is following its call back home.

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Poem: Shooting Star


Star shoot beautiful night

Brilliant sky hearts flight

Across the world

Dreams are curled

In lovers beds

With separate dreads

But with the arc

Of light embark

Connect their souls

And fills deep holes

So no matter where

The dark may stare

Magic comes and opens doors

Makes things fly and soar

And when the end is near

I will want you here

To see the star

So far

So far

Poem: Sunk


Inside out jellyfish

rubbing up against poisoned ship

far below the darkened deep

algaed  wood a soft down coat

sunken stuck

light lost to the upper deck

Swimming

in and out

among fossiled shapes

once dancing gaily round

polished halls

Serene creatures passing by

to pay respects

Down down

it went

to rest its weary weight

and now to sleep

forever

cradling her precious babes

Goodnight

upon the ocean bed

 

 

 

 

Weary


Some days, try as you might, that old sense of weariness seeps in and takes ahold. Maybe all the fighting to keep the dark at bay and to work really hard at life believing in all that’s possible, can sometimes simply be draining. It feels best to hide away and try not to think too much during  these times. 

Nights are restless and days achy. But still we push our way through routine because it feels normal. And then tuck back to the shelter of a quiet hide away–where no-one can ask too much of us. 

It’s not the goal of life to feel this way. No. Like a pestering family member who keeps visiting without being invited, but an obligation to let them in. They are family after all, kin, and a part of your life.

So you tolerate the annoyance, this mood. It will pass eventually and leave. And hopefully, like the relative, it will leave eventually, and with it a feeling of relief and hopefully a great gaping peace in its wake. 

Poem : Night Shadows 


The dreamy night shadows

fall upon the familiar

and lead softly down

unlit trails of time

The truth of form

melts into blurry edges

atoms disperse among the ebony

Reality floats

hung suspended

and vision becomes

the two bit salesman selling you

a fake

It’s a shape

distorted and odd

forgotten and old

left behind from an ancient world

Or the blending of one

sinking into black

lording over the darkness

watching

and waiting

for you to find your way

back

Poem: Turning


We are but a shadow 

Hidden within the folds

An outline of shape 

That no-one may know 

A tenuous meaning 

Fading from sight 

And where did we go?

 Drifting off

Into places unknown 

Those empty unreachable roads…

Or did we turn back?

Find phases of unforseen glory 

Blowing by

And waving to save our souls 

In this moment 

We are captured!

Diving furiously forward 

And on that beam of light 

We step out 

No longer gray and undefined  

We are color 

Lost In The Forest


There are times when it feels like it takes all my effort to keep the beast at bay. We each have our own beasts: financial burdens, relationship woes, weight issues, an illness, family problems, an addiction–the list is endless. My beast has been hiding in the bushes probably my whole life, blending in and camouflaged by the surrounding landscape. That landscape has been partly the creation of my own mind and parts of my life that simply lay hidden beneath the surface, like a creature that lives below the surface of the earth.

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For many years I have lived my life with this beast only in my peripheral vision; it was often a silent marauder coming to me, slipping in and out of dreams and reality. But I was young, strong and mostly unaware. Life was a whirlwind of distractions: that carousel spinning, making me dizzy so I mostly didn’t notice this strange visitor who crossed my path.

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When it did happen though, my heart became larger in my chest and I could feel it thudding in the front of my chest. My head felt heavy and my temples hurt…the room might tilt, if only for a moment, and reality would feel different. I knew something was closing in. It felt the air getting less and it was hard to breathe.

But the moment would pass. The world would return to normal (as normal is it can be) and I would forget, tuck it back into the recesses– the folds of my memory.

Now I am older and the habitat in which the beast dwells is thinning. Maybe climate change has effected that forest too, or maybe I am chopping the trees down myself? It seems I can sense this thing is coming closer; there is more clarity in which I feel its breath. I am familiar with the scent and know when it might be approaching at times. But there are still those unexpected moments when it creeps up on me and takes me by surprise, and I feel that weight again sitting on my chest. If I listen hard enough, then, I might hear the low growl of its voice telling me to beware…

It might be near, very near now, but what it wants, I still do not know. Why it hunts me is a mystery. And try as I may, ridding myself of it remains a secret lost within the darkness of the forest.

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