Shards of Light
It all begins with an idea.
Gaze intently at the depths of sunset
and see shards of light that reveal whole universes within.
Gaze deeper and find these shards of light are nothing but reflections of the self.
Refracting, glistening, divinely designed,
Being is but a thousand universes of light and potential,
reflecting back at the world
Into Dust
It all begins with an idea.
Can you give yourself the space to heal
to be
to feel.
Deep, intoxicating feelings that threaten to consume you
Body, mind and soul.
To eat you whole.
Space to cry
or die.
Call me weak?
To feel?
To gaze upon an open wound with hungry eyes.
Tell me, sir,
WHAT STRENGTH LIES
in feeling nothing
?
Yes
through the abyss,
a strength so fierce
she shakes already shattered pieces,
Into DUST.
She comes in dreams
or prowls the jagged edge of broken seams.
Peering in
Her eyes like slits,
ablaze.
Then wide and wet.
She sees.
Observing pain as a portal into deeper worlds.
Pure, unfiltered
savage
love.
Tell me where
stumbling in the dark,
you tripped and lost your way?
TELL ME, SIR
What strength lies,
In feeling nothing
?
I recede.
She shows me
where to go.
Authenticity like no other.
In life.
As death.
Takes over.
A Thousand Lies
It all begins with an idea.
This fortress holds a thousand memories,
my body a thousand movements,
my mind a thousand musings and my being…
a thousand lies.
Whilst my heart is full of honour, love, truth,
deep desire to be good and do good and contribute to this earth that gives so much and receives so little…
my efforts feel inadequate and wasted within a framework which expects so much
but whose support so brittle,
so noncommittal.
And I find myself riddled and near defeated by guilt.
This guilt?!
The guilt of trying to be good.
Trying so hard to help this planet,
to heal its wounds and those of its people.
To be positive and spread vibrations, to counter piles of negative infestation churned out by our governments and our 'representation'.
How can we live truth and honour if we are bound and tied in a world of lies?
Ruled by big kids who do a grave dishonour to the real children of this world,
to those they predecess.
And worst of all they couldn’t care less.
Complete neglect of our protest.
A perfection is expected,
a nice round peg to fit the carefully constructed alluring round hole which we can all slot into snug as a puppy at Christmas
but deaf, dumb and blind to our own existence, our inner nature, our wildness and our power.
We bend over backwards and almost snap but these politicians they just bounce back.
I try so hard to be sincere but I’m the one who’s filled with fear.
With disillusioned, troubled guilt, filled to the throat with what they hold dear.
I don’t want their power or riches, I want a healthy earth, clean seas and beaches.
I want resource to go around, equality more than just a buzz sound.
This world provides for everyone, that much is clear
just look how much one percent can premiere.
Dressed to the hilt in golden sheer.
And I know that I’m not far removed from all this of which I disapprove
because I am stuck within these bounds and try as I might I get knocked down
and more than this I’m full of guilt, not mine but theirs.
I feel it for them.
Even worse.
Beneath this moon, back bent and laden,
accept me and my imperfections,
free me from this birth-right guilt
and pray a sustainable world can be built.
Skin
It all begins with an idea.
Perhaps it is not what I wear that makes you disapprove
but instead the way it stirs you to think, feel and move.
The way you squirm in your pants uncontrollably
that flares up your senses and makes you angry at me.
Perhaps that you recognise your own lack of control
your own weakness at the sight of a strong female role.
Perhaps it’s not actually the sight of my skin
so common to us all and not just women
that’s so wrong and disgusting and tainted with sin.
But the fact that underneath it all, you are aware
that skin is just skin, it is not so rare.
And instead this projection of sin in your face is your own discomfort
at your increased heart rate.
But of course it is different for someone like you
you can wear what you like, I do not disapprove.
Still, perhaps this indifference ignites your anger
that I do not look at you with disapproval or hunger…
Does my ability to control myself make me that much stronger?
Perhaps when you look at me and shake your head,
in fact you are angry that your eyes are led.
It is not my skin, or my clothes or my hair
but the uncomfortable knowledge that these cause you to stare.
The mere existence of a human of the opposite sex
can stir feelings in you that you’d rather project.
Sure it may be much easier to try to control
what I wear, who I see, how I think, where I go.
But in fact which of us even needs this control?
It is not I with the shame I am whole on my own.
So please take your looks and your judgement of me
and instead use that energy and direct it within.
Salt, Skin and Soul
It all begins with an idea.
I went down to the sea and sunk my feet into the sand.
I often find myself,
alone on unfamiliar shores.
But still, the ocean knows me,
her waters have seen me a million times.
I visit at different moments
in different seasons,
I visit at different ages,
and yet I stay the same.
And so does she.
We are timeless sisters,
a deep blue recognition of salt, skin and soul.
My heart is the same,
and hers too.
The beating drum of salt sprayed wisdom
that penetrates the darkest depths of social construct
and sees through the sadness on the surface.
Our souls remain,
our energies are endless and will outlive the undulations
of a learning species.
She calls to me and I lick the wind,
smell her waters,
turn to face her osprey tides.
And all is known.
She wails,
I wail
and through our cries...
The world heals.