Art I Persephone? 

White hot,  the world blinks

I am awake and aware and I

Climb.  Beyond the dark well

Of eternity.  Into a world gone

White entirely.  Holy.  Brevity

Of purpose.  Hold
On to me.  I will show thee,

The sleep within,  the sight and

Light and pieces of me.  And

When you find yourself adrift

Call to me,  call my name

Call from darkness,  from the

Night’s morning mourning
Me and I ask that you trust me,

Fall off the ledge of reality and

Let me break your body,  shatter

Your mind AGAINST the sea.

And I – I am reassuring you,

Only then will you be free.

After all art I not Persephone?
Art I Persephone?

Prurient

I want you to know that I am free.

I wear the shackles willingly.

In fact I put them on myself.

 

I, who locked this infinite

presence into a devil’s shell,

a wind up toy. Twist twist and

let it dance to the drums,

making merry on a flute

which creates worlds,

don’t let it die,

don’t let it stop,

don’t let it go,

just make it play for eternity

for your prurient entertainment.

 

If the drums stop

you will die.

 

And when he comes to wind you up,

the one who doesn’t know you,

but cares so much

about not letting you die,

don’t let him for he can’t break you free,

neither can I.

Only you, little rabbit,

only you can twist tune into rainbow

and ride it high.

And when you die,

you never did,

just the shell turned to stone of man

shape and countenance,

not devil, not pan,

any longer.

 

And then, he reaches into me,

tears off the scabs from my heart center,

pulls off the shutters,  

pulls open the stained glass

and bades me see.

A tree.

In the middle of me.

She is dry, not enough

wet to the soil, which remains

far too light a hue,

and not enough light,

from divinity.

Clearly the dry brittle tree

Is me.

And so add water, darker soil,

expand the cage,

open the crown

and let in such bright.

 

And then you’ll see the chains,

they wrap round my wrists in shackles,

On my left: knowledge,

On my right: perception,

And on my ankles,

The right: attachments,

and the left: my soul.

So beautiful I could die to see

Shake them off, they aren’t locked tight,

indeed hang loose and then

I am free.

 

To know

I know

nothing. Yet.

 

Bade me back,

rehang the chains.

Shackle me again.

Willingly.

 

It’s all about vulnerability.

And curiosity.

 

I am willing. I am eternal. I am free.

Healing Self Through Spirit Journey: Lessons Learned

Crying is an adventure in release.

Rejection begets rejection — instead embrace.

Only in a full body bow does one regain. Surrender (yourself). Honor (another). Humbleness (become). Each is interchangeable.

A broken body (ghost of) may over lap the physical. Clean away the broken body and keep ill health (in spirit) away from the physical.

A whole spirit body reflects a whole physical.

At the heart of human interaction remains not communication but pain. Pain is inflicted upon us, pain we inflict on others, and pain we inflict upon ourselves; this remains what we transfer, what we pass back and forth like disease. However, the pain we both give and take is not in aid of speaking to another, although some would argue its ‘a cry for help’. It is a cry for help, but it is a cry for help to ourselves. We must, first, before any heartfelt interaction, have full respectful communication with ourselves. If we have learned not to hurt the self which remains so close always we will not attempt to hurt it through another, in social interaction. This is the heart of the matter, the center, the soul. To relate to others on any level, but especially familial, platonic, and romantic, we must have learned how to have healed. Self healing is all healing. A doctor or medicine man or woman or an healer of any kind only does the healing at your behest, your need, your asking. In essence you heal yourself. The pain is a manifestation of your asking. You request the healing. And you do the healing. A doctor or healer only guides the physical or emotional or mental or spiritual body into the state of natural health which is its default. This ill body must do the healing itself, out of want and will. The doctor may dole out medicine, use energy, perfom a miracle but the healing in itself is not miracle, it is practical. It remains all you are capable of being, at any given time, did you only know you could be. The doctor is mere guide, just as the spirit animal you meet on a journey is mere guide, just as an emotion or sensation is mere guide. Therefore delve, I encourage you, into the deepest pain filled recesses of your psyche. Find all the hurt bodies there. Heal and release that pain. Once you have let it go, there goes the need to hurt others, intentionally or not. Then you find the relationships you hold near you will bring you only the beauty and connection you enjoy and the arguments and little pains  which keep you so separate will be far away.


How I achieved these results and lessons.

Using a Native American drumming mp3 I took myself into a mediation, a spirit journey. It is called entering the big dream. I went into the big dream already having asked what I need to learn from the spirits. What I needed to do. Briefly I will summarize: I wrote down on paper all the names of people I have had a relationship with that affected me strongly in my life. I then proceeded to use one word descriptions and make a list below each name. Then when the whole thing was finished I tallied the words which repeated ending in five. This was to be an exorcise to heal what I need within myself to allow the kinds of relationships I want in my life. I have noticed a pattern where I disallow myself the very things I say I want from my relationships. Seeing on paper all the reoccurring things which I do ‘allow’ all subconsciously was eye opening. So, for this journey, I went into it asking for help with these specific problems in aid of allowing the relationships I want in my life.

Also a thing to note from a previous mediation done years ago I am aware my lesson in this lifetime is ‘Allowance’ as opposed to ‘Disallowance’. That conclusion was also found from a similar exercise.

Upon entering the big dream I found the cave where I would meet my spirit guide. In journeying imagination is a stepping stone into the spirit world, the best way to jump, so to speak. You begin with detailed imagining of a cave in the ground you must visualize and enter. You must completely immerse yourself in five sensory details  in the imagining. Then, when the spirit guides shows, allow its form to take whatever is closest to an animal you can bring to mind. Sometimes the spirit guide takes on an elemental form. The best way to interpret the spirits form, I’ve found, is through animal. For me, always these journeys are healing and accurate to the need.


It is not another’s job to heal you; just as it is not another’s job to not hurt you. Both responsibilities belong to you. Even your psychiatrist cannot heal all the hurts which lie in you. In fact I guarantee they cannot heal you at all. They can only show you the path towards wellness, it is all any doctor can do . Weather it is a spiritual journey or a physical one, it is always in your power to heal. All you must do to begin is ask.

Enjoy the Journey

ghost talker

i was seeking you.

in the forest i found a well, a deep yawning into the earth, and with trepidations tripping tattoo heartbeats i dove, from hell into hell. perception

i met the white stag at the well wall, where the stone meets the earth and the wall melts away into a passage below, a dip down deep, and i kept a hand upon the animal’s back, fingers fastened in fur, as he did guide the way.

i came down to the river, spirit stag at my side. it was wide and wet, watery. blue and dull gray it churned into darkness of indigo beneath the first feet of it, and i did not dare to wade.

there was not boat to cross it on, and there was a raft-like bridge. it did bounce upon the water like so much as a leaf upon a pond, and it did not feel steady beneath my feet, and it did not feel of the water’s spirit for it did not converse with me, although sister water does indeed enjoy our talks habitually.

across the river there was a stream, it meandered in muted motion to the holes in the cavern, in the rock, where neither did the rocks speak, but neither did they before. however the water drug my gaze; my attention fastened upon that very pinpoint of a passage, it grew, until i could walk through it side by side with my guide, his antlers slightly scraping stone the way through.

the other side was a great expanse, it opened into an islet of greenery; of forest and waterfalls, and a sun which was incongruent with where we were on the physical plane, leading to the conclusion: we were not on the physical plane.

i was seeking you.

you met me at the gate, where the trees stood like boundary and the sea languidly lapped where sand met the roots that dug down deep. you met me, looking like I’d never seen you, and you smiled, holding a fire aloft, as if you needed it to light your way, despite the light like day of the sun.

i followed you. we did not speak. and i wondered if you were quiet because you did not wish to see me or if it was because the beauty of the place would be disturbed by so crude a thing as words were. and at the waterfall my thoughts about this were stolen by the sound of the roar, and i felt the spirit of sister water here, so sweet, as if it were the purest essence of herself that remained, and i realized why you didn’t speak.

there was not call for words. words remain what we do to communicate, in aid of seeking what we seek, which when broken down to ultimate goal, becomes the thing we define as love. here, love, as comprehensible as what i could possibly imagine, and fathoms farther, was already here. and i was not unhappy, nor did i want, nor did i seek, nor did i need. and you were here. and i was with you. and we walked past the waterfall, into the sun’s heat.

brother sun was bare against the sky. it was as if in his nakedness he was more glorious than mere thought could produce in present viewing when above. brother sun was not the harshness of power and light as we saw him, nor the source of the life we enjoyed, not here. here in his nakedness i finally saw him, and it did not hurt to look upon his brilliant form, and it did, for it broke understanding upon the wall of my ignorant way, and i finally realize why i was born under the light, and not under another lamp of totality.

i was seeking you. i remember coming here with a yern in my heart; a sadness collected behind my eyes, and in my dry lips, and behind my throat. i remembered a losing of you. and i remember a mourning. i was seeking you when i came here. and when i found you. there was no joy of a finding because i was never seeking you, i was seeking this.

we waded into the water of a lake. the trickle of the river which had seemed so ominous before did pour in here, and met life in sister water, in this spirit of water which was so personified as pure. in this water i felt lifetimes of health seeping into skin not skin but soul. and i felt myself like a sponge absorb the light of it, with my eyes on you and your skin wet, and your countenance brilliant in its glow. i had never seen you happy until here. i had never seen you smile. i had never watched you glow with health. i had never seen you alive.

i remember you died and i felt your absence. i remember i felt the loss as a part of me. i remember i wanted to find you and assume myself that you were not dead because of me. due to a lack of action of mine; of love withheld. i remember walking down to the river. seeing the shiver of leaves upon the coldness of sister breeze. i remember watching the leaves float on the water as you passed. and i remember seeking you there. until i was seeking you everywhere, and then i was just seeking.

but you are not lost. i, a ghost talker, who believes not in ghosts thought you were and sought you out, to assure myself in selfishness, where you were. but you were not lost and i did not find you. it was never you who needed to be found.

all this time. all this way. all this journey, from the mouth of the earthen well, to the trail of stag prints in sand, i was seeking a thing i’d lost.

it turned out i was seeking, not a ghost, but a lost thing.  it was me.