putting it in words

when my own words

- read a day
or days
later -

give me chills
i have to take note,
receive this response
and keep writing.

there is a particular listening quality in those whom i write to.
they are most often women
sometimes they are men who have listened to the mystery
and recognize the cadence,
the fragrance,
the hum.

i don't write for them,
that would be presumptuous.
i write for myself
to hear what is down there deep in the silence of this human heart.

oh,
what the heart holds....

we are all listening for it.
this i am sure of today.

we are listening for the heart to have its say.

writing raw

this poem slipped out
in between the gentle wind
and the moon light.

writing raw
is like a plumb line
a fishing line
down into my pool
not seeking but being
the open hand receives
the golden ball.

breaking the surface
the words,
carrying their images
from the rich silt of the deep bottom,
rise for air
for voice
for breath
to be heard.

time out

ripe with joy
to feel the paradox
the doorway itself
writing about writing
writing about not writing
this is writing
ripping holes in the night of not yet,
of not enough,
of doubt.

my sun
my life
living experience
celebrating the path
writing now of then is no longer a caution sign,
entering through that moment
to reveal this one
to revel in this one
not separate
then or now.

write as it comes
just begin
it's time
it's time to express the gift of time out.



october 23, 2014
new moon in scorpio

inspired by life and some potent words in Rita Mae Brown's poem, Muse.

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 joyful service

i've never been in a writing circle. It is wonderful.
I thank Julie Daley for the inspiration
and for her leadership in creating this space of Writing Raw.


relationship in a writing circle
 is listening and being listened to,
a seeding place,
nurtured by listening and being listened to.

I acknowledge my widening,
listening to and feeling others,
but not losing myself.

like breathing this is,
this writing together is like breathing.
we've created a space to breathe and be breathed in.
I feel us as our words form on the exhale, our listening a deep inhale, deeper and deeper, expanding exhaling into the world again.

yes, it's loving what we're doing, loving ourselves this way, and expressing that which speaks as love from the temple center.
the woman's temple doors are open to us, to write, to breathe freely, to create.

dare i say, for Her sake? for her joy?
i sense the opening occurring as service.......a joyful service,
 to write, to create,
to be woman
in a circle.

trust settles in me

so,
the invitation to write has arrived at my fingertips again.
i asked for support and this was what was shown to me.

you might think i've been doing this all along.
i am looking over my blog posts
and see
yes,
i have been writing,
expressing in a particular way that takes form in words.

now,
what if i wrote
with self discipline
as the listener,
as the student,
in cooperation with the voice that wants to express this life?

i'm sensing a yes
a consent,
to write
about this life.

i'm glad to have painted.
the silent speech of color
will show me the way
to write with devotion
to the pauses.

there is pleasure in this work,
that's the key.

as the words take form
i feel the weaving of the whole taking place, right here.
and i feel confidence
(momentarily)
or is it longing
to follow this thread all the way.........

trust settles in me.


tonight the taste of pesto
lingers in my mouth.
and the memory of his voice
passes like music
through my whole body.

does the doe taste the dew?

Here is how it begins
The voices in my head get too loud.

I sense that someone is listening now.
And if I write,
what needs to speak
can be heard.
And a mysterious conversation begins
That fills me with delight.

I’m here.
You’ve shown me,
Not how to be human,
But that I am.

Five senses and more
Actively participate
In the dynamic of giving and receiving.

So, where does this conditioning reside?
It seems to be the guest in the house,
who comes looking for a bed (again!) for the night
Or a cup of tea.

Conditioning wants to be re-membered, re-united.
Not feared, blamed or exalted.
It doesn’t need healing, but holding.
Loved,
it comes to rest.

Conditioning is not creative
It repeats itself.

Everything keeps changing
and it doesn’t.
At some point this becomes very obvious.

We are compelled
Out of love,
to stop this suffering.
There is no rush,
But we use every means we can.
And then, there is love,
As it was in the beginning.


To see what is happening,
live alone.
Or live with another who is as committed as you are,
not to leave you alone.
Children and siblings can support you in this
they carry an unspoken commitment
made before you can remember.

The buck simply stops here,
Where you are.
And the does continue to graze into the moonlit night,
Tasting the dew.