Author: cborsello

Jersey Girl, born on the beach.

Neap Tide

NEAP TIDE

The place where all is above-ground & visible. It’s a place in my soul now, too. Here is where it comes down to delivered wish – a Wish on Demand deal.

I’m striding two worlds, but okay with that.

Hey, when I came down this road, I realized the stars in my eyes were often going to be my only light. Well, with my horoscope, if you’re going for light, nothing less than a lighthouse will serve to start.

What did I expect, growing up at the sea edge? Roots?

I took a brainwash & started down so many abortive paths: [you don’t need to ever grow up, Baby. There’ll always be a man to take care of you. Happily ever after is all your fault.] These are all written off, accounted for, beyond retrieval. All are reminders to forget who you truly are & this pearl will gore you from the inside until it is manifested in lucent glory.

Am I right?

Life enters life slippery. For me, it’s been a prolonged state but one I’ve chosen for self. I rolled my lazy eyes & conformed – outwardly I was a cupcake. Inwardly, though, a hurricane brewed, a storm of motley proclivity & random impulse – inside I think I remember being a kid, but not a kid’s kid. I was a Wild Child with Roman Catholic Angels watching over.

There comes a time to each life where forward momentum diverts. Long ago I gave up the highway for the byway. I learned Gratitude. At that time, I had seasoned road veterans as angels & they rode with me, scouting out ahead.

I’m in a foxhole of 3D, submerged by what many out there prefer that I see. But I’m moving from particle to wave & nothing deters that.

All byways lead to the highway.

I’m treating myself lately to a minds-wide-open stance. Once I ally with Peace, I am no longer in the marketplace for swords.

Oh, I talk a feisty line – I only want my words to part the overgrowth so you can see there’s another Way.

Aloha.

Carol

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My Sports Bras Have Quit The Game.

I saw this sign & entered the store, putting my hands knuckles down on the counter, leaning in. I asked the store guy about the sign & he said, warily, “Yes?”

I said, “What if you only have sinkers?”

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Human Kindness Undoes Old Woman

A man was tender with me today. He asked how I was with a tiny tilt to his head & intelligent eyes. I barked my usual, “Super!” & echoed the question.

I barely know how to react to original kindness, authentic inquiry. My heart has set up ramparts of glass & settled in behind, keeping watch.

That moment unlocked a faraway memory – holding hands. Which led to memories of sitting closely together, resting in each other. The love I have now is a pac-man thing…its jaws are always working, devouring any scrap of regard. These memories are in a tidal lock to my soul – they face one way, their dark side never revealed.

I’ve become one of the guys for the most part, taking my turn at the end of the line after the alpha males.

When I say something, everyone wants to resolve it for me. “Have you tried…?” is a favorite, or “You know what works for me is …”Sometimes I just want to say something & rest in another’s reply. I don’t want to be sent to the store or the website or the next room for panacea. How about you listen & nod instead? It’s not like I haven’t already researched what they are telling me as the ideas are seldom new. Perhaps simple communication is all that’s on the table, or across it.

To be undone by simple regard makes me sad. There were those who fought for me, riding white horses into battle or placing a shield firmly between me & trouble. i would pull a handkerchief from my lacy sleeve & wave gratefully. Then the world changed; maybe I should say my world changed. I had to be ready at all times to thrust the masculine of me up front, take it on the chin, get another job, do it ALL which rapidly became metronomic & a condition to be borne rather than a defensive maneuver.

I make only the smallest repairs; my skills with a tool kit amount to finding a place to hide it until I need to look for a connector. My finest hours have come with the Duct Tape Final Solution. I can’t drive a straight nail, hell, I can barely manage a pushpin.

I wrote a poem called “At My Age” about falling in love. It’s buried deeply in the files. That says it all.

I can peer over the walls, but won’t fit across the drawbridge.

I need, perhaps, to tuck my heart into a Faraday Cage, forget unexpected kindness, rub my eyes & see what appears when I stop.

How is it fashioned? Did I give up on dreaming or did dreams give up on me?

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Ferals II

I was in the yard early, eyeing the one-eyed cat I call Mike, while watching for black Tzusu of the green eyes who winds around my legs. She’s in a hurry for food, but slows me as I mince around her small, muscular body. She doesn’t like Mike, his sweet face partly caved on one side…she hisses & holds her place. She eats no food, leaping the concrete fence to stalk away. Mike settles in to chow.

I hear a small noise, looking to the alley – is my neighbor out already? But no, he is not dumping trash, but a Hispanic couple roots for cans, tying & untying stinking bags. Dressed in ragged coats, in ill-made shoes, pulling a tiny cart lined in oily black plastic. They are hidden in their own world. Only the cart stands sentinel, hoping cargo.

I fill the bird feeder tubes, I think hard about all my living of life for I have no insight into theirs. They are of an age where grandchildren should be bouncing at feet resting on a hassock. They should be smiling, holding bowls of cherries, laughing about how they used to contest the length of spitting pits.

I come in the house to my tall desk, pulling out a wallet, removing two fives. I fold them & make my way to where they are, still in my bathrobe & slapping flipflops. I hold the money out to the man who takes it with no smile, but a murmured thank you, before bending back over the trash to help his wife.

I notice in deep sorrow he has one working eye.

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Ramparts

LEASHES

Bringing self to heel

binding the soul to flesh it fled many years ago,

I cling to the surface

where water tension only bears so much

before I sink, one, two, three

my hand breaks free, grasping air

it cannot hold.

I release this gasping grasp

to wave at the sky I so loved instead.

I sink, not so much as stone,

but as an inchoate wish

made equal of sun & stars.

How did I come so far from shore?

I, who dwelt in deserts

seduced by moisture clean of sand.

I clung so long to life that life itself forgot me.

The letter never mailed

Connections void of course.

I will not surrender here to force, to gravity

grown gravid with my weight.

I will kick hard & hold my tongue

till breath is no more an option than flight

but still I will not yield!

Instead I’ll yearn for waves to freshen

for beaches to crawl out upon

clutching only the heart I dove in for.

NO STAMPS

I left the love letter unsent

Writing instead to the editor

on trivial, thoughtless things

unworried about a return address.

I wrote love’s sealed secrets

for none to see, for all to share…

I’m out of stamps, regardless

Paper on a desk

not even made into a list:

pickles, catfood, tea

All blank

A cause with not a reason

A room of stars alone with no doors.

I am concupiscent with endings

this woman of long beginnings

of arrogant centers

of faded memoir.

In the somewhere of time is the sometime of where

I am a Beloved, an Abba

with a family name I cannot pronounce.

GOD

He never signed the Permission Slip

but watched me walk to the edge of heaven

To dive headlong into its elusive counterpart

it’s illusive counterpoint.

I did not know I could not fly in return!

Nor the gate would close behind me with a click

Breaking my heart.

Why didn’t I await the paperwork?

Stretching the red tape of reincarnation

unable to set my mind:

A giraffe or a girl?

I took my chances, ignoring every sign

about standing near the edge

until, seduced into falling,

here I am, eyeing mountains

Thinking climbing up is climbing back.

Blear-eyed & trembling,

Aged of thirst & heartbreak,

Take me to home I so burned to leave –

Screaming all the way down.

IF LIFE MIRRORS DIVINITY

I’ll take the one with the biggest crack

the silvering resinous & stained,

no true reflection to be had

Tho I polish it with my soul.

Working the salt mines of desire

Ten inches a year’s yield

I watch these flicker away

Leaves fed to fire

I fight the smoke

I bring the rain

I search for stones to pound it through

And when it breaks – as mirrors always do –

I heave up over the edges

Bleeding out the names of God.

STIFF WITH SORROW

The words seep out, blue on white

mounting speed, outstripping sad

I scratch ink across the page

I need answers to the questions no one asks!

I left a rock atop my wings

and walked into the sea.

MOVE ALONG, SIRRAH!

I am no longer “pretty”

but old & bold, I have learned patience.

It’s not final, nor the answer

when life comes rooting in my dumpster

where I’m looking for my heart…a hand to hold.

I poured out love in roaring measures,

I pressed out pain & rubbed out ruin

Offering strangers that which calls for coin

but buys no stock in who I have become.

No matter. Were the choice to round my way again,

I would choose the carousel with all-white horses

Carpisoned in gold…not gathering the reins

Nor stroking flame-red nostrils.

I’d lay down my face on a fiberglass mane

To ride the stars.

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disintigrating with Distinction

I used to go out in the world in the morning, braced, like Rocky Balboa on the Philadelphia Museum of Art steps… Chest heaving, head dripping, I was beyond ready for my world.

Too bad I didn’t have this exact attitude at those times in my life. It’d been a lot more fun. But it was pretty good, as it was. Looking over my shoulder didn’t get me any real perspective. There is a Spiritual Review going on here & I’m not sure I remember signing up for it, but like some seminar you do not attend & then receive 68 emails about from every teacher who welcomed your attendance… Intent is the better part of something, but I’m not thinking valor these days.

Again, with Time. I have been dying to use this analogy somewhere & this blog is it: when I was once in Rome, I went to a set of famed hanging gardens. I was wearing cute little comfy flats (nothing to stop the skid.) I set foot upon the charmingly indented steps, slippery with only age, worn smooth meeting smooth shoes & somehow I skied down those steps & remained upright & whole & cute. It’s like my new job.

In my new job, I am required to track time once again after months of paying lip service to clocks & calendars & yet time is implied (get this done timely) instead of appointed (by 3 today.)

After all, the lockdowns were my first time not tracking time & almost nuclear in effect on me. I have always accounted for my time. In return I asked a valuation for that, something with cost-of-living built in. This corporate structure has disappeared into a fluid connective made of cyber-interstitial tissue. That ‘We Are All Connected’ Coke’ commercial takes on a whole new dimension when cyber or meta is looped in to be employed as an end run. (By folks you thought were on your side.)

Because time as I knew it lifelong – at the attention level it once demanded, is no more.

We knew coming in it wasn’t going to be easy. When I’d get that lump in my throat in other times, I recognized it for Original Fear – my original sin. I used to say if I picked up every stone I tripped over, I’d soon be unable to even walk. Wisdom & optimism lurk in fortune cookies.

I’m thinking now I got this. I’m thinking I’ve been doing it pretty well but nowhere else in this God’s Goddess-blessed world would be the place to emerge from whole except bearing truth or consequences equally cheerfully. Turns out life’s in Invitational. RSVP with love.

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CyberWalls

RELATIONSHIP

I feel like a great vault is accessible from my inaccessible brain,

Where words abound where language awaits its turn once more

To bring about the glory of change agreeable to all.

Where civility is incontrovertible & of such a nature to be courtly.

There are dozens of realms to be alive on, layers within each

To rely upon

Choose one you want.

Mine? Back to words…I write as I would walk on lily pads

With subliminal terror put aside in favor to trust

The next word sliding out from my pen.

EN VOGUE

I trust the Process.

Things must sort themselves out.

Instinct does still count.

We wouldn’t be discovering brains in all our major organs,

If nonexistent.

Trust the plan that is for you.

But examine it for joy first, then for all you wish.

Even wishes that have to shrink down fit you well enough,

If there is joy.

MOMENTS

I feel as though I stepped onto the emergency exit from heaven

One long chute yellow-slide-burner-butt

Earth turning as I’m landing

[The timing’s gotta be good here, guys

You’re sure about those landing estimates?]

I am still bouncing!

What, wave goodbye?

Honey, I fell front in a free-fall

My face a rictus of disbelief

A millisecond of what was I thinking?

Arrival.

Thrust into the feistiest game of all,

Human life on Planet Earth!

Could it possibly be all I’d heard in heaven?

Was it worth the waiting, the gamut of Eternity run

To stay even in place to enter this Game.

I must have been bored playing that harp

Sittin’ on that cloud, pointing my toes toward…

But, damn people, the world I wanted to land in

Is coming up fast.

Here it is: my gold ring! The Present.

——-

ENTROPY

I wasn’t built for this, all this drama

I engaged it until

My wherewithal went missing.

More Old Man & The Sea than

Moby Dick now.

I was more a board game type

Than paintball any day.

Ah.

Whether worn-out or “with it”,

Game on!

———

NEW ME

I am rebuilding from the inside out

The new me won’t have so far to go

I hope, for her sake –

It’s not  inadvertent,

It’s her turn,

We exchange words for wings.

———

HOW STRANGE

How quickly it left my mind,

Twenty-five years of career

I licked an envelope,

Mailing it off

Unthinking.

Now my body can heal,

Now I throw off short-term toxins

With choices born of more time

Of fluid effort.

I recall entering massage as the exploring phase

The please, can I be a healer stage

Vivid, arresting, fascinating in its balanced

Power & purity.

Of course I recognize it: the Ego powers all through!

I see now how final the break is

How past its time to be gone it was

The mantle may settle upon another

(Even my angels wanted out…

I think they at the Casino.)

It’s so huge I just can’t find it anymore.

Carol Borsello  4/23/21

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Goddess Return

THE WORLD HERSELF MUST CHANGE

If we feminize her, then I ask you to your face:

Have you ever known a woman awakening

To whom she has become

To torn & dirty clothing,

To civilizations

Wanting only

Enough

And cleanly lives.

Her breath can’t quite sync the change.

She’s wakened to our best & so much less unless you

            Suborn destruction

We live so intensely watching chimera

Aborted promises –

            Gutted for greed

But she’s awake.

It’s time to let go of the drama

To forge ahead on upcoming realities

So shave your head in rebirth

Feel the changes the Light will make

On your scalp.

Let the wind & wynd of your language

Move you to indwell

A willing heart.

Set down everything of who you have been,

If you wish to be anything else.

—

her hands smelled of Gardenias

from the oils added to the diffuser

bees danced outside her door.

—

The hand on my low back guiding me

So long has passed midway

Settled atop my spine

Watching over my shoulders

In excitement when I venture out

But the me who’s not That Me

Is inert, buried in a book,

A dream, as sublimation of life

Happening to itself elsewhere.

I miss ritual, the drums, the sage burning, the comradely changes of women meeting one month apart, coming from Church by way of the kitchen, let us eat before we drum.

And so we cleared away, choosing drums or uncovering them, forming an in & out circle with Grandmother in the center. We started her heartbeat, accosting all the grandmothers to reach for rattles, to join our rhythm.

We drummed away sadness while we welcomed its allowance; we drummed the sun across the sky, we broke & formed & ate again.

—–

I’ve

I’m

I

To whom this moment belongs:

Of whom life examples all

Unique to each

We dance

A skein of heartfelt beauty

Unabashed existence.

I have had that discussion

Un-numbered times

In languages I no longer speak

Won’t you set me free this moment?

When tears mist my eyes, hurting-salt

From glimpsing the rainbows just outside?

I don’t expect you to fall upon me weeping

When my eulogy is read

Unless I am the one reading it.

I am a Libra

All I can do is come into balance.

Once there,

I am free.

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Opening To Receive

We know that you have been making the most of a pretty bad situation there on Earth. We also know that you have summoned so much help, so much healing, so many solutions, that there is a sort of logjam of energies that have been coming your way but that not enough people are open to receive. (Arcturian Council)

Decisions are being made for me & I love/fear it. I feel finally in touch with so much more of me than was available before.

Now I have read for years the veils are thinning. At times, different signals were pulled through – inspirations, epiphanies, far too many to be synchronistic – way above & far beyond. I stand in a shaft of sunlight every day. Right after I step free of any shadow of fear. There are more days now when fear doesn’t even crowd the frame of my picture.

My point, since I am goaded/guided to put this into writing & send it, predawn, into the cybersphere, my point is that I notice repetition. Re-petition. Some seer once said (when asked if it was ok to filibuster God), “You don’t mail a letter twice.”

Information & data have been arrowing toward me since childhood. It wasn’t necessarily me they aimed for, just I was there & wide open. I grew up in a relative form of isolation (think lighthouse-keeper in training.) Wisdom keeps elbowing to the front, accosting me most directly. All attaches my attention, engages synapse, repeats again some time-told truth humming in vibrational sympathy. It turns out I know everything. I have heard it all before.

It is now when the databits are coalescing into real information. I am differently attended: paying different attention as perceptions are not just widening, but layering. A sense of jubilation attends. I feel as though I have entered a library while wandering familiar premises. I feel like saying, “Hey, I’m home! Who else is here?”

The information is already codified: written up: reproduced on all media: spoken: unheard: remote. The information dances just around my reach. Sometimes I knock it aside, reaching for to satisfy another appetite. However I removed myself from it, the knowledge is all around now, I walk through a Theatre of Change, constantly pushing up my glasses.

The timeline is bifurcating ahead. Others buy food to have a year’s supply. I buy black-marble-copybooks as a hedge against death. I write. Soon I will write more. One motor that kept me running has wound to a stop. The ones I move forward with now run on this form of Light, as far as I can see. I need to walk in this for awhile.

I’ve run with the Sages, the Seers, the seen, Life is no more than before it would seem

but light lives in spectra we strive to achieve in notice, in knowledge, in all we believe.

2

So Satisfied I’m On My Way …

Get going in the right direction. Which one is that? What is right currently? The basics have even shifted a couple of notches & when the directions change, which is right?

I guess it’s the one you’re in. it’s that “being in the present” thing. I can’t give you specific proof of my memories. Oh, maybe put you in touch with the Akashic Records, soon as I find the remote.

In a world where there is so much influence to remove us from basic cues on how to live in the world, I feel I have come through that particular (particulate?) tunnel. I see a lot more relationships. Many have sad stories to tell; they beg your appreciation. But my feelings may not align with sadness, tho my heart is capable of doing so. It seems my heart is capable of so many more things than I had ever thought.

Every day the most elusive of thoughts swims by, rare items never to appear again to me. I’d love to capture these. Often I am so certain I will remember I surrender them immediately. They disappear, torn apart by the fabric of my coherence being greeted by the growling world which needs these words. I am happy to have surrendered them as I know they will be encountered – one at a time.

 I love hearing a thought I have already thought. It unites me into engagement like a cell receptor key activates its charge.

My answers won’t really work for anyone else anyway. They’ll have to tweak them to get them to fit…thrust out a leg or something to line it up. They will do whatever it takes if they are inclined to think a new thought. Out here new thoughts move polka-dot out from the center. They move with  you & can, at times, bombard you with otherness of translation. For these, you need not engage the brain, indeed, the brain is too disconnected up there, preoccupied with brainy things; many times reactions are pushed down in the system. If they get below the heart, the real brain, events can take on & emit so much more energy.

Well, don’t stumble up any stairs on my replay. I am amazed to have touched you. I live in an unlikely town at an unlikely time. Eternity spreads her skirts & invites me to sit to watch, or at least send a representative to do that, while all journeys continue toward the Center of the Spiral. Take with you only that which will ruthlessly serve your unfoldment.  

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