Drafted to Life

The real war being waged

is not over oil or land

but over the heat in our veins

and the love in our hearts.

 

A free mind is an enemy combatant

Daily, drones drop bombs

of ignorance on our heads

while smoke screens are released

to block our vision and

confuse our sense of direction.

 

The heart that burns with passion

the mind that flies with creativity

the voice that rises in truthspeak

These are our weapons of mass creation,

our tools of revolution.

 

You’ve been drafted

by being alive, at this moment,

to unleash yourself upon the world

to brandish your beauty and truth

to live your dreams.

 

Don’t hold back

we need you,

among the ranks of freedom,

pledged to serve the sweet ecstasy of existence,

standing fully in your own power,

a warrior of life.

Bloodroot, Black Cohosh Teach

I.

 

Listening to the rattle of the reeds

The Old Crone shaking Her bones

Whispers of wisdom unknown.

 

II.

 

Returning to the roots of our blood

from which we are birthed

Our true selves, unfold

in re-emergence.

From beneath the long decay

of past regrets and shame

We, the delicate flower of our hope,

rise cautiously from within our green cocoon.

Wrapped protectively, gently we emerge.

As we feel our empowerment, our divine connection,

we unfurl our vibrancy, our uniqueness

Each rebirth adding a wing to our

cloak of self-emergence.

 

III.

 

Against the darkest night : bright white

reflected off the lantern light

Raceme reaching out against an unknown background

She points the way

Beyond our fears;

rising towards the unknown.

Deep within the Earth her power is found

Connected with the mud and blood: the Shamanic Priestess

integrates the dark and light.

Radiant, starry clusters

draw our attention down, pull our attention in

Where we face our shadow selves

and learn the power of love.

Taken

Peel me layer by fucking layer

Godsdamnit can’t you see?

That person over there –

Yeah, sure, that’s me.

Or perhaps the person here before you –

Yeah, perhaps.

Getting closer.

I’m throwing up my hands;

go ahead, chain and bind me

“Lord” knows you already have.

So you wanna play ‘hot or cold’?

Baby, I can be as cold as ice,

but I can melt you with but a touch of my hand.

Getting warmer

You’re still dying to know aren’t you?

Here, There, Everywhere

Nothing, Nowhere

I’m not anywhere

But I am everything

You want it don’t you?

You know you want it

Come on and get it.

Scratch the layers,

Tear at the skin

You can get to the core.

Those whispered sweet-nothings in my ear

Don’t mean shit to me.

Your desperate grasps amuse me.

Your claw marks on my skin are well laid tracks.

You toss me down,

I’ll throw you to the ground.

You like it rough and tough?

Baby, you ain’t seen nuthin yet.

 

The Lost Vessel

What is the truth your heart seeks to shout?

What truth lies so deep that you fear it?

Like a ship lost at sea

you circle it with the sonar of your intuition

Monophonic tones guiding you to its submerged body.

At this depth, you can only make out

its blurred outline

lacking definition

but the sonar blips

and your heart flips

and you know you have found

that which you seek.

You hover above

and send down the sub

umbilical chord linked to your mother ship.

The submarine sinks down

into these unknown depths

and tentatively probes

the long lost ship,

snapping hazy photos

details becoming clearer

the submarine rises

offering you glimpses of information.

Fear gives way to intrigue

for this ship appears to hold

treasures untold

Mysteries

which beckon to be known.

Emboldened, you begin the process

of retrieving this long lost vessel.

Diving deep

you reattach the chords

strap on the supports

and gently

intently

raise it to the surface.

The Emerald City

Reflected in three mirrors

my sight

looking forward,

backward,

and to the side,

but mostly looking in.

The train speeds through the tunnel

as indistinguishable

black walls scream by.

Anonymous faces smile

in disconnected awareness.

There is comfort in this:

strangers going about their life,

taking a moment to acknowledge a passerby.

Some days,

the sun shines.

Sometimes,

even after the storm.

These days,

there is a release of a collective sigh

and an exaltation lays over the city

like the fog.

On days like this,

the Emerald City glistens and,

if you know how,

you can walk the yellow brick road.

Skipping with a spiritual gaiety

until you

take on the glistening radiance

until you

hold the emerald in your heart

until the gold pours

from your hands, your feet, your smile.

Until the city opens to you

gates swinging wide

as you enter on a horse

of many different colors streaming behind you

enraptured.

 

The Alchemy of the Dance

A rhythm rises through us

the drumbeat of the Earth, through fire

burning, pounding

Unleashing the movement of our souls

expressed through sway of hips

and bodily undulations.

 

A serpentine syncopation

encoils us

possesses us

As the serpent begins to move

to a cosmic rhythm

and the world around us falls away.

 

There is only rhythm and movement

and an energy that bursts forth in waves

of sound and light.

It sinks in as deeply as venomous fangs

as the alchemy of body and soul and ecstasy

is attained.