Scream

The ancient mystic poet Rumi once wrote something to the effect of: we don’t meet the love of our life; we have carried them with us in our hearts always.

The shaman warriors of ancient Mexico believed that death was their constant companion, the silent witness to even their most menial task.

Whether it is soul mate or eternity, the gods and goddesses we have created and forgotten over the years, or the ghosts of those who have passed through and are waiting to pass through again, I have felt that omnipresence. I have felt the cameras trained on me in the rain through my night-time soliloquy, and felt the presence of a director, intent and silent with jaw clenched as my various dramas explode into climax and silence. I have fallen asleep sending prayers to faceless princes and princesses, dreaming of them and their solaces and knowing they were only an encounter away. We have all known the shared smile with a stranger that says just briefly, this moment is ours and will always be, or the penetrating look from someone you’ve never seen that suddenly says “I have known you; or could”. I have felt the silent he, she, it, the eternal death lover it may be, flee from my questions, built from my klutzy language, only to return in my times of quiet to whisper the wisdom it wishes to share across my skin and envelop me and my fear.

And somewhere in there is the subplot of our existence, the esoteric aspect of things that seems so intricately crafted that we can hear the laughter of the guide at our side, and we know that whatever we may call her, it is utmost that we befriend her.

Myself, being an extremist of poetic proportions, say we should celebrate this sweet being with the fervour we normally reserve for orgiastic summer holiday weekends. I want to throw lotus petals at the feet of the Warrior Princess. Oh nomadic mystic, oh fantasy slut, I want to take your goddess, god, om self to my breast and make you my queen.

Let us all then send some laughter and lust and heart wrenching emotion into the universe for all that we cannot see.

Scream with me…

Lover's Plea

First I want to say that I'm sorry about the typos in my last entry....seems the intricacies of editing still elude me, but I do promise to get the hang of it. But that is neither here nor there, and not nearly as important as my newest entry, my Lover's Plea....

I want to feel your proximity on my skin. I want to watch you drown in passion and I want to know that you want me to drown too. I want you to run free and wild through the jungle of my hair. I want you to sit across the table from me in awe and desire, enthralled with both my spirit and mortal vessel, obsessed with wet memories of last night and this morning.

Dear Lover, I plead for hungry kisses along my thigh at first morning's light --- the needy pull of your body to mine. I crave stolen moments and lusty glances, and a call to create a universe within our intimacy and ecstasies.

I throw myself Lover, from my pedestal to your ears, from my longings to your loins. I cast my crafty spell and air my sacred plea: Lover take me.

Autum Meanderings

I wake up and dedicate my day to the sun that presses on, ignored today beyond the dreary clouds. Just outside the trees drip art like fireworks now, as the geese, who often know better, take their leave before it's too late. I'm trying to build a fire in my heart to burn through the pending season of isolation and light deprivation (and it looks as though it will be a long one).

Autumn always proves to be dipped in nostalgia. Soups and schoolbooks and crunching leaves, and I think it is often that that we cry for, though the promise of ice, and flu, and the loss of legs under layers of cloth may be valid enough reasons. So I am burning a fire built on the seemingly vanished passions of days gone by; steamy jazz bars and the art of seduction, the care of artful language when all the words seemed new. I kindle the fire with smoke filled rooms and torch singers, and in the memory of the blinding flames that burn inside even silent revolutionaries, I will add flowers in rifles and the lonely torture of chasing endless dreams.
To all those on this journey with me, may this fire warm us through this season.