Japan

''Through all the pain your eyes stay blue, baby blue.''

Hair falls down my back; heavy; sexual.

Sexuality breathes over me.

''All that exists is the Now.''

There is no time, only stillness.

I'm going to go to Japan, someday, somehow.

''Action conquers fear.''

All that is fine may appear to not be noticed, but the finer things are the substance; the bindings; the fine and the delicate holding together of things.

Fine things disappear into the whole.

But they are the workings, they are the whisper behind the voice.

Forever silent, forever mine.

Inside I'm smiling, without ever knowing why.

And I like that. I like being fine. I like being me.

*

''Like a lover who has lost her faith.''

Cinnamon smells like cinnamon.

''It could be sweet.''

I remain, even when bleak.

''It could be sweet.''

I am going to Japan, someday, somehow.

Feared by the sight of a smudge.

Oh dear God above,

am I still tripping?

When, if ever, will it end?

It never does stop, even when your end of life runs dry, you carry on inside your mind. This is why, in your existent life, you must find peace; find God.

You are the one.

Peeled vortex, let it remove you, smooth you from excess. 

Beauty is more than just a face.

In fact, it doesn't even have one.

Be gentle with your tenderness.

You harm her, you harm yourself.

*

However dark may seem your fears, you must get to know them full circle; play with them. 

They are who you are, you are where they are, always.

Running away from them will get you no where, and will darken and deepen your fear-ridden well.

''I have nothing in my shell,'' she said,

''Nothing standing in my way, for I know it.''

Wild night forebode me, wild nights forbid me.

I am my own knowing, I am my own nothing.

All that is seen in me is wild.

I am your circle of detention,

your cursed forgotten child.

Pay me no attention, and you shall hear my cries.

In the long and distant amber I am never a surprise,

for you already know me, dear sister, you know me black and blue.

You are me and I am you.

Are you really sure where that button is?

I am going to Japan, someday, somehow.

x

Medicine Stories

''Stories are medicine.''

We don't need pills. We need stories.

Having being feeling a little ill and run down the last few days, and after a hectic past few weeks of work, early morning starts and trudging long walks out in the snow and cold, I've felt the need to take rest in bed and not do much else. So on Tuesday morning, found with a full day to myself, I decided to do nothing, but lye in bed and read and write (and bake, I couldn't help myself, I went a bit nuts and made three cakes,).

It was lovely, resting up and not having to do much else.

After the nutty cooking bout, I soon became tired again and felt a headache coming on, my body and brain energy seemed half arsed too, and my attention span was floppier than floppy. So I climbed back into bed with a hot cup of tea and began to read, but found it hard to stay focused on the book I was reading, what with my floppy attention span and half arsed energy and all, I was zoning in and out, and mostly out of, interest. The book I was reading was too heavy, too deep, and I wasn't in the right mind set to read it. I lazily rolled my eyes over the bed and picked up a smaller book, a book of fairy tales by Hans Christian Anderson.

A few weeks ago I'd started 'The Little Mermaid,' so I carried on with that, then I read 'The Darning Needle,' I read it aloud to myself. It wasn't too long, nor too short a story, but ''just right'' (you know, just like Goldilocks). It was soothing too, and I gradually felt myself feeling better, my attention span slowly stiffening, my spirits becoming lightly lifted.

A full day in the house by yourself, can, after a good few hours, begin to make you feel a little shit, and having had no change of scenery nor a breath of fresh air from outside all day, it was beginning to take its toll on my mood. Your mind starts to wander, you may drift into the weary shell of putting yourself down because you're not doing anything seemingly worthwhile, and having no one around the house to talk to can heighten your doubts too. 

But after just a half hour of fairy tale stories, I found myself feeling better, with a little more energy, a sense of warmth, and a slowly rising erection of attention span surging over me. Admittedly, I did at first think it would have been nice for someone to read these stories to me, but this actually felt just as nice, reading to myself, nursing myself, healing myself better with stories. It was lovely.

Being alone you may find yourself losing yourself on a road to subtle self destruction, but through gentle story telling we can discover ourselves, once again taking hold of our shiny weave of ever unending thread, that connects us both to life and to ourselves.
I didn't need medicine, nor pills for my blue mood or headache, I just needed a story, a short, stimulating story to feed my feminine psyche.
 She wasn't lost at all, just hungry, for words of beauty.

If we never experienced hurt, there would be no room for healing.

If we never experienced life, there would be no room for dreaming.

Every time I hurt, I heal.

Every time I live, I dream.

''I may have made it rain.''

Your fingers are distant.

Be kind to yourself.

x

Ash Heart

A familiar ghost enters me once again, yet this time, I remain, not totally unafraid, but strong, within myself, and within its presence.

''...he thought it was a swan spreading its wings.''

'Where have you been all my life?' she said.

Right here, waiting, where I have been for always.

I remembered you, sitting on the swing, ever so patiently, dusting your wing, just waiting, just waiting.

Now I am ready for change,I am ready to really fly now. 

All this time spent collecting my feathers,

I finally found them, my beautiful wings; I made them; such delicate things.

I am ready to fly now.

''He knew nothing about it at all, couldn't even dream of her once.''

''I sit patiently and quietly. I know what I am, and this I shall remain.''

Quite fine, just like a darning needle.

Crescent Ghost

To see myself I need not to look, but only to write, and each time I am reminded who I am;

unnameable, unfathomable; an unending stream of love and light.

Words are meaningless yet meaningful, for they are our guide to the unchangeable - the Divine source of all.

She is but within ourselves

Elegy

Take me to the woods

to sleep, to feed, to wake

to howl, to congregate,

to find, my mate.

''A common theme in modern relationships, I think, is the guy who can't handle a successful woman (or, perhaps more accurately, a woman with balls.)''    * Alison Taylor

I realised something today, that most men are afraid of strong, self driven and creatively determined women. It is in their nature (a mixed up evolved westernised nature) to feel the need to exert their 'knowledge' and creative drive over a woman's, and woman, mostly, will listen (a good one at that she is) appreciate and soak up whatever it is he expresses (or boasts). 

As women, we work in silent ways, yet what lies within us is louder and stronger than what we dare to portray. It is wild, not wild in a destructive or chaotic sense, but wild in the natural sense..instinctual, alert, driven..along any given path we come across, and along our way we may come across many obstacles, many prey that deem to quieten us; to hunt us down to near extinction; to silent our howls to mere distant whispers. But no matter how strong their weapons or hurtful expressions, our whisper of a voice still remains, and always will, because we're still here, and we still carry on, but whilst we do, we must learn to recognise this voice within us, and learn that she must not be quietened but encouraged, no matter how much we may be taunted; poked and pricked by man-made weapons, (however subtle they may at first appear to be), laughed and sneered at beyond comprehension. No matter how vile and weary the road may seem, if we stick with our instincts; eyes and ears alert to our surroundings, we will find our way, we always have.

She does all she can to protect me, to protect me from myself.

She is me and I am She.

Trust that voice, you know the one I mean, for I am speaking to it now.

Trust it. Trust yourself.

Na'ashjeii Asdzaa 

No man, or woman, shall ever burn out my fire, no matter how much time they spend wasting their own energies on trying to put me down; pissing their insecurities all over me; bad mouthing me, as I dare to speak my own true voice, my wild voice, my chi.

I am who I am, liked or not.

There's nothing but love and blood that runs through my veins, and I ain't ashamed to bleed.

Rummaged

*

I rummaged and I became clean

* Klimt