Deeper - Into - The Mystic

photo ©akka b.

On the heel of hell, I had the epiphany one might expect to have - on the heel of hell...  tip toeing around who I really am, has been backfiring. It's that simple.

I was crying like a poet last week. With all the passion, fury, longing, aching, loving, searching that a poet is made of - that we all are made of. Pounding down the door of my heart for answers to the flood of emotion and simultaneous stagnation I've been grappling with. Calling out to for understanding of my conundrum, all while sliding deeper into the mess pouring forth from my own impish behavior... The louder I call, the deeper I fall. WAIT! IT'S MY OWN IMPISH BEHAVIOR! That's the answer! I've been wading in 'the answer' this whole time. Ugh. 

Simple, but subtle - but "subtle" is not that simple when your mind is caught in the muck. The outline I've created for myself artistically is correct and leaps and bounds from where I was a few years ago. I've been making art, and words, and public speaking, and producing events, and engaging socially, and trying new things, but without a full commitment to who I am. It's like I have one finger pressed firmly on the 'off' button, while the other finger is holding fast to the one that turns it all 'on.'  

Being half ones own greatness is pure hell. You would think it might suffice in a pinch. But a pinch doesn't last very long. Being half of what and who you are meant to be - keeps you always living at the half-way point. Half-way here, half-way there - stuck in the middle. Sort of good, sort of bad, - mostly mediocre. Everything is partially working, partially broken, but. not. going. anywhere. 

Fear is my go-to vice, when standing on the precipice of my full power. What would happen if I were fully empowered - If I gave myself permission to thrive? Is it so scary? Is it worse than being at the halfway point?

There is living in me, a mystic, a healer, a lover, a child, a mother - a poet. All the elements of my sweet insides depend on one another. If I deny one part of me, the other is thrown off balance and I suffer and you know what? Those around me suffer too.

Standing on the precipice is so - 1999. 

Now is the time, to 'let it' work. 

And let the "work" - be sacred.

'Let it be wild, let it be weeds, let it be - sacred weeds.'

Stay tuned... 

HoneyMOONshadoW

My capacity to hold, experience and express love seems directly related to how willing I am to examine, process and let go of darkness and pain.  What I've learned over the past several months of unusually heavy self-reflection, is when faced with gnawing hurt - go deeper. Walking into, and not away from the aching place disempowers the negative self-story where rage and grief breed. 

Letting back Light

and

Love

Fierce Little Rabbit

FIERCE LITTLE RABBIT with your fierce little rabbit ears and your swift little rabbit eyes. Soft like you're supposed to be soft, and bouncy like you're supposed to be bouncy, and loveable like all the best. But who gave you those tiger claws Fierce Little Rabbit? Who gave you that tiger growl, fierce little, cuddly little, lovely little, happy rabbit?

FIRE FOR A MOMENT

Can we speak of fire for a moment? 

Can we speak freely of fire? 

It's been shooting out my eyeballs. 

I've been sneezing out balls of steam. 

I watch people live so gently. Kindly. Openly. 

But in me this thing blazes.

It does have kindness in it. 

Gentleness too... 

But through the prism of heat.

Too much strong. 

I plan to let go soon.

eye see

*

 beyond

what you said. and didn't say

why you loved. but couldn't lay

 eye see

 the dragon. you fight. over there

and the dragon. i fight. over here

eye see

why swords. might seem. useful

and shields. might seem. necessary

eye see

why you might like 

and i might like

hiding

in caves. with swords. and shields. and dragons

i see.

*

*

*

i wonder what the dragon sees?

WASHING MACHINE

In your absence 

My mind becomes washing machine

Pieces of me sloshing

Turny 

Twisty

Rushing

Gushing

Hushing

Pieces I would like tucked neatly inside my drawer

Wet

Mingled

Stretched

Soaked

Undone

The purpose of washing

Wetting

Cleansing

Releasing

Form

Thank God for metaphors, truly

And eventual drying, resorting, folding, putting

Resting

Wrestling

Washing

Resting

Watching

Washing

Resting

More

The Great Liberation IS

Not walking naked through sleepy rivers 

Not pressing wishes unto the moon

Not bedding down with mind altering substance

The Great Liberation is

Not smashing dishes in search of a point

Not traveling the world without destination 

Not defying rules just to fit - differently 

The Great Liberation IS

The way of forgiveness

The way of looking into the eyes of our own fury and recognizing light

Not in the form of raging fire

But - IN THE FORM OF LIGHT

Hand of akka b. / Photo Credit: Asha Tyska Mclaughlin

THE GREAT LIBERATION IS

Revisiting the ugly past and saying THANK YOU

NOT because it's no longer the present, but

THANK YOU for being the mountain that made me

THANK YOU for being the mirror of my internal conflict 

THANK YOU for revealing the depths of my madness, self-composure, resilience 

THANK YOU for being the only thing that stands between me and

THE GREAT LIBERATION IS

NOT waiting for anyone else to say they're sorry,
but to say, you're sorry

NOT waiting for anyone else to say you're right, but to say, you're right

NOT dismissing the gift that is right before you, it is for you

THE GREAT LIBERATION IS

NOT walking naked through sleepy rivers

THE GREAT LIBERATION IS

 Walking Naked

*I had the pleasure of reading this piece tonight at Danielle Lopez's art opening @ Ojai Coffee Roasting Co. A powerful poem written in less than 30 minutes and also recorded last week for my upcoming poetry cd.

DEAD/ALIVE

 Honoring all things dead, but not dead

I shared this poem a couple days ago, 

(the same day I wrote the poem) 

at a Psychic Faire on HALLOWEEN. 

The photos are from the reading, 

the sound clip was recorded last night 

(All SOUL'S DAY) 

and I present it today on...

THE DAY OF THE DEAD - El Dia de los Muertos

Click HERE.  
(Headphones recommended)

Photos by: Raksha Boiteau

Pins and Need

pause 

the pin drops

what life sounds like here 

without those grainy fingers attached to those restless palms attached to those lanky arms attached to your brain

sweat pools on my forehead for loss of words; the way you strung them in the hallway; the way your smell lingers 

not always a pin

sometimes a pair of scissors falling on cold tile, echoes my discomfort

or the magnetic strum you plucked from my private inside

*

(Inspired by the photography and blog works of Michael Mundy)

WORLD CUP

Sometimes there is nothing to say.

When everything else falls away...

Street lamps dim,

Water turns to mud

Fog fails to lift

Wind refuses sleep

Earth let's go

When these things happen...

And we realize money is imaginary

And fancy hubcaps are unnecessary

And even makeup weighs us down

When there's nothing left to do but listen. 

And hold tight to that which will never let us go

And not hold tight at all

But let ourselves be loved and let the love continue...

yes and no

tactile exhilaration. 

it might be more fun to say yes 

if i didn't mind being smashed between tires and concrete

tired of doing the right thing

also getting off on it

gosh i'm dangerous

i'd like to see the contract i made when i signed up for this installment 

the outline of no's and if it ever stops

akka grow

ouch

today.

This hand had to work harder than usual. 

Propping up this fallen cheek.

This hand had to work harder than usual. 

To keep dragon from breathing. 

She snorted a little, 
made a small mess with trespassers,

But she didn't breathe, 
so that's good.  

I've always wondered why my hands 
are older than my face. 

I didn't realize how hard they've been working.

Spaghetti

Of course she feels pain. Of course she cries in the bathtub with the shower raining down. Doesn't every woman? On days when she can't get to the bathtub in time, she imagines the bathtub - and herself crying there. Like comfort food. 

Like spaghetti.

kindling

What you left me with...
I call it kindling.
You may have thought I had nothing without you,
but the sCraps you abandoned in a pile on my floor.
(Oh wait, you took the floor)

Were you hoping to leave this mess for me to remember you by?

Well, it worked.
But guess what?

To my advantage.

I call it kindling.
Your forever gift to me.
Wealth in Fuel.

Tokens of misunderstanding, left for me to burn brighter by.

Would this be a good time to
thank you?

The Freedom Ring

It's o.k. to say stupid shit sometimes. It's also o.k. to feel like a donkey head more often than not. But the very best would be if you (I) could call yourself/myself a stupid shit donkey head really fast 10 times without even cracking a smirk.

stupid shit donkey head stupid shit donkey head stupid shit donkey head stupid shit donkey head stupid shit donkey head stupid shit donkey head stupid shit donkey head stupid shit donkey head stupid shit donkey head stupid shit donkey head

These are the things that matter on the days when you feel you don't matter. But, I figure if you don't matter them with all your heart, (or if you can't find your heart well at least with a lot of passion), and you can still crack a smirk, then...

it's most likely gonna turn out o.k.

Jungle Vines

I bet you want to know what I'm thinking?

and

I bet what you're thinking I'm thinking, is not what I'm thinking.

Do you really want to know?

Regarding those bars I might look like I'm locked behind...

simply

It's absolutely not true.

They're not bars at all.

They're jungle vines.

Sure Thing

So far/in some ways...
I may have chosen a harder path

But I forgive it.

The jackhammer of missteps
carved me out from the
Princess Snot I would have been

Humbled by Happenstance
I grew fine long hair
transparent sight
and ears worth lending

It's better like this I think

as now,
my laugh is a sure thing

*

Cutting and Pasting

Going away from it.

because why?

Well, the story is like a thousand times more stubborn than me.

and also.

because why not?

It doesn't fit under my hat.

or my belt buckle.

or in my shoe.

and also.

It's not that becoming.

Plus it weighs a lot.

and also.

It never wants to let me go.

Even though I am sure it's not my fault.

well, it might be.

But anyway, I'm still going to go away from it.

sometimes i throw tantrums

no. i really do.

sometimes people get in my way and i want to bite their ears off.

i also glare a lot.

and growl a little.

flinging under-digested weight around like a boulder.

an invisible one.

and invincible too.

i'd like to think.

anyway ~ i'm sorry if it makes you cry.

kind of.

Let it be Weeds

Oh honey, you don't need anything tidy - that's for dang sure.

Let it be wild. Let it be weeds.

Time to paste some tears to the bathroom floor.

and

Time to burn some stuff.

Make some ashes and roll in them.