suncity

My soul circles you in the dead of night
soft-furred and wondering

you are my very favorite type of mystery.  Every door that opens delights me.

 

 

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Thinking is all wrong

The inescapable pull of the deeply ambiguous

a color you have no word for, the sound that is behind the red
curtain
(could be leaves underfoot, could be a spine,
cracking)

define something to make it less of what it really is.

Name the door to lock it shut.

 

hm

reblogged from 2012
Some Last Questions
BY W. S. MERWIN
What is the head
                         a. Ash
What are the eyes
                         a. The wells have fallen in and have
                              Inhabitants
What are the feet
                         a. Thumbs left after the auction
No what are the feet
                         a. Under them the impossible road is moving
                              Down which the broken necked mice push
                              Balls of blood with their noses
What is the tongue
                         a. The black coat that fell off the wall
                              With sleeves trying to say something
What are the hands
                         a. Paid
No what are the hands
                         a. Climbing back down the museum wall
                              To their ancestors the extinct shrews that will
                              Have left a message
What is the silence
                        a. As though it had a right to more
Who are the compatriots
                        a. They make the stars of bone
May have formatting issues.

My heart’s so thirsty

Something wants to open within me. . . churning the air like an anxious butterfly not understanding her own wings.  Feels like there’s a place just waiting to fall in love with me, the table is already set, and I can hear a voice, calling out – desperate.

When will I be home?

If enough people really, really cared, we’d fucking DO IT.  Heal the world.

Live in the garden like we used to, crushed blackberries dripping down our necks- Giggling and in love with the way the sun hits our eyelashes.  You don’t know how I believe in this,

as if it were true, as if it were possible

(as if we were already there)

I love you so much my whole body is buzzing and I don’t know what to do with this.

a beautiful summer is calling

 

freedom disguised as cage or
cage disguised as freedom

what does it mean to receive the gift of sky
when the closed door is your lover.

 

 

(The thing that I want to give you is the thing you’re terrified of so I don’t)

Is it manipulative to make you want this instead of being afraid?  How attached are you to your fear?

 

It all comes from the same place.  We are the universe.  Because we are from God we are part of her.  To be part is to be God.  Fully God and fully human.  How can I explain this so it makes sense.  When I am with the alzheimer’s patient and we dance I am dancing with you.  It wasn’t a metaphor when you said … if you visit the prisoner you are visiting me.  I am the prisoner and the guard both.  I am the dancer. I am the triple amputee.  The flower and the bee.  To say your name is to say my name.  If you lock me up the cage is my own arms.

Since time began you have been circling yourself, afraid.

There are distractions, obstacles, a game you play with yourself.  Looking at your mask in the mirror, getting frightened.  Hide each aspect so you’re never lonely.

Why did he fall, really.

it’s all in the eyes

you nourish my soul and ignite
my heart

I love you like the marine biologist
loves the Pacific, depth of 36,000+ feet

like the lily loves the sun

you give me the courage
to show my true face

quiet dignity and light
the ocean within calls to

itself

___________

Did I write this about someone in particular in my life?  Or was it about Jaden Smith? Who tf knows.

end

Fear been in a bar fight with love since the universe first cried out for milk and blood.

love is too drunk to stop laughing,
limbs splayed
chin in the dirt

bruises tucked into her
scalp.

 

 

 

Pleroma

 

8 hours is a long time to work a night shift.  I’m working my way through the Nag Hammadi (and related works) like, okay this is why I end up the in hospital.  Jealous of Jung that he got his shit together enough to write whole books, while I end up locked up in solitary when I think like that. Not bitter at all. Though.

 

Click and scroll down to read:  http://gnosis.org/library/7Sermons_hoeller_trans.htm

 

Also, everything Jaden Smith does is gold, fight me on that.  I’m at work so don’t have time to find the songs that were hitting me hard last night, but here’s one to taste.