today i feel like a douchebag.

this feeling is unfounded the really real reality, but it's the way i feel. there's so much that i WANT to be doing, and the chief among these is traveling and teaching. but i'm grounded for the moment...working out this life business in the city of my blood.

i'm putting myself out there in ways i never have before, and i'm getting shot at. the blade of improvement is carving at my flesh, and the pruning hurts. my friend and sometimes coach is telling me that my favorite part of my promotional efforts is keeping me from being understood, the people who are responding to my promotions are my broke-ass friends, not the people of means i'm aiming to attract, the class i taught yesterday was ill-attended and full of unsurity, and on and on and on and on and here i sit, bitching on a saturday. sweaty. hot.

ugh.

i think i'm taking all this shit too personally...i'm internalizing the effects of my play in this world...

truth be told (as always), i'm experimenting, and some of the experiments aren't working the way that i'd like them to. perfect. the work is getting more powerful in its falling apart.

okay, time to work some more.

unknown haiku

Arisen from the depths of heaven's descent

Persistent and patient she awaits her sin's fruition

Sidewinding backbiting subtle and slow

The snow rolls uncontrolled down from the blue mesa

Broken Black Branches
The Boy In Her Belly Grows
Cold Rain Rakes the Pane

flip trip

Every fibre of my being screams
F U C K Y O U !!!
Still, I proclaim I LOVE YOU.
And TRUST that God/Goddess will see me through
Using the fire of my anger to change danger into loveplay
For at the heart of my malice is pain
And love is the only salve and salvation.

heart shaped hook

She deals in Painful Transformation

Ripping the flesh from her father's face that he may feel life a little clearer
Carving sorrow in the hearts of every man she comes across,
Delving a deeper vessel of love.
She'll love you more than you've ever been loved.
She'll hurt you more than you've ever been hurt.
To her, they are one and the same.

Still healing the wounds of a father's unfortunate choices.

Attritious Affection
Righteous Rejection
Revenge in a Valentine.

5/8 Freeflow

Wanna try your hand at rhyming?
Sure.
No purity can reside
Where candida hides
Only by bringing to the light what is inside
and taking a flashlight to shadow
can we manage the truth and seek forsooth
the beauty of you
only within moments of prolonged silence
can the violence inside cease and settle down
can the jealousy and rage that plague our days
lay down the blade of outrageous misfortune
it's such a simple trick
sit down shut up and breathe to find peace
then that stillness emanates to the city streets and country lanes
to the desert sands and bomber planes
and the tanks and trucks that fuck with us
daily we pray for some end to sufferance and
through prayer and listening
hair still glistening from
nary a hint of me
swimming deep in the springs
coiled and wound tight on a central still axis
waiting to explode in concentric circles
whipping and slipping and dripping with pearls of shivaic knowledge
shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
sit still, child and let your soul run wild
while your mind grows mild
it is the only way
this is the center of adventure
the central core of more than you can imagine
the quintessential commitment to self and service begins within
with a deep breath, sans sin
as sin merely means to be in the lack of
the absence of
the ignorance of
the everpresence of God,
Yahweh, Jah, Allah our Lord
and the depth of feeling comes right here with this
simple hiss of oxygen and CO2 passing past lips
and through teeth
white and shiny
like folklore hineys about to get bitey
by fangs of the same hue as
the love that comes through you.
Amen.

Tantra

The word makes me nervous.

Every time I hear it or read it or think it my stomach twists in a knot just a little bit...especially when I'm overly caffeinated.
I have associations with my world being ripped apart, with my loved ones curling up uncovered in the arms of other lovers, of disease running rampant through the syphilitic streets of Victorian England, of Dravidian Indians carting the severed heads of Hindu priests to blood drenched temples, gaining access to circular ceremonies of sinister sex magic.

And it turns me on.

Even without the ooey gooey sex stuff, it turns me on. The unsettling path of transformation through destruction...deconstruction, through Kali fuckin' with my shit, it turns me on. There is a part of me that craves the annihilation.
There is also a part of me that screams for me to end the torture, to run fast and hard in the other direction, to take up a post as a bible thumping Baptist somewhere in the South, head in the sand of supposed salvation.

Oh, I'm offending someone somewhere, I know. And that twists my gut as well. Oh, well. It seems to be the way of the soothsaying truth sprayers.

I've embarked on a path of healing for myself and others, and fallen in love with my number one lover, and she with me which brings complexity. I know that these feelings that grow from the belly below tend to build a sense of forever, a holding that's clever and attachments that never want to let go...and it wrenches the everlovin' meat from my bones.

I know that this can't last. I see only demise on this path. The crazy ones, they're the faces I see, and yet I can't seem to turn away.
Leave some space for the Holy Spirit, I say.

A little quietude, not tryin' to be rude, just gotta handle my shit on my own like men do. Entrancin', enchantin', dancin' with you, Kali Ma, Durga Ma, Tara Ma, the fierce goddess mother that calls me under the covers for another smother...
Gotta break free and breathe. What a relief, a reprieve, no need to leave, just be...me. Alone. On my own. At home with the One.

Because right now it's gettin' a bit sticky, too many ingredients packed into this shitbrick, too much commotion and loco-motion.

Thank God for massage. Thank God for distant pods. Thank Goddess for God.

Ahhhh...Tantra.

my own row to hoe

Don’t come at me with this silliness.
Come to me in stillness.
My life is what it is because of my movement through life.
I’ve made my choices, I’ve followed the path I’ve laid through my days.
You’ve done what you do, said go here, over there, but I have chosen.
Did you teach me to emote? Did you teach me to dance? Did you teach me to speak the way that’s uniquely me?
Did you teach me silence? To find the moon in dim starlight?
You taught me to love what doesn’t make sense…passionately.
And I chose to.
And I choose to.
Of course I credit you, a very important turning point, a spot on the map, named and gilded, gleaming and missed fondly.
Longed for at times, even.
But the quintessential guru,
The forlorn and forgotten mother of your own myth,
That’s your trip, my dear.
Your yarn to spin.
One helluva lover, strong enough to hold me long after lights out.
Lover. Love Her.
That’s my call.
That’s my truth.
That’s you.
Ridiculous.
Beautiful.