A Bloody Mess

Taking in negative energies becomes a toxin in the body of the empath.  Close the windows, close the front door and the back door.  Close the cellar door.  And when someone knocks at the door, you take a look before you open.~Tom Kenyon, The Great Shift.

The global hive mind buzzes me
through elaborate illusions.
I have no match, and yet I burn

Unbridged, the agony before me
beckons. How can I reach for these

parts of myself, so long disowned?
The path of healing threatens
the careful facade of my bleeding
relations. I bleed for them.

They bleed through me.
Life wants to live and so I enter
the unfamiliar territory and shout
my sovereign no. We are condemned

by habit to pick at the guts
splattered on the road, frantic
fluttering as each engine roars
into our space. Returning again

and again to worry at the remains.
The empath is born of cruelty and
lies, feeling the dissonance
in her bones, sifting through the noise

for right rhythm in this sick
energetic cacophony.
Sound heart and a mind called mad
by those who would control it.

The slam of closing doors
and windows to this toxic world–
I writhe and shudder at the sound.
After all, I’m here to save it.
Another lie: I’m here to save

myself, to utter my truth and right
the only imbalance I command:
my own essential voice in this
symphony of we.



How Deep It Goes

“Deep inside believing that the hungry world won’t find you.”~Ann Wilson

Rare lake of bubbling lava discovered on remote Antartic island.

In the frozen south seethes
a volcanic lake, remote and

inexplicable.  The stats show
it anomaly and yet, I bet

within me, the same
unclaimed, unthinkable in

this orgulous grownup
silverhaired and wrinkled

covert and sly.
In my early morning sitting,

I feel into the inaccessible
places I cannot claim,

surprised by their existence
off the tranquil maps of me.

The places where very young
beings howl forgotten.

I do not know which activation
bursts my grandson’s frown,

I am so angry with you, Bibi!

I meet his eyes with a gasp
of joy and jolly him along.

Where do you feel it, in your tummy?
In your heart?
In your arm?
Is it stuck?

Move it, let it flow!
We leap into the air,
swing our limbs.

Later, I welcome
the parts of me finally

dislodged, emerging like
a song of my becoming.

Inspired by: Jolly, Activation, Stats and Orgulous.  The title is from Heart’s song.

Simplicity of Now

I burst into this bucolic scene
and blue-grey grace vaults
scolding across the water.

Doors shut against night slide
opening to these fliers.

Hie! I’m one more dopamine
addict glued to what keeps me

Between each breath, a space
invites freethinking dives
into gaps of stories
that hold me enthralled.

I leap.

Inspired by: Bucolic, Shut, Apathetic.and Sammi’s writing challenge Enthrall in 54 words.

Intelligent Survival

An hour after sunrise, birds wing
messages of import.  I struggle
with labels or toss what I’ve captured
with careless expertise
–I know you–

I miss the subtle lessons. Today
I’m disorderly, walking stunned
from dreams and a bleeding
body. Captured rebel in denial
— oh, god, not again,

is this my eternity, suffering
until the stillness resonates and
the ledge appears? Where is my camp
along the raging river? We enter this
war-torn realm

with pure and open hearts accept
agony our loved ones inflict until
we close just so and then again.
Again. The walking wounded
teach us to pretend we are not one,

we do not see, we cannot feel
each other’s pain. We turn our tears
and rage into joking matter,
an energetic trick, sly digs
at the lies we’ve buried.

Ecstasy denied us in its explosive
layers, we’ve settle, muting
colors, limiting the scales,
sounding half-hearted survivors,
so la, the twisted notes we sing.

Inspired by: Rebel, Eternity, Capture and Camp.

Given To Understand

An octahedron is basically two square-based pyramids joined at the base.  The holon of balance is created by forming an octahedron of light around you through the power of your imagination.  The holon imparts balance, safety and protection. ~ Tom Kenyon (The Hathors)

This sacred geometry pulled
into place faster than drawing
a wild-west pistol in a show-
down whenever inimical

forces threaten. Mine is huge with
no particular color. I
like to twirl and dance inside, free
in an immense space I know: a

night-time beach in Esmeraldas,
stars like explosions of light, the
ocean stretching into deep dark
wider than my labyrinth mind.

We sit with scissors cutting our
star-studded cardstock weaponry,
folding our power together.
They’ll take home these small reminders

of their energetic escape
route, safe and comfortable as
enemies slide by, gaining no
holds. If only in my youth pain

an adult would have come clean, speak
the undercurrents, dissonance
exposed. We are opening the
wisdom body here at the craft

table with their grandmother witch.
Discovery of unseen might
—they’re positive I can read minds—
they flex in front of me with joy.

Their three-year-old half-brother is
chanting a magic spell, entranced
by beautiful beings bound in
the aquarium, knowing this

one wants his mommy, he’s so sad.
The teens feel into discomfort
of being constantly watched and
subtly threatened in ways they are

disinclined to discuss. They rise
to help: I’ve hidden the paste where
no toddler can find it. Our shapes,
folded, shift from their intended

forms, while we search unlikely spots.
We are intent on firm joining,
our superpowers growing true,
our invisible armor glued.

Just before they head home, arrows
casual and cruel fail to
pierce. We eye each other, laughing,
safe in boundaries we create.

Inspired by: Inimical, Aquarium, Discovery and Youth.

Vaya Con La Diosa

You are not bound by the constraints of time, space and history unless you will it so.  Find a way to live your life in joy and happiness.  Live in the fullness that you are. ~ Tom Kenyon

Now I see your bright-flung floating
in the cosmic vastness, twirling

slow as eddies of life dance us.
Too huge to contemplate. Edges

of your fury grinder-brushed to
shooting star sparks as we lift our

faces skyward. Finally your
trails of stardust illuminate

this black hole. You come into view.
Yesterday you pirouetted

griefstricken and triggered by my
words and tentative gropings

towards buried emotions. Too much!
Not enough! Never quite right!

disapproving volley, demands
and harsh hot denigration.

Sometimes the heavenly gifts we
hold for each other like mirrors

are filthy with gore our own wounds
seep. We insist: it’s you, not me!

This horror hides the truth you need
to claim. Right now before I die.

The vulnerable space quakes
exquisite tremors we cannot

hold. So we storm into districts
of condemnation, out of love

in a blink. How can we stay when
there’s no map for these uncharted

places? Discarding civilized
shoes, barefoot in these cutting blades.

Abruptly cast into shadows.
I recoil from your abject reach.

The news today rings brutally
pushed into the darkness so far

you could only imagine one
way out of invisible bonds.

Bold meteor leading you now
mysterious ineffable light.

Inspired by:  Volley, District, Shoe and Abject.

Sound The Alarm

Cricket frogs join in a wave
of clicking beneath this outspread

heron’s wing. He preens oblivious.
Their alarmed call fades. A bonfire

blazes this morning air. Females
sequestered, only vivid males–

like this lovely blue-feathered soul
squawking at the red-winged blackbird,

a solitary goldfinch, one
red cardinal–blast past. All the

Eastern cottonwoods atremble
in the light breeze craft this careful

morning stitched by solitary fliers
over blooming hydrangeas

pink and white and creamy green,
purple clematis and lilies

orange and yellow. Forsythia
wafts fragrance until the far shore’s

smoke drowns the sweetness. Uneasy
pupils, our mortality seams

appear. Where is the brimming life
of July? Gardens planted with

exuberant blindness weed out
natives. Well-meaning lightworkers

illuminate the dark monsters
only to recoil, foul demon!

What can I do? Though doing drives
us lemming-like over the cliff.

Still at the bottom, if only
we can reach the ledge above where

mysteries are revealed: dream-speak
sounds blasting open our filters.

A hummingbird crashes into
the mesh, startling me from my

self-inflicted pain. Only when
we reveal our anguish, immersed

in difficulty, swallowed whole,
only then do we rise like these

bubbles in the lake bursting at
the surface and rippling outward.

Inspired by:Bubble, Pupil, Dark and Drive.