Mystical She

An earlier post that seemed to be fitting to post here, in the spirit of “Black Madonna”.

VJ's avatarOne Woman's Quest

Like silk

whispering across my skin;

a gentle mist

kissing my soul;

kindness unburdening me;

warmth, and cinnamon spice;

She comes.

Of the Earth, is She

whose heart beats with mine

a rhythm of life

renewal

and deepest bliss

Her essence luminous and night

shimmering at the water’s edge

or pulsating at the core

of darkness

Alive.  Very much alive.

No fanfare proceeds Her,

No choir of angels.

In stillness, know Her.

In openness, receive Her.

She is here.

She is here.

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Black Madonna

Remember that autumn
we drove up to Campbell River,
like teenagers skipping out of class –
a cackle of women, spirituality forming –
felt as if we had bided our time, willing
this union to occur – high on anticipation.

Giddy that our routine femininity had
been strewn across the barricades of
our socially careful existences – we were
like lesbian lovers unafraid to explore our
crevices, our souls hungering for release,
we were researchers, reinventing masks

adopted in formative years, stretching our
capacity to believe, awakened by the crones
among us, sisters united, standing in the
flood of our collective herstory, shedding
the padding of our religious upbringings,
teetering on the brink of a lost divinity –

weavers, once paralyzed by the guck of
patriarchal dictates, fear of ascension
retreating, we broke free, immersed in
Goddess splendour, felt the ecstasy of
true abandonment, were wild women
unrestrained, catalysts for change.

How is it that the passion faded so abruptly,
that motherhood and responsibility, and
the rigours of competing in daily life stripped
away the afterglow, smacked me back into
this rigid self-definition, prayerful, thankful,
yet lacking the empowerment of the island?

Have I stored her somewhere; is there even
a space within me capable of housing such
expansiveness, open to wading once again
in the waters of a lunar deity, willing to sacrifice
superficiality for the compassionate mystery
of the Black Madonna haunting my memory?

(Image: paradisefoundsantabarbara.com)

Pity Party Over Here

Methodical might be successful –
ask for assistance; help granted
pass over fixation;  will not stir
this appalling head to toe disease.

Dependability would be welcome –
I beg for it – but this rodent-like
Illness will not acquiesce, runs
amuck, operates at will – not mine.

I can allude to my needs all I want,
reach out for loving, but perspective
is lacking when I am vertically unable
to manipulate, shaken, appear the joker.

Illness is a trickster – labels me freak,
this vessel’s malfunctioning limits
the broader vision – I shudder to think
this is what life has amounted to.

Language Is Not The Barrier

Bought tickets once for Spain,
planned to escape the fading
autumn golds to find brilliance
of Spanish hillsides, vibrancy
of villages, radiance of smiles.

Succumbed, instead, to illness
a fate whose grip defied urges
to flee, thrust us headlong into
the ravages of a blustery winter
remorseless in its stormy rage.

Only dream now of exotic locals,
of sun-baked vistas and cobbled
streets, of busy marketplaces and
houses tucked behind hidden doors
where mothers gather their broods

Motherhood, I imagine, universally
driven to offer comfort, provide
security, no matter the resources –
a call to protect the inner richness
of the family – places that draw me.

Envision plates of home cooked
delicacies, offerings delightful to
the eyes, aromatic, appetizing, and
likely beyond my ability to digest –
this disease imposing sensitivity.

Travelling is a catalyst for change:
exploring cultures, encountering
residents, inspires reflection, the
magic of communicating without
words – languages no barricade

I am marred now, an ungracious
guest – such is the sentence of
this disability – unable to bear the
disappointment on the faces of
those who would extend welcome.

(Image: www.expanish.com)

Eating Wiener Schnitzel

He wants Wiener Schnitzel and egg rolls –
a complicated request, yet she will try
to acquiesce, selects a restaurant where
the former is a speciality, hopes he’ll forgive
absence of latter – it’s busy here
and she’d rather be home,
or somewhere quieter
(though she’d never say so)
feels her insecurities sliding into the seat
beside her, drama welling up in her throat,
tries to push it down but resentment
takes a seat at the table and brings along disgust –
why is she eating in a place she would never
choose for herself, with a man who does not
notice, let alone appreciate?

Restaurants take her back to another life,
when the heat of the kitchen consumed her,
yelled orders, was yelled at,
rushed about to cater to the whims
of guests that may or may not tip –
A real education, her father told her,
but she came away with sore feet,
a broken back and none the wiser
about relationships –
has dined here before with former lovers,
friends, felt the stuffiness of the ochre walls,
brocade upholstery, close in on her,
wondered why she came,
doesn’t even like milk-fed calf.

Her mind wanders to other walls,
now crumbled, remnants of dreams,
boundaries she’d once built when she was
just a pup – believed her good-natured loyalty
would win over many hearts, instead
it only shattered her own –
so many incarnations she is ashamed
to think of it: enthusiastic house mate,
trophy mutt, Heinz 57 – now she feels like
an over-aged, overstuffed mongrel,
beaten down by years of neglect.

It’s a rocky path she travels, these days,
has lost the concept of solid ground,
finds herself teetering on the brink
of flight but has no legs to carry her,
no wings to lift her up, resigns herself
to meals of processed foods and
deep-fried suicide rather than
the curries and stews she craves,
convinced that compromise and
making others happy matters more
than what she wants or needs –
takes a bite of baby cow and smiles.

Party Adverse

Will not catch me gavotting
at a party in the Carly Simon
vein – am reluctant at best,
certain my flaws are neon,
fear scrutinizing attention.

Throw a boss in the mix
and I am all bumble, cringe
with each idiotic phrase I
utter, terrified to implode –
immortalize my inadequacy.

Course, it’s all nonsense –
arrogance really, to imagine
others give me a second
thought, and typically, once
I settle in, I find a groove.

Seems I possess a certain
expertise, have endeared
trust;  in fact, in my self –
absorption have forgotten
to prepare my boundaries

protect against the influx
of attention seekers craving
validation or advice from me.
Isn’t this a strange state of
affairs; I the coward suddenly

thrust into such a position,
but such is life – pain begets
compassion; a trained listener
when it comes to issues of
the heart and mind – despite

personal misgivings, I find
a place, am challenged to set
aside imagined criticisms, even
actual betrayals, and extend a
hand to someone in greater need.

Might even be inspired to offer
an invitation – momentarily losing
sight of social anxiety – dress
myself up in empathy and break
bread with another – imagine!

 

Midnight Caller

Who is at my door,
at nighttime prowls?

Temporary is this stopover;
bravado attempting vision –

fear limits perspective
and I’ve been called –

what emergency exists
that sets my heart throbbing;

why is it so difficult to breathe?

Is it angel or devil that seeks
entrance, pierces the darkness;

I am present – would prefer sleep
(more clarity in dreaming), need

to devise a plan for safety, try
to connect, believe this intrusion

answers my aching, unyielding soul.

(Image:  nightmare-aisle.tmblr.com)

Fly To the Spider

Fuelled by anticipation, free will lead
me to you, armed with expectation –
handed you ownership of my heart’s
vulnerability, elated to be seen, heard

Aroused by your mastery, ready to let
go – and then you passed me off, like
a lab specimen, examined the minutiae
of my DNA, as if looking for criminal

activity – too shocked to be incensed,
thought about protesting, but then you
changed again, touched me with your
sensitivity, sensuality calming, lulled

me into complacency, sheep-like, unable
to assert myself, so far removed from
any wants or desires, tossed about like
a rag doll, voiceless, through the fog,

aware of how I devalued myself, tied
myself up with you, try to escape, find
the exit, but you return, envelop me
in your schemes, strength abandons

I breakdown, lose my mind, forgotten
that I am grace – crave gentleness, had
only sought acknowledgement – and you
are the predator I was meant to avoid.

(Image: becuo.com)

Walk Away

Maniacal, trigger-crazy
big dick resolves nothing
with brutality, seeks asylum
in insanity, blames confinements
for limitations, opinionated,
wrongly focused, nerves
ungrounded, charged.

No wit can end his
cycle of oppression,
his last fair companion,
no longer supportive,
contrived investigation,
pushed for incarceration

unspeakable silence
no religion to save him
rejected at every turn
delinquent

bumped into compassion
signs of pain like neon lights
beckoning the unwary, but
alibis were suspicious,
his composure too hyped
like an uncaged animal

Move on, Ladies
no Beast was ever tamed
by Beauty, even uncertain endings
would be better than life with
this expired degenerate,
don’t fall for that:
“It’s all smoke screens” pity
he is trapped, a poor example,
has broken many hearts – dead
on arrival – dons practiced humility,
wants to please but is inclined to
repeat patterns.

(Image: upstream downstream.org)

Discombobulated

Conceding ability to focus,
yearning for a cause; tired
of sticking myself out, only
to be brought down; stilted

by this life, sick of taking
second best – No, I’m not
holding up – never the early
bird; or king shit – sagging

like breasts hitting thighs;
always showing up single,
slightly used, ripe for easy
pick up, dubious covers –

have rooms full of history,
would otherwise be retiring,
but unless God has some
secret passage, Heaven

only tortures me; a magnet
for worries – my problems
have more vision than I do –
once carefree, now I pray for

responsibility exit; wouldn’t
recognize Mr. Right if he
came in unannounced, seem
to cherish would be enemies

(not related, at least), store
intentions behind lollygagging
pursuits, rationalize guest
appearances from control;

seek support from transients,
am obligated to any protecter –
(affairs please apply within) – am,
as I said, conceding ability to…

(Image:  www.fluentu.com)

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