a woman's promise

as i listen to  your words
I'm knitting
with midnight blue angora
a shawl
in my favorite pattern.

the first day i had the thought
i'm not being attentive

but today
i feel your heart words and our circle
entering the softness
of this handwork.

warmth, of the temple
beauty, of the temple
dark, of the temple

a holy shared care
for expressing as only women can,
our promise.



written to my writing raw circle
October 2014

inside the inside

it is dusk
the lights of the world soften
the door to the temple closes behind me
its quiet envelopes me.

not distracted by the imagery others express
I can see what I see
I can see what I feel
I can hear what I hear.

in the stillness of the dark interior
my own body alights
the strings of my own lights begin to flicker
they are real to me
I become real to me
I am the great poem
that I am.

I smile at you from this place
where I stand
in love.

memo 3

It’s evening, and I’m standing at the doorway to the temple again,
I can’t stay away.

I stepped into society tonight and reeled back into this space, needing it like water in the desert of social activity and banter, all good natured, but not landing not nourishing. afraid of the emptiness on the edges of my skirt, concerned I won’t be able to hide the unruly disappearing nature of my old self.

Everyone has a life that moves them here and there, they seem to be thriving or not, it doesn’t even matter, just that we are kind as we meet, friendly, finding some meeting point.

Am I becoming too sensitive? Have I been alone in the mystery too long?
I speak and don’t recognize my voice, as I tell a listening crone,
"I don’t know who I am….. I don’t know who I am any more."

I am not engaged the way I used to be in the art world, still a painter but no longer a believer.
I am a little afraid to continue this diving…...
and yet, I am called deeper and deeper.
Diving is what I love to do.
Writing, painting, mothering,
all done as introspectively as possible for an Aquarian with Leo rising.

My body says stay close to home, keep painting, keep writing, it’s enough.
What I have to say can only be said intimately, what really matters seems to be pillow heart talk.
Lay down next to me and I’ll fall silent and be happy for the nearness of another.

I’m being called into this silence.
I want to find out who I am.

memo 2

entering the temple.
writing from the erotic of the erotic.
raw
without judging
letting the pen move

i have few references, this is completely my journey.
i've felt the power that lies in my sensual nature when i dance, alone, freely expressing in this body, my joy of life, the weight of my sorrows, my longings - is this the idea to write it into life?

directly tapping into the movement of the invisible and fanning it with encouragement to take form in words.
words that celebrate woman and encourage her to come out to play, or to take charge.

the one i'd been looking for is me, and yet my distraction lives so strongly, following the others' movements, the movement of Her as an other.
then the frustration comes, the inner conflict, the leaving of me.
this is the passageway i have to travel to my erotic wholeness,
to leave these habits of attention outwardly directed, to dive in - into this woman.

and there i meet the judges of threshold 2.
they're there as i watch the diving of the other women in the world, telling their truth, knowing and saying what they know..
Because i haven't owned what i know, i'm distracted by the feel of the power i sense in others.

so this is sacred work, to dive in to meet my life force.
to hear the voice of my soul, a woman's soul.
a haphazard entry will leave me empty handed - or worse - returning with rechurned and stale self expressions.
I've been diving a long time haphazardly, without a full awareness of the source i'm tapping into.
what i could connect with, would be beyond my imagination, if i grew into my calling, if i grew towards what calls to me.

as i feel this sacred moment,  knowing is deeply residing in the body.
this landscape is soft, fluid, the breath moves from the vulva to the breast, to the neck through the arm to the pen in hand.
 it dances through me in waves.
yes, like the ocean waves, breath moves through my flesh and bones, between all the cells.
the breath is the pathway itself, attention follows it.

i love what just happened.
i wrote myself into the temple.
from thought into a landscape of the body.

easy, just feeling the waves rising and falling within.
it's hard to tell what isn't ocean, when my eyes close.
when my eyes open, i see my world and know i love it.

i'm not a bystander.
i am life itself,
engaged
in creation.

a call to temple

yes, i carry it with me
this temple I Am
like a pup tent I carry in my pocket
the call to temple
can be received at any time!

the earth - the wooded forest - the mountain alm
always ready for the temple bell,
for the tent to be set.

it is the nature of women to understand this,
and men,
like John Muir.




inspired by the pup tent temple in a poem by amy ozarow oscar