late night ramblings

Dreary, fog-wet mornings cause me to contemplate elsewhere-- where such happenings are the norm.  Seems peculiar, this strange weather.  Unheard of, uncharted, undecided.  Curiouser and curiouser and the rabbit hole winds down deep; mayas on the hips of some confused Goddess of indiscreet deeds.  Hours traipse past, unnoticed in their swinging glass... wonder where I'll land?, in this topsy-turvy mess I've made... triangulated in the northwestern-regions of my mind's eye, my heart's ache and my body's pulse.  Just wanting to say goodnight: a darkness whisper, a barely-breath, a soul caress.  Instead a muddled mess. Clacking of keys in the earliest hours of tomorrow, instead.

avoidance

I've avoided blogging like the plague.  I've even contemplated stoically carrying posies about- but maybe more so because they're just so morbidly lovely and remind me of corsetry (which is an entirely different blog entry that really should be written sooner than later).  That juxtaposition appeals to me... the heady, intoxicating fragrance of effulgently blossomed flowers united solely and specifically to mask the signs of rank decay.

I simply can't stare at a blank screen any longer.  So though this short, and to many, pointless blog speckle - served a purpose:  it's a *something* to replace the nothing that has been spewed about this page for far too long.  I needed a change of scenery.  Maybe that's why I painted my walls and bought myself flowers.

Cherries

Tonight was filled with Reiki, gifted chicken noodle soup and clean linens.  I just don't know how an evening could get any better- oh, wait- yes.  I do.  Add to it an *amazing* oracle reading that really helped to dispel a lot of fears.  I realize that any reading is a snapshot of a given moment in a very non-linear time-continuum, but, for that ONE split second those cards were representing, delighted my heart in an effulgent, overflowing, bear-it-all and let me bask in the glory of it, sorta way.  It was the spiritual cherry on top of a dark chocolate gelato sundae-day.  The "oh you thought it couldn't get any better? Oh, you think the Universe didn't notice you busting your ass trying to do more than just survive?  Oh- wait, what is it your heart longs for?  Yup.  Pretty much... wait... for... it... could it be... THIS?  Yeah.  Thought so.  Here ya go.  Here's your cherry."   So, now I'm sitting back, watching the flickering candles dance shadows about my home, drinking it all in, savoring every fleeting moment for all it's worth.  Think I'm gonna tie a tongue knot in this here cherry stem- just to remind the Universe that I've got skills and I'm not afraid to use 'em.

Emotive Upheaval

I sometimes wonder if I could survive without my voice.  Maybe what I really mean, is without my thoughts; for I seem unable to not have them immediately spill off of my tongue, creating a slick mess everywhere.  A mess I always tend to slip in- like a child on ice for the first time, finding herself too quickly on her ass, not sure if she should cry or laugh and instead choosing to stare into emptiness with a trembling bottom lip, arms flailing about in under-water slow motion.

I sometimes wonder if I weren't tripping over myself,  feeling the hard crack! of earth under me, wind knocked out of me, embarrassment washing over me, petticoats disheveled, head in a daze, would I even know I was living?  Without the harshest of reminders cutting through the bullshit, would I just meander about in mute ineptitude, oblivious of the need to ache? Picking my way carefully about the slippery spew of others who chose to live a vocal-life of emotive upheaval, damn proud of my tidy underpinnings, muckless shoes and little else?  Makes me want to scream.

Strong Enough

I've been reading David Deida's work.  This is a muddled, not-direct sampling:  when you're distraught, raging and throwing punches and all but scream (and sometimes do) to be left alone; do you want a man who will quietly step out of the room and let you storm? or do you want a man who will wrap his arms around you while you forcefully tempest-thrash until you can *feel* his love, feel that he's on your side through his silent, patient embrace?

I want that.  I want Shiva.  I need Shiva.  For I am Kali, and at times I rage and at times I go insane from the blood of life's demons and I war-dance-crazy.  Though I may look like Lalita: coy, sweet and innocent, I am none of those things and all of those things and everything in between and beyond those boundaries of reason.  I am unapologetic and I believe there is some-man who will recognize my passion for what it is- raw, emotive energy; and be empowered and driven and intoxicated by it.  For I am intoxicating.  I am breathtaking and unbroken, unfettered and glorious in my wildness.  I am.

I am humble.

I am small as I am vast.

I am the silence that echoes before- and after the waves crash.

I am the ringing of bells and wafting incense.

I am Emptiness.

I am effulgence.

I am deep sorrow and exultant joy.

I am orgasms and dark chocolate; Hail Mary's and retreat cave prostrations

I am afraid.

I am surrender.

I am all that is ugly and all that is sane.

I am unhinged.

I am balance.

I am.

Strong Enough

An Ode to Claire

Today I just wanted to write a few choice words about my choice friend Claire.  She's marvelous in a way that makes you crave bruschetta.  She's just choice.  She's earthy-granola-crunchy in stilettos, with naturally cool-blonde hair (the kind that others pay way too much to unsuccessfully emulate).  She has a "thing" for dandelions, Danish-mid-century-modern furniture, 60's French films and Bump-Its.  We fantasize about what it would be like to be 70 and fabulous and wear kaftans and own too many pomeranians and drink martinis before getting out of bed while piling on the amethysts.  It's just what we do- when we're not fantasizing about bruschetta.  In other words, I heart Claire.