eagle's path

I could be wrong.
How would you prove it, arriving at the edge of my bed with your expectations?

But it feels different from my side.
It feels watchful, this silence.
It feels gentle and trusting........to wait.

I'd rather not worry that I'm wrong to be warm and quiet,
observing quietly my inner spaces,
spaces so deep that images from last night's dreaming remain out of focus, unnecessary, only slightly tasted as an eagle’s path.

If I could put all this into a new form that I could see and know, I would. 
My creative life is changing the form it takes.

quiet under the covers,
feeling reconnection slow and sure.
trusting I'm not wrong.

leaf or butterfly?

in awe
to be the steady pulse,
the ache,
and the wonder.

is that a leaf
or a butterfly?
a shard
or an angel fish?

intuition
or
imagination.
one leads me on
one lands me here.

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 memo

rapidly drawing lines
stepping away
stepping in with two feet
stepping aside with one heart.

take that path again
through the open heart
down into the pelvic bowl

what awaits me there?
my hand touched my cheek just now
and stroked my cool nose
and my mind went completely still
no ideas

does this simple touch activate the tap root
like the breath, yes, this pulse flows in and out and around inside
and a restfulness, an ease, blossoms
rising to the surface.

our business

the needs of others,
the invitations to help,
arrive at my doorstep (the one with the bleached newspapers!)

but You,
You send me silent invitations to join You
to dance to paint to write to create
Your invitation expands me,
the way is clear
the dance floor opens
and my body feels the simple yes.

Their invitations to help,
their needs, I understand
and I also feel the duty arise,
the "I should help",
the work of working for others.
I imagine the job that I would be so well suited for
if i was interested
in making someone else's business my own.

My business is becoming Your business
You've made it clear that I am Yours
Your fire burned me into this living peace,
into this enough
You didn't leave me once in the flames, alone.

I'm not saving my energy for later
but spending it now
celebrating, dressed in drying seed heads
the color of autumn in my silver hair

breathing the cycles
the wheel moves forward
butterflies release themselves into a clear sky.

teaching touch

broadening, widening, melting
my body like honey

under the warmth
in response

to my care
my caring hand
my caring heart

easing into this responsiveness
yielding receiving opening
curling up
in the nest I've made for my rest.

a new feeling is recognized
satisfaction.

a day well lived,
in response to everything and every one
who touched me,
oh~
who's touching who?

the rain has begun tonight
i sense the ground,
the earth
how she opens to the touch of the falling rain.

my teacher.