september again…

The prarie winds are blowing again
let me take to them
and disappear into
another moment
one that is softer
and gladden for my presence
I am weary
as September slips around my chest
why does it haunt me
drop me to my knees
steal my breath
and leave me breaking
Will I ever find peace in aloneness
will I only ever be lonely
the winds leave me behind
tracing the lines of age on my skin
like fineline fractures of old procelain
I need a miracle I hear my heart whisper
as I watch possiblity get swept away



I need not to think

 but just rest in knowing this moment

 for the past is no longer

and the future yet to be

I do not need to think

I may rest in this knowing of now

because to think is to develop expectation

and expectation is to focus on the non exisiting

( both past and future)

and to live in the past or the future

is not opening

is not flowering

is not spreading seeds

nor perfume

in the present moment

and to not be in the moment of now

is limiting

is suppression

is not breathing pure existence

but rather weighted in illusion

I need not to think

but to only be



I am already inward
everything I am to know
I have birthed
I am breathing
to go outward 
is to step into illusion
is to block fluidity
is to deny my soul’s experience
my soul’s existence
is to be potentiality
the center point of experience


this gentle stillness
this knowing
this love
I am; experience


Beyond illusion…

You dispel me
the ego me
you lovingly 
walked me 
into myself
dare me to look within myself
to expose every lie
my ego so effortlessly tells me
I am grateful
of divine presence
a higher self
that knows the ways 
of me
the waves of me
the designs of me
you let me slip under the surface
and often I am temporarily caught
in the illusion of drowning
but I never drown
…I only transform
slowly undressing
my mind
to lay bare
and unafraid
the divine feminine
I am…

her dark vines…

I feel that rising of deep dark
I know what it means
I know survival
it doesn’t feel as choking if I surrender
so I will let it cover my feet
bind my hands
wrap around my chest…my spine
feel it settle across my mouth
shhhh…don’t try speak it away
just open to the flow of magma
let it burn
I am to lay here letting it ooze from my skin
I don’t even know what’s left inside me
perhaps its something God knows
here in this garden he grew inside me
weeds tangle softer blooms
killing their scent…
I know this too shall pass
and refinement I perpetually crave

years later…

She stands on the outside of her front door adjusting the armful of items left in the car, fiddling with her keys to unlock the the door…she slips the key in the lock and exhales a long breath, heavy with discontent, knowing what awaits her on the other side. 

The above was written two years ago and has been in my list of drafts. I find it interesting to go through and read what I had started to speak. Somethings trigger memory of what I was feeling at the moment, and others, I realize they come from a deeper place. A place I am still uncovering.

I honor these simple drafts! From one word to a pageful of emotion. I very rarely, if ever write from my head. I was called a heartspiller quite sometime ago by wonderful soul. He knew that I am poured out, best served from the deepest part of my heart.

And I continue to remain…