It’s a dance, and I could use a dance as my poor body stiffens over this winter of dormance. The great world out my window flaunts itself, moonsilvered and haunting, yet I stare at this mesmerizing screen, oblivious save for that small voice that whispers, ‘go!’

I would that voice were not so easy to ignore and so difficult to act upon, these days. It was not always so; not so long ago, the balance was reversed and my default was to walk on such nights. When magic called me, I would go, but now… I am ready for change.

As I breathe into belly, I listen for other voices, ones affirming my goodness and worth. At first, they whisper softly while the hateful self-shamers shriek and howl. When I learn to listen, focus and quest, the nasties fade into the background and the love occupies the centre of my stage.

“Thou art beloved and dear, a treasured gift to All That Is,” blessing voices state in tones of truth. Doubtful mind seeks certainty: might I be making this up?

Silly mind, it doesn’t matter. Such thoughts are boon and bounty, fuel for the flames of a sacred self-love revolution.

Breathing my breath in this moment, I notice tension in my shoulders, a band of confining iron. Some unconscious part, watchful of being watched. When I catch sight of my fleshy form in the mirror, I sneer with sideways parts that deny being me, that pretend to be ‘Them’.

You know the ones. ‘Others.’ Those parts of self claim not to be me so they can get away with flagellating my heart. I look pathetic to them, powerless and pointless. Silly of me to listen, but sometimes I am drawn into their sucking hole.

I forgive myself, and breath again.

(click on image to enlarge)

Today, the sun’s alchemy
brightens birds, breakers,
snowcaps and clouds
to dazzling brilliance
beyond mere white.
Indigo, lapis and teal seas
roll in perpetual motion
witnessed by distance-misted
lavender mountains.

Air, chill in shade,
heats happily in sun’s rays.
Eagles’ chittering scree
blends with seabirds’ keening,
brewed into synesthetic stew
with reek of rotting herring roe,
mellowed by woodsmoke.

Every sense comes alive,
every cell revives
jubilating in vividness.
Here, where sea meets land,
Earth’s blessings are
most bountiful. Where
wind strokes skin, bringing
malodorous decay
and clamourous continuance,
life and death are one
and the same.

June 20 marks 2012 days until the year 2012… and the countdown begins! A great change is impending. What that will look like I can’t tell, though I can safely predict how it will feel. Beginning in April 2011 and completing in February 2012, the watery depths rise to enfold us, delighting those who love darkness as they love the light and frightening fools who shun their shadows.

Neptune’s ingress into Pisces, her own style, makes me smile, for Great Mother in Her power can only portend pleasure for those of Her children who listen and surrender without abandoning themselves.

This band thing is messing with my head. The cool thing I was a part of has morphed into a new cool thing I’m not part of. I support what my tribesters are creating and I bless them in my heart but I grieve the loss of my part in it. I came alive in that circle, playing my drum, learning bass, sharing an inclusive, ever-growing magical flow.

Something shifted, the structure solidified, a band was born. I’ll groove on the dancefloor and it’ll be glorious, but not what it was. Would be nice to have Monday back for jamming.

I meant to go, but time ticked by and I couldn’t get my butt out the door. I’m glad it was good, but how else could it have been? I don’t like missing out, but no matter where I am, I’m going to miss out on something. Where I was happened to be the best place to be, given how I felt. I’ll miss out on a lot while I’m away for half the next year, but I’ll experience other things I wouldn’t have here. I’ll trust the natural balance of life and my impression that it keeps getting better.

Elusive poetry beckons,
becomes mundane, emptied
of meaning
I seek to speak deeper
than mind, to find
poems swimming in
my fishy depths
Slick visions escape my grasp
nibble coy at fingertips

I cast the unbaited hook
barbless, fish for
a volunteer sacrifice
an emergent dream that
dares to become a poem

I lose, I humble self
Confess my desperate need
for greedy mouths
to feed, to ease my aching
engorged brain
this fullness finds no relief
Please, paint me pictures
of truth, be it blessing
or bane

I beg, sink to their depths
Breathe their water
Die their death

Something has shifted inside, hard to say what or if it will last, but I like it. Might be as simple as rising early for a change (perhaps that last phrase is literal)… this helps me see the day differently. I’ve had a full day and it’s still light out, only partly due to the premature time change; mainly it’s down to being conscious for longer.

I’m great as long as I stay away from future-think. Never mind what that bad Joker said. “Think about the future, Jack.” I’ll stick with the present, for now (for however long ‘now’ lasts).

Writing about fabric is like
singing about colour
or painting the sound of music
Words are clumsy tools
to transmit the feel of felt

Anyone who sews knows
material, its many moods,
its medley of makes
Shimmering silk, sleek satin,
Lush velvet, tough denim

I would rather caress
than converse about cloth,
I would rather admire
than try to define
its warp, weft, selvage

Textiles have no translation,
being innocent of subtext
I stroke silk and velvet
My skin finds comfort
in its blind, braille world