Living Morganism

Somewhere and time as I was growing along I learned a lesson to unlearn. I learned I was meant to dispel the mystery. To demystify myself, uncover my inner realms, to tame them and turn the soil for the cultivation of food, to harvest too and prepare it for a man to consume. To accept their hungry eyes on my fertility, that my body was expected to be owned. I was taught somewhere and how to make myself a textbook that instructs in my handling. To build for myself a cage and to hand over the keys to my keepers. To explain myself, expose myself and reveal or to deny everything, all of it at once. But I am not a manual I am a poem, rhythmic, unmetered. I am not a plowed field so much as a tangled meadow. I have seasons and tides, not instructions and rules. I want a love that does not open and close me like a pantry door. I want a slow love, that coaxes the buds to unfold one petal at a time. My heart is every bit as tender as a flower and as wild. My love needs this kind o

It began with a promise to honor the deeper calling from my core A blood sacrifice and an inking into my skin that commitment I moved into ceremony, I called witnesses around me, I called women to hold me. A strength and new knowing began to become me, I had such hopes And then heartbreak tore the seasons to pieces. No Spring or Summer but eclipses and a celibacy like an insult to my loud fertility The seasons all dark, all cold and all turned inward A long winter, untouched An initiation not into motherhood as I hoped, but into shadow and grief and loss I bent into work, months passed, and work bent my back, so much forgotten. I wish to bow deeply in gratitude to the dreamer To offer prayers and tears of such sweet sorrow for the silent, unseen weaving of dreams     into truths deeper than comprehension and consciousness. Ebbing and flowing directly from Mysterious Source Nurturing like a mother, ravaging like a beast. Underneath this shroud, enshrined, dreams resurr

Heartbreak is like a world made miniature every tender trying detail significant to its structure and all the open space of the world outside, an affront to the pride that lives in the pain. This heart is haunted by sharp fragments of memories and images: The white raspberries that grew by your house I would taste on summer nights that I walked to you. Pieces of your home decorated by my love but enjoyed by strangers eyes now. The unlit windows down the street. An afternoon by the river. A dog you now live with that I don't know. Whispered sensuality on the only flight we took together. My body cold now where your touch once warmed it. Heartbreak is like the closeness of a dream wrapped in love, like the dream, all is tangible with no thought of waking or what comes after until the rude interruptions of jobs and alarm clocks hurdle you into a realm of fog and desperate grasping for what was. Your life is growing unfamiliar to me. But like the vivid remaining fragmen

Spring, we should have snow at least between the sunshine. It's hard to complain about sunshine. The earth is so thirsty... My gardeners heart wants to give it water,  maybe wash it's tired feet. Then tonight, the wind shifts and whole symphonies could be inspired as raindrops join the windchimes in singing me to sleep. Singing the earth awake.

The heart knows There is no getting over a soul mate Through distance and time It lives in a constant longing Maybe like the Sufis speak of If let to be mysterious It will be a sort of sweet madness That can bring you to the doorstep Of another Beloved One weaving life from leaves and bones Only that kind of Love can hold the longing Without risk of turning bitter

Passageway to newness Vantage point Secret ways of water Cliff Parapet Golden Io Cornerstones All the worlds a stage Home Chandelier  Hidden canyon of the hackberry trees  Channels and rivulets Cliff dweller Rock painting Sculptural pause The simple spectacle of color Burrow of a plant collector  Descent Determinantion Resting place More secret ways of water Shipwrecked Bones

She is of the Sea She is wild, she is free Her feelings are deeper Then some want them to be Would that she were a wolf She would run in the wind No manner of duty That could bring her back in Though she may be a girl Born with this human slate Her heart beats the tune Of a much wilder fate. And so she looks up To her mother the moon As she breaths in the light She'll be shining out soon With each new break of her heart She's a little more true Someday the story she tells Will be love, hers of you.

I dreamed last night of a group of women, all self empowered and all had chosen not to become mothers, they were being interviewed about their choices. Then they stood in a circle and these other people in doctors coats came and poured on each womans belly a glass of warm water, telling them it would simulate the water breaking, but instead all their belly's instantly filled with pregnancies and they dropped to their knees in labour as babies began to be born. I knew i was next, but i subverted their control and gave my Love a conch shell to switch with the glass and told him to fill it with salt water so that i would give birth to a sea god.

All these lights like beacons shine from windows no longer yours. Unfamiliar silhouettes, in once familiar rooms. Even though we didn't share a bed or a home, There was a comfort in driving towards you to reach my own. Now, each night I have to turn my back and drive away, Heartbreak reenacted, reopened and with such silence, undisclosed. I wanted to be closer... it never seemed enough... our experiences so different... feelings always in a rush... i left...  i lost my way. But you didn't ask me to stay anyway.

I prayed to be a lighthouse, I asked how can I be the light? She answered SPEAK SPEAK SPEAK! Unfilter yourself, pour your voice, pour your love into the world. You have wisdom to share, your voice is needed in this choir of wolves waking up into wild women so howl.