Witchling ambles

Is it the innocence that we chase after and

Try to return to…..

I thought it was some Celestial Union or 

Reuniting with “God”

I begin now to think it is the innocence.

The beauty in its veins.

Fruit not yet ripe on the vine

Fruit ripe before the fall.

When wisdom is all words and not yet experience.

We haven’t been stretched and shrunk against the skin of our masters.

Wild eyed was enough and the flight of ideas pouring.

Touching each other.

If security was guaranteed 

we could see

This push to get back to

And this push to get past and through to the innocence of the wise.


Everyday at some point
It all makes sense.
See the errors in my behavior
Know exactly how to reconcile
Am overwhelmed with the beauty of existence
And my fellow humans

Every day at some point
The fog sets in
the ping pong match in my head commences
I want to ladle out all this sickness from insides.

The limits of control

I often wish I was under surveillance
These intimate moments would go noticed
My body would feel more beautiful
The crumbling not so desolate.

Someone would see the skin I live within
It’s structure
It’s muscle and bone
Imperfections and vitality.

I’d have witness
When I sink t0 the wood floor in the kitchen
Or when I pull the curtain as I close the door
Handle in my hand not yet turning the lock
Leaning against and between me and the cold
Cry until I don’t and then move on.

I suppose the everyday Angels
Disguised as flashes of light, shadows, or
People in line at the grocery store
Waiting for the bus
Passing me in the post office
See me
Witness me the way I witness the trees
With reverence and compassion.
Fellow companion.

I take pages from these different books….
How to love.
to be a friend.
to have day dreams and fantasies
Without traveling to far down the road of unreality.
Learning to hold many and let go…..
I’d consume you …..
maybe I do sometimes in that world
Between me and you where my earthy longing
Where I touch and get touched in return.
Where I am fertile and not alone.
Longing met in smoke and ghosts.
I make love to deities
Sit on ocean floors
Pull star dust from the sky to create my cosmos
My cosmic lover.
It is easier than reaching toward another with expectations
That start out so innocent …
As longing, connection and the pumping of blood
From heart to limbs.
I make love to Vishnu because I can’t confuse him
With any you that might sweep me away in my fantasies….
Fantasies so uncomplicated and mundane as
staring out the glass door
At the setting sun,
Going to the movies,
Or making tea and
kissing me before bed.

There is so much to let go of
In these early morning

Your shadow come to meet me.
Chemistry seeking seed
Hold me down in ancient remains
Of fire in my Celtic home.
Bones beneath surface whispering….
Unearthed and gasping for air.
The naïveté that comes with being human
Comes from living inside skin.
Our guides thru the underworld and
Path to “God”.

Sometimes Question
Sometimes Statement
Offering yellow finches
A stage
made of sky and green.

Invited to an artist salon:
Stand to be witnessed.
Words spill from gut
Heart pounds
One swathe at a time
Stand naked
Stop only when nothing left can safely be removed.
Could skin be
rib cage
Would I reach in thru organs?
Bones holding bones?
Holding heart in hand out stretched
Then maybe I could express
What I am trying to find
To leave behind.
Are in that body
I am
In this.

The only thing better than silence
Is someone to share it with.

Child hood need wanders aimlessly between

ribcage and the adult alphabet.

I continue with calculations and concerning myself with the bones of others.

The flesh and blood padding skeleton brought to life by spirit

trying to bring ease to a mind expanding

dodging the illusive tumble weeds of mental “illness”.

Hands fumbling for love

mouth searching for words

heart swimming in a sea of electricity

occasionally drifting to shore.

what are you trying to say?

I don’t always enjoy living and these days

I seem to not know who I am…who is speaking thru me.

Whatever will I say or do next.

I am an experiment to myself.

A set of impulses in action.

The insecurities of others pulsing thru me, my own mirrored and deplored.

There was a time I thought I had something that the world needed.

Today I know no one needs me. This is humbling and necessary for my development.

There is a becoming I can’t contain…or control.

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