Twisted By Ungrounded Beliefs

“Doctors are men who prescribe medicines of which they know little, to cure diseases of which they know less, in human beings of whom they know nothing.”~Voltaire

I take the higher ground. A crow’s five caws
float through the open window I’ve searched for.
Rest is a sacred duty. Divine laws
like gravity have closed familiar doors.

How we steep ourselves in toxins, blaming
invisible stories as we cough, sneeze
our breathways clear. Some ill intent framing
comprehension. Fear rampant on the breeze

we slam it shut and shudder with disease
invented to control us. At the store
the self-appointed practitioners call, Freeze!
I cannot safely wear a mask. My core

certainty of how my body works moves
me and my microbiome–trillions steer
seamlessly, updating, downloading grooves
of dancing life. We open to breathe clear.

Inspired by the highly recommended book, What Really Makes You Ill? Why Everything You Thought You Knew About Disease Is Wrong by David Parker and Dawn Lester. The book is massive, well-sourced and illuminating. TLDR? The four factors which cause disease are exposure to toxins, poor nutrition, exposure to EMF, and excessive/prolonged stress. (Turns out infectious disease is an evidence-free myth.)

My New Catchphrase

“The primary cause of disease is within us, always within us. Germs are nothing. The terrain is everything.” Antoine Beauchamp

Consider The Clitoris 2

“Consider the clitoris” is a flag
signaling science is a religion
with a brutal disempowering slant,
research simmered in greed and a smidgen

of truth. Missing: a gorgeous part of me
hidden, unplumbed, unillustrated texts
which brainwash physicians essentially.
Trivialized, truth shrivels. Blooming next

lies called germ theory spouted in a stream
designed to hide terrain. Duality
is part of our human cage. I don’t scream
a defense. We create reality.

A sage, I’m seeing these paradoxes
beyond the nitty gritty to dirty
rotten roots. Presented with sly foxish
frauds, I shrug, “Consider the clitoris.”

Inspired by human and the gloriously inept narrative currently imposing a world-lockdown for a voluntary takeover by the Big Pharma/medical cartel. And here’s to the global awakening as we let go of that old corrupt story and create a new reality.

This well-sourced article explains very succinctly the difference between germ theory (which appears to be presently used as a justification to decimate our society, isolate and weaken us, reducing us to extremely ill health the more closely we follow the ridiculous edicts and mandates) and the terrain.

Featured image found here.

Gracious Melt

Here the first now fall of snow
melts graciously on the roads, picture
perfect white delight. I’m wearing gifts though
I’ve worn out my welcome. Doughty heart sure

rejection abandonment betrayal
the dark motifs which hosted my disease.
There is no death. Requesting wherewithal
and sanctuary, where I’ll feel at ease.

Rise up, fear. In the early dawn, gobble
my illusions. I present you to sun.
Disappear amorphous vapor. Trouble,
my salvation, in now your cycle’s done.

Inspired by: Gobble, Motif, Vapor and Doughty. And deep healing of long-hidden patterns as I open more and more to now.

Healing My Broken Heart

I’m serious as shit, dumbfounded by
the faces and the stories up for air
released from darkness I summon the light
how I respond with love to my own cry

especially at night the pris’ners fly
caught in a tale of mine—how could I care
traumatized child gasping for air, I left
to visit other realms, create new skies

and I was reckless, hurting, fantasized—
so if you met me while the onus held
my life’s mission of wound and heal and weld
your face awakes dreams, interrupts my nights

I’m serious as shit, dumbfounded by
the chances opening in tender space
how I respond with love to my own cry

Inspired by: Serious, Dumbfounded, Onus and the #OctPoWriMo Day 7 prompt Growing Pains (pain, growth, learning, finding yourself) in a Triolet or Villonet.

“Serious as shit” may be the strongest language a person with digestive issues can utter. I’m focused on huge wounds in my Elucidation and the healing is fierce!

Choosing The Story

Just before storming morning air chills, two
birds trill from tall treetops in the gray, fly
above a black dog and I sitting through
grace. One quivering nose lifted to sky.

Cynical ones steaming in fear logy
from the media stream, schooled in the new
reality. Nefelibata me
barefoot, grounded, unmasked, singing my true

grasp of biology. Propaganda
cannily conquers, now a human face
connotes selfish-bonkers. A cough, slandered.
Has compassion now vanished from our race?

Inspired by: Grace, Cynical, Connote, Nefelibata, outings yesterday when I had to reveal personal medical information to strangers in order to buy their company’s goods (goodbye HIPAA), and this thoughtful piece by Kelly Brogan.

It’s Turtles All The Way

In yesterday’s imbalanced waking
parch overwhelmed me. Today
I determine to soothe

water and grounding these indignant
filaments writhing and buzzing
from the past’s unintegrated

barrage. I sit and extract
my personal fear, empowered
to heal myself, my family,

my lineage, society, the planet
the universe and more.
Time and distance constructs

—the illusion of separation—
dissolve, tumble like a child’s
castle made of blocks.

We build beliefs in our jangled
misperception of danger,
forget to knock them down

laughing and certain
of our power to create anew.
I tune in to what is

as all the ripples of my intention
create balance
here in the present

where I, a self-healing miracle
of love, resonate
a heartbeat, breath

infused in everything that matters
which is all, which is one,
awakening and taking the step now.


Unwrapping Gifts

My childhood trauma happens for me every time I get scared.  It may not mean what is “happening now” has anything to do with it.~Thomas Huebl

Far from the knife-wielding surgeon poised
to cut off what is

inflamed, named culprit
I sit

contemplate my unblemished limbs
praise the organs who whisper

long before a calamity.
All the places I call difficult

teach me, reflect impeccable

wisdom of integration
what is ethical

Once I boycotted patriarchal
tyranny, the warrior’s way:

exclude and shun
others who caused me pain.

Trigger my shadows today
and where I used to run away

impugn as toxic, assign blame,
wallow in shame

now I stay.
Untangle what is mine

from what I’ve carried
all this trauma long buried.

Here I am and I confess
I bring each trouble wrapped

as tightly as I held myself
once certain in my solitude

I would not be met.
Innocence skewed

yet light reveals Intelligence
bounces and deflects away

from darkness I’m willing to display
unknowing, caught dumb

and wide-eyed in your patient
loving gaze, held in a different way.

Intent, committed to evolve,
this portion of the troubled planet

only I can solve
here with you, no longer stranded


Finding Breath

Where do I fight my experience?  Can I stop and say, this is what it is right now, and can I stay with it?~Anjet Sakkat

The I shoulds interrupt sleep
and so I rise, longing for deep
sweet breath, not this jerky ragged
approach to death. Bedraggled,
I resist the medicine
that covers and masks what is.
There is a gift to explore
a pattern in my core
though I would much rather
tickle a slick dance, gather
all my worries and doubts
undeserved love hideouts
throw them out labeled wrong
as if my birth does not guarantee
I belong. How can I soften?
The key to love these tired
eyes, this chest contracted.
My allies present the path
I so resent. And so I feel
the earth below my feet, real
and grounded, here I am
calm, watching the gentle
lift of diaphragm.


All I’m Asking

Shake me. Impossible 

to integrate sediment

by stirring. Despair dregs 

cloud clarity.

Uncover facinerous soil

where my wild

three-year-old negotiating

a nap with patent

slyness is tricked even so

caged wheezing

sleep. Intelligent

contumacy rising now:

noctivagous lollop

ungainly unhindered 

by kindness.

A quadrille (44 words) written as the dversepoets prompt “stirs” sleepless musings during a stertorous night with Foyle’s Philavery at hand.

If you’re not lucky enough to have a Foley’s…(I love this book so much!)
contumacy: stubborn resistance to authority
facinerous: extremely wicked
lollop: to move heavily or be tossed about
noctivagous: wandering in the night

What We Carry

What happens when I become softer or warmer or slower when I feel myself?~Thomas Huebl

Two hawks kite and spiral through
the mating skies, summon me
solitary suburban witness with new-made
eyes and the intention to be precise.

My charade ingrained habit learned
with Peter Rabbit, hare-brained
beliefs I trust with my life.
What a gift to the world when

I examine my burdens unnamed
I’ve ignored to declaim
global trauma. Summon
a shaman. These hawks suffice.

Tell me why do I
combine all my unmet moments
to project on the wide screen?
My routine battle a smokescreen

bypass my contribution,
I demand absolution but
I cannot be vulnerable,
take risks in love. I hover above

can’t even breathe,
spinning in the whirlwind
threats of a pandemic,
old structures collapse endemic

to the separation myth. How
can I give myself now
what I never received?
Reality misperceived.

I call like an urgent raptor
dare to name these shadows.
In our connected place,
I hug myself in quiet space

a warm regard, a love embrace.
Root and ground like a great
tree–and touch so delicately
pain I hold yet cannot free.

My healing song invites
the places I’ve condemned
to simply be a hymn
resonating I bring my darkness to the light

bring all of me. The beings calling
from the skies here now the key
I finally heed. Witness my fear
with me? All you have is mine, I finally see.


Featured image of Cooper’s hawk credit.