now

i want hope.

wandering through a thicket of doubt, dusty and tired
i want to find an egg laid by a strange mysterious creature.
the daughter of stork and firebird.

it glows with possibility.
i go down on my news before it. it ignites me.
i become luminous with desire.

rather than remember what i lack
i become ripe with what i want.

on the top of a tree i glow against a deep blue sky.
i am flower and fruit.

and when the time is right i fall.

into the earth i burrow.
effortlessly i grow back towards the light.

courage dear heart

can i let go into the flow of that which i cannot yet know?

 i roll around

in the middle of a shifting moving reality.  

a million faceless voices reflect through the cave of my skull.

i stand on the side thinking

"what the fuck?".

energy course through my body.

each cell dances its own direction.

the static part squeezes its eyes shut.

refusing to acknowledge reality

until it figures out what is going down.

or up. 

the ball of energy in my head paws the ground.

it snorts and leaps forward to kill at the least provocation.

or it pulls back in itself and whimpers.

it cries. it fears. it is angry it is sad.

meanwhile, the ringmaster cracks her whip.

if it is in her head it is under her command.

"be happy" she shouts

and feels exasperated when the beast starts crying.

how do i maintain relationship while my mind rearranges itself?

a prayer

may that which is lost be found.

may that which is broken be healed.

may that which is empty be full.

may that which is forgotten be remembered.

may that which is joy take flight.

may we give birth to that which we long for.

truth and magic

this world of ours

so beautiful 

filled with suffering 

and longing for truth 

can i let go

into the flow

where beauty hides

in mystery

of all that live

and breath

and grow

towards

a place  

 i can not know.

sometimes, when i give up hope i find magic. Falling into my body i sink into a space where  i no longer recognizes truth. suddenly i stand in the middle of a mystery so deep, so unknown that small breaths are all i become. although my body is hard with fear, new and old, i can soften with each breath.  rather than pull back can i invite this moment to sniff my hand and soften my heart? 

The first walk i went for after my miscarriage was fueled with careful sips of air. On the way home i started breathing harder. i tried focusing on moving forward. everything was terribly bright. the green grass, wolf-dogs panting, small water washed pebbles, the air between florian and i. into this landscape a large white bird glides. its wings pulls soft colors back into me, the sky and the water. she is the largest bird i've ever seen. "what bird is this?" i ask florian. "it is a stork" he answers.

one day soon magic will once again fill my womb.

F*ck

in this moment,

after my body has let go of the pain

my mind still reaches for the painkillers.

no not my mind.actually.

my wonderfully logical pragmatic mind made peace

with loosing our seven and a half week fetus

once its hopes were reduced to a red blob in a silver dish.

it remembered its project plans and thought

its better this way.

it is my heart. and the inside of my body. 

that feel hollow. without hope .

left standing.

in the space where possibility still blooms.

not knowing what to think.

i want to go back to sleep.

  fuck, fuck, fuck!

a big adventure

i long for adventure.  a big one.

with the sun slanting across an unfamiliar valley 

and mystery leading me deeper into the unknown.

instead every morning i wake up to the familiar

until i remind myself of my quest

to perceive the subtle magic of not knowing

rather than looking out for a trail curving around a mountain

or a teacher who initiates me 

into subtle mysteries beyond that which i know.

its hard finding magic in research reports,

unpaid bonds and student registration queues

but among the weeds in our back garden

i find small white flowers.

this fear

of the mundane has followed me all my life like a shadow

i have tried to stare it down with the sword of my intellect

now i just experience it

it might swallow me

or it might show me a path curling around a mountain

not knowing is the adventure.

ooh la laah

spiritual promiscuity

this morning Florian and i talked about sleeping around. 

slowly i recognized the similarities between chasing the perfect shag in my early twenties

and my current search for spiritual ecstasy. 

both yearn for freedom from the mundane,

for a moment of forgetfulness.

their expectations are often based on representations

rather than direct experience.

they tempt me 

into following strange people into strange places. 

both tend to miss spirit

playing 

hide and seek 

with the mundane. 

a lover's eyelashes dance with a shadow.  

a hug restores what has been lost. 

a tree breathes. 

rather than forget

we remember.