Riding the Light –

Blog

  • July Crisps Up

    This day begins!

    Tho I don’t feel that exclamation point – I don’t feel like much other than sitting still with this computer on my lap, typing my thoughts.

    I am enamored with beginnings, always loved ’em. I am reading a novel & the hero has just related how he came to be where he stood: in front of the Elf-King & Queen, in their Hall of Meeting. The line catching me is, “the act of confession left him both weightless, and ready for whatever came next.” That’s how I feel this morning: mentally weightless & ready for that which will come next.

    I have not had other than a Saturday off for eight months. There have been tasks & work every day except Saturday, & that day I do my own tasks & chores. I have claimed a day like a prize, a blue-ribbon-Monday. I hold it aloft like the gift it is for me: a space where nothing is owed, claimed, rewound or expected. This day will nourish me for the next eight months … I love what I do & claim much sustenance from that. A change is always a time to regroup & refigure, replenish, re-form & re-place.

    I have gone from good wife to divorcée times three. I have lived on the beach & in mountains. I have traveled far in miles both mental & physical. I am arrived here, now, to this place where “whatever comes next” may take place.

    I am no longer a healer tho I considered myself one for years & greatly prided on those rising from my massage table refreshed & relaxed. I am a fortunate individual with the ability for deep thought & thoughtful leadership. These only seem secondary to the simply practical tasks I accomplish. They take the fore by necessity & because this is who I am. But I no longer wade into battle flourishing a sword. I suggest & I prod. I push & I allow. And when it is time, I establish my way whether it agrees with others or not. Most of the time,  however, I simply choose what will work for me & slip that into the mix.

    I don’t rail against fate or circumstance, an automatic lightener. I do what I can & allow another breath to let me go where I feel I need to be. Others can shake heads at my behaviors. Once I’ve taken action, I don’t look back. Why would I? I will deal with consequences of others’ reactions soon enough. Might as well look forward & walk on.

    I had so many ideas when I was young & they lasted long enough to shape my life into that which it is. It is never too far away, this Change. It is a constant current in all I do, all I produce, all I am. It is a ready flavor & a faraway perfume of enticement. I ride the suspense of its being with no expectations. I wait for endings without rushing in to make the save. I owe & I go for paying debts is important. I offer & am both advantaged & taken advantage of in the act.

    I know what it is like to carry the baby both internally & externally. Now I lay it all down & I wait.

    The world could go either way: its ascent or descent is not mine to predict nor to perhaps even share. I have no strong feelings over staying or going. Heaven may claim me at any time, leaving a dog-eared ticket with the last number scratched off.

    I may be the occasional thought passing over someone’s mind, “I knew Carol, she was so ______.” Whatever fills in the blank will be of no import to the Carol-Now.

    I slept last night for eleven hours. I feel the need to sleep again. ,

    Since November, Saturday, Next, Idea, Healer, Chore-meister, Member, Independent, Master, Minister, Memory.

  • THE LIBRARY

    THE LIBRARY

    AT HOME WITH FRIENDS

    Another high wire week with a stint in the clown car

    And a time-out with the elephants

    Which sounds ‘wowsa’ til you get to the smell.

    Sitting in the Betty L. Johnson Library listening to a soft

    Southern accent explain:

    By turns, placatory: scolding, expressive

    In counterpoint to the piping voices of response

    Pointing chick-beaks to the parent of the nest

    Me, me, me, me, me, me, me, there’s nothing else after all,

    Nothing to learn after you’ve met me!

    Sitting in the library where I just bought three books

    Me, who has not bought a book in years

    Settling in enough to find my own, needing bookends

    But buying books instead: Settling in to

    A comfy chair named Henry

    And reading, legs slung over one arm.

    But I digress: outside, a cautious rain, a tin roof

    A subtle drumming

    Uneven, small, tentative in full sun.

    I sit: my bare feet on the table, lost in laptop dreams.

    IN SEARCH OF WORDS

    I wander … I follow that verbal slipstream

    Where to tell a story is to worship

    To find the perfect verb equal to world peace.

    Outside cars cross bridges,

    A live oak grows sidewise, disdaining the sky

    For embracing the field

    Roots wrap the trunk

    The corrugated bark resembles feathers

    Resembles shapes, its cut-limb nodes

    Now familiar scars – the human’s warning:

    Don’t grow this way.

    Twisted roots of something once alive

    On its bark, stark & twined, ropy

    & looped – cautious in downgrowth

    As it never was in up.

    A red kiosk in the distance, a cluster of

    Yellow signs facing it

    A color war

    Who will see which first?

    BY A WINDOW, REFLECTING

    The computer says “text predictions off”

    That’s good: I don’t want any AI telling me what to say!

    Or how to say it unless I ask for help.

    At home in the familiar

    The rows of known names comforting

    In midst of so many left to read.

    Whole shelves with one name as author,

    Storytellers with so many stories

    Unrestricted by things like

    Not being able to make up endings.

    This is my Saturday naptime, when I am usually

    Curling into the cool fan, a secondary purpose

    Served by its hum. But I am at the library

    So I settle for a string of yawns & keep typing.

    THE FENCE IN THE YARD

    Is a Dispute Scene:

    The neighbors say ‘t’was the hurricane did your fence’

    The landlord says ‘not my fence now’

    A Solomonic twist

    To what remains a tree unrolled to planks

    Torn from bonded comfort

    Shrugged into its neighbor,

    To swan back in the sun,

    A fall interrupted,

    Gravity held in abeyance.

    ONLY A WRITER

    Would hold so still for the mosquitoes while

    The words trip over themselves onto the keyboard

    While … while words settle on my skin with longer legs

    And hungrier proboscis.

    Ah well, I’ll have itching crème

    To go with my poem.

    For me, this is still an exotic

    This lush state, green as Ireland gone tropic

    Never have I seen such growth

    I need this energy all around

    I love to drive by trees

    Caught in motion … I know as I move along

    They change position

    I have caught them midway.

    A branch at an impossible angle

    Looking like an arm upraised for balance.

    The live oaks are a gymnasium of possible

    Were I a climber of even small chancing.

    Yet firmly rooted, I remain. Eating that which will weigh

    Me in even more.

    My climbing boots are stashed. I need to break out the wings.

  • FOR MY MOTHER’S DAY

    FOR MY MOTHER’S DAY

    June 2023 / preceded by May

    (I want to read these aloud at my Mother’s grave one day.)

    In fits & starts, my life

    Buoys along, a balloon tied with a red ribbon.

    Called to play, buffed & buffeted by Life

    Glittering a starlit reflection.

    I gather words like shells lining tidelines

    Bending & bagging the world

    Finding that sandy windowsill

    To climb across, where mortal symmetry

    Is of no matter, where Immortality sits;

    An open lap to escape into

    and be held.

    THREE PENS & NO WORDS: A TIME & NO CLOCKS

    What to say to Mom after twenty years apart?

    She 20 years under, me 20 years more above…

    I’m her age when she crossed over –

    I recognize her disinterest now as simple survival.

    Her feet hurt, her teeth would not chew…

    Her pointer finger showed right.

    I see now, when I left for home after a visit,

    She would go to walk on the beach.

    Letting go all I’d spoken, as I now do with others.

    It’s not disinterest: it’s simply survival.

    An era of silence, her life by the sea

    Now me.

    FOR ALL MY WORDS & WORLDS

    For all the gates I’ve closed behind me,

    For time & heartbeats to synchronize

    I wait, being halted.

    Those strong threads to life now fray

    So much to do, yet one day

    I’ll put my feet on an imaginary floor

    To walk away

    I’ll set down knife & fork,

    Sit the coffee on the table

    Shucking this mortal coil for light & air –

    I’ll dust my hands of ink & paper

    Lose my keys forever…

    Hold no more hands

    Answer no more questions

    I’ll seek the heaven promised by the nuns.

    When reality takes hold, I’ll rip off

    This skin-tight cloak

    My 12 ounces of soul will rise.

    I live life to die, an oxymoron at the last.

    I DON’T MIND ANYMORE

    That before age & I chose to struggle,

    Life was good days & bad

    But I walked through even

    When my shoes did not fit.

    I laughed from my heart

    Drank coffee for my soul

    Wrote as tho one possessed

    By statutes of limitation.

    That which I become I already am:

    Immortal, unbroken.

    I’ll waken from this dream

    To the familiar of forever.

    I’ve paced off the years learning love

    To turn & find Truth is all there is.

    I’ll sit on a hard chair, waiting for

    A door to open, then dash on through

    Going Home!

    I HAVE TWO RANDOM MEMORIES MY MOTHER SAID:

    It was hard to keep your skirt down

    Climbing into a rumble seat

    And the other thing I can’t remember.

    6/20/2023

    Carol borsello

  • Untitled post 3112

    Mortality has its own pace & runs when we expect it to creep, creeps when we wish it would overtake & immortalize us in release. It begins early & continues late, we yearn for time to sleep & energy to avoid that. And life intrudes, interrupts, interferes with just every single thing we set out to do.

    I am so good at blaming myself. Guilt is rarely comfortable & always unnecessary. I’m not a malicious person but I am territorial & almost scary in that. I have so much to be grateful about, yet find fault with myself for finding fault with others, especially when I don’t even know why.

    Oh, I know all the answers to why but each cancels the other out. None of this world is my fault, but I made the construct. I live in my life as though it is mine, with no reality of a substantial nature. Each cell has its own intelligence & brain: I get involved in the discussion to rarely discover a conclusion.

    I don’t even believe myself most of the time. I am not who I should be, but who I am. Scary thought, that. I am moving once again to another place with no assurance I will actually live there. Truly stepping into the unknown, with my bundle of sticks tied on my back in case I need fire.

    Strength I pray for. Health I cherish. Love frightens me as I’ll likely not meet its conditions. I haven’t made it before but try I must & love isn’t easy but the simple way is not appealing if I can complicate, concatenate, camouflage the issues. Reality dreams a dream I do not share yet & my circumstances hold me under, yearning to burst free.

    So one stroke at a time, I write my way to substance. Casting my life before me like a roll of dice searching the magic number, I walk on.

    Love,

    Carol

  • It Only Takes a Moment

    It Only Takes a Moment

    to make a memory

    one visit & your voice seems printed on the walls

    You face is in my mirror

    Your breath upon my air

    Your song lingers

    in hearing

    or were you always here

    from when I said aloud,

    “Once Upon A Time”

    there is a tiny bird nested by my room

    a very small sound coaxes me to listen

    I read that mama birds sing to their eggs

    all the time.

    I am hearing it now.

    in times of shouting

    i can only do what is in front of me

    i can only remember

    what i have outgrown

    with its many pockets

    where i left a memory in each

    again i try my bow against a target

    once more i reach for a star

    too bright to hold, but i grab it nonetheless

    stuffing it down to nestle

    between my breasts

    where i keep the keys

    when I work out.

    again i trust the universe,

    simply throwing my overnight case

    at it, trusting in all the rest

    not giving an inch on my faith

    tho i test the tension on the line.

    there can be no assuagement to my guilt

    i have turned away from that I thought to love forever

    i have set down my phone under your picture

    in hopes you will speak to me.

  • Doing Homework on the Boardwalk

    Doing Homework on the Boardwalk

    I was editing a book this afternoon at my favorite Library branch, Fruitville. I commandeered a table with great light & plenty of room to move around the puzzle pieces of the job. I muttered & exclaimed & made faces at typos, verbs, dashes vs. hyphens. I followed the clear & emphatic almost engraved lead of a crazed editor who drew circles, lines, exclamation points, in red, blue & finally, invisible black in blazoning letters.

    Most of the time I agreed & cleaned up after her suggestions. But I found an equal number of errors in tense, pronoun usage & the like to belie her expensive corrections for my homespun hyphenations. And Google made great suggestions, I’m not happy to say cuz I want to be the heroine here. No AI, just I.

    The day was an amalgam of emotions & feelings. I sat mid-aisle; all around me women tiptoed, gazing down aisles to ascertain what could be good on these before crouching down to read the titles. I just took books from the return racks. Somebody thought it was good enough to take out & read. l’ll try it next. I found five books & a CD on Flat Earth.

    Tomorrow it begins again, another week of traction & balance-finding. Riding a calendar & a desk chair to efficiency & follow-through. After Sunday’s frenetic activity, Mondays are a day off. One thing only to prepare & that may take all day of itself. I never know.

    I am waiting for a different life to begin. I am waiting for “my own kitchen” where I can change up my diet from the exotica of whatever I want cuz I’m eating out again. I want different & steadier foods – the kind of stuff I’ve lived on in NM & know well how to prep. More rice, though, and more vegetables. I’ll be living with a Vegan. I want to learn.

    Last night I attended a Shamanic Meditation Journey with which I was too tired to raise up the energy needed to have it be more than it was to me. I worked a long week. I had just finished up at 5 when I wanted to be done by noon & then review. I ate more hyper food & sat in a hard chair for two hours after being upright for a week. It was too much for my tired body. I only hope I didn’t snore.

    So I end today on the computer where I’ve mostly been. My new boss said don’t be sending emails about work at 3 a.m., if I have to be up, write my own stuff.

    Love,

    Carol

  • Existence & Essence

    Existence & Essence

    Existence & Essence

    In a class recently, we circled the room with the question, “where is your safest space?” And as others answered, “with my grandmother,” or in my yard,” I murmured almost inaudibly as I realized it incoming: “in my car.”

    They nodded & repeated it: they heard me.

    It is two days since I said it, & I just now realize implications. I love to be alone. I love to be going someplace, and I love to be in control. What a trinity!

    When I lived in T/C, a friend suggested I read Power & Force for myself. It seemed to him I was tilted into force for the sake of power. I kind of skimmed it & decided I like both. I pursed my lips & nodded. I even wrote a blog on it; you can search on-site here. 

    I do feel in control more & more. This is happening as I continually let go. Those philosophers were right; I was just too young to know it.  Now I have emerged from the mirror. Here I am.

    The more I embrace whatever & what-all I have, the more comes to me. This is the definition of Abundance. The best part is, of course, once you have become such a target, the less it matters if all things go South cuz whatever moved down & off the spiral is in the same moment entering & rising up.

    I feel the chemistry changing. I was on my way to a Burlington Outlet & walked into Sprouts. Only I did not walk in there, I found myself looking at a row of soap bottlers. I always find stuff I really need in Sprouts, & today was the same. I won’t bore you with the parenthetical route, but I found just what I didn’t know I was looking for. +

    Recently I heard a great talk on castor oil. I determined to get some for a sore spot. Well, Sprout’s is an ideal store to have this memory pop up, so I find a castor oil bottled like the old hair color bottles with those pointed nozzles. It’s castor oil for hair.

    No way I can use this for my poofty, Jersey Girl/Mall hair! Castor oil is one of the heaviest & I’d have a grease-fried look. But no other product pulls my hand to it & I already dropped the bottle into the basket. Then I get the ‘real’ castor oil to use on my boo-boo spot.

    I get home & try a bit on my hair – it says for scalp – so I rub it in & take my fingers into the hair I’m trying to weigh down – it looks like a pillow up there – & I get exactly the look I’m aiming for.

    I love finding real solutions. Especially when they involve vanity. At least from the head up I will look “my look.”

    Then I need to pay attention to the rest of me.

    I walk past the fresh produce aisle – grabbing carrots, broccoli, greens. I stroll past the coconut oil & remember how good it tasted when I did Oil Pulling Therapy before (is it again time for this?) I grab a jar from the shelf. I am going to be pretty slippery soon, I think.

    Is this a Spring need? To renew self & recover some moisture? How can I have dry skin in Florida more so than I had in New Mexico? The simultaneous thing is flaying sun, but out there I walked in it at will, never wore a hat, sat outside while no sweat poured from me; the air & I were that dry.

    The salad will work the inners, the rest, this outer shell about which I care so much. I am ready for renewal & surely ‘tis the season!

    I came home & slathered, found a cool spot to bliss & got that insight about being in control. I guess it’s still a fit, that Power I leisurely wielded. For years I have recited a twofold ambition: I want to be in a space where I have nothing left to lose and nothing left to prove.

    I’m already there.

  • It Matters Not

    It matters not if we come late to wisdom

    Have we come early to joy.

    As children we are content with puzzles

    Which may become a confusion

    Of intemperance beyond their expiration date.

    If we outlive our productivity, we can still

    Rest in that glow; warming to remembrance,

    Its fainting profusion

    Now a single blossom

    Become ash.

    It is only that we have lived at some time

    To capacity.

    Our stillness is given to action

    At levels now awash in Time’s changing tides.

    Even when there are no pictures,

    There are memories yet alive & aglow.

    Our beaches laid bare in detritus

    Still own the perfect shell

    That one white pearl where we were treasured

    Only for being who we are.

    These moments sustain & re-root.

    A new leaf on a seemingly dead stalk

    Is still vital & attractive.

    We still contribute to life’s ledgers

    For the sake of the positive.

    We underline life with a curve of laughter

    A smile at rain, a thrill of wind

    A moment alone later shared in hive-mind.

    If I have had one thought others may learn from:

    One idea which, drawn across the match cover of here & now

    Sparks a candle or a forest fire.

    I thank you, Life, for choosing your manifestation

    In me, of me, around me, about me, even in lieu of me.

    Where would I be had I not chosen to be here?

    Carol B

    2/23/23

  • Perhaps An Original Thought Will Serve?

    Thinking of you this morning…wanted to write before you start the majority of your day.

    I am being amazed by how the yin/yang of continuity & new just rolls along & we never know which one will be on top & it doesn’t really matter, does it? Just the pleasure in the moment matters & the ability to balance whatever does roll into attention mode at any moment. I was going to get off early today – it’s my early day – but I am pretty sure moving our staff meeting will kibosh that; so I canceled an appointment I had. It is coming clear to me to have my poetry workshop at Unity rather than where I was planning, so not a big deal. 

    I am watching Joan Didion’s quote “the center will not hold” come into play yet again. Tho I say it’s a circle, I think life has become more of a kaleidoscope with flashing patterns changing on a constant basis, refitting themselves together in varied & captivating patterns. I cannot look away.

    Ideas keep expanding & diminishing. I look forward to sitting on the front porch of heaven, rocking & listening to the birds, but I know that’s not the way of it… I’ll get a few minutes there now & again. Just enough to catch the Divine Breath & plunge back into it once more. You know, once the fear of transition leaves, there’s nothing to be afraid of. We are in the midst of such a world change, nothing left to do but marvel, hold onto your hat & take no note if it flies off into the winds of change! Laughter is so important & provident – we are such ridiculous beings to be so serious! Our milestones are but pebbles in the paths of others & this is rightful indeed.

    I am noticing my bids for sympathy & knowing I must give them up; I must simply deal with what is happening as honestly as I can & if it happens, not use it for a bidding whine, but a strengthening. At times, I like the whine cuz it gets me that sympathy… I’ve been isolate enough to get comfortable here. Letting go is an art to perfect in a world where holding on seems the right action, yeh?

    I dreamed of walking through a walkway where people lived off it in rooms & if their doors were open, I walked into their rooms, begging pardon for not watching my way. People wanted to hear but refused to listen, pushing their problems & observations in front of mine. But of course what belonged to them would be more important! 

    I find myself saying, “Where’s my head?” I think Mom used to say that – or maybe it was (& more likely), “Where’s your head?” It has become a more layered saying since the 60’s & the recreational drug levels increasing. 

    This body keeps wanting to succumb to inertia & entropy. I wage a steady campaign against these, however, pushing hard when I must to keep from pulling a pillow over my head & shutting it out. I face it every time I walk out my bedroom door, come to think of it. 

    So for today, think about where’s your head? Let’s put it in line with our heart & allow it a catbird seat to see how it’s done.

    Love,

    C

  • More Stuff from Work

    More Stuff from Work

    A MEMORY

    We write our signatures on air

    On air money

    I remember when the sound of

    Change

    Jingling in a pocket

    Meant a Grade A or a Red Hot

    Do you remember?

    Did you ever walk into a candy store?

    Where a big glass cabinet

    Housed a reflexive kiss for

    Everything within

    An involuntary tightening

    Of orbicularis oris,

    A pucker.

    (Candy was the closest thing to love I knew.)

    Years have passed, many counting themselves,

    As I never kept track except the big ones,

    Except in the most general ways

    Others can tell you times to the tenth

    But I barely know how I got here

    Nor will I ever need to

    This is all that matters: thisrightnow, thismeoment,

    Thisthisthisthisthis… 

    VISITS ASEA

    Never have I lost your sounding waters

    Stream of consciousness

    I have missed the tiny whirlpools

    But never the great Tides

    Which swing my world so in & out of balance

    I have learned only that balance is flexible

    That it’s changeable, malleable,

    Balance lifts us up into manageable.

    Yet I claim it not, not fully, not without first

    Looking around for railing, or a handhold

    Balance was a for-granted

    But it has gone the way of faith

    The chair will be behind me when I sit…

    A variable where only an inalterable ever existed.

    But that doesn’t stop me.

    I watched a baby walking, thumping along

    After being put gently on the floor

    Leaning into his future

    Walking, forehead jutting ahead of his feet.

    I walk like that sometimes now.

    I don’t lean back, if I claimed my past it would

    Claim me. I choose not to dwell there.

    So much so I rush from it.

    Somehow I have seen it all before

    I am bored by the repeats

    Bummed by the reruns

    Interested in the growth & the new

    In the place where I can claim some experience

    The holy bath of experience

    From which no one returns the same

    The reruns are off, the endings

    Jacked up. How could I have counted them ever?

    But the not understanding is okay with me now

    The wondering & the laying on of syllables

    Like strips of bacon making grease in a heated brainpan

    The smell will intoxicate me; I wonder if I’ll also have eggs..

    I mean ideas, I mean ways to get out from myself & away from

    Me awhile. There’s that place where it’s okay to sway.

    I am there now.

    REPTILES IN THE OFFICE

    In my supposed comeuppance, your one-line flick of a forked tongue

    At me, I watch you, woman.

    I am a threat. You are right to watch me back,

    to rattle a warning accusation of

    A crime I know nothing about; One thing: I will not dance it again.

    But you know all, having discovered we’re out of

    Paper…the accusation precedes the announcement:

    This from the woman who says have no fear,

    Unity does not do fear!

    But running out of paper is a hostage situation a 911 bristle, a threat

    To the future of major proportions.

    Staples being two miles away, n’all.

    But there is a humidity of accusation cloying a measure of self-protection & I

    Understand, as I was there, too, in the beginning.

    Every Unity I know breaks apart, succumbs to Great Change

    We are thinking it will be one thing

    When it might be entirely another.

    Now I have a measure of self-protection in place

    This is just how it is; it’s nothing personal

    It is how each explains herself to life

    With a bang on the counter, a jarring of the bell

    Heard in far reaches of outer space…

    These women purport to ministry but live a self-crafted life

    Involving much validation in finger-pointing

    An air of mayhem-in-waiting

    Of corrupted effort & diminishing returns

    Saying one thing to another

    Neither quite true or trusted.

    Only demanded.

    I can feel my armor dented in places

    The shin-guards worn away

    the covers over the ears newly heated

    by accusation by disbelief by not “get it right, but you’re so

    stupid you got it wrong.”

    I think it’s because I feel it hit my Translator

    & bounce awry instead of smoothly smoothing out.

    I have no respect for the one & am rapidly losing

    What I have for the two…histrionics accomplish zilch.

    Something broke today when you harried me in front of John

    Who was just waiting to speak to you

    But seemed unmoved by what I perceived as a full-on Tantrum.

    Like the ones 3-year olds throw on the toy aisle.

    For many of the same reasons, a parent would say.

    I’ll say, too, I can’t get there from here. I do not know how.

    It is not my understanding of what you asked for two weeks ago

    This is some wish you cobbled together in the fiery pit

    Of I know  I asked her this!!

    Nonesuch.

    DEPARTURE, TAKEN PERSONAL

    If this is how you feel, just go.

    If it is coming to the point that you decide four weeks in front of leaving that we need to know every single solitary thing you know,

    Only the God of Heaven can help us!

    But we are not the women who ask for help

    Before designing our own program

    Buying our own uniforms

    Building our own pillboxes

    Designed beyond your getting in

    Which is funny, because you built it

    By how you treat me.

    The irony of it all being you likely

    Do. Not. Even. Know.

    IN GENERAL

    The tension in the room & the torsion in the air

    Accelerate an already fast-moving iteration

    Of Situation

    Into international waters, traditions count out here

    And One People do not mix With Another.

    And don’t try to tell me these aren’t all over the planet

    These whorls where someone made bad juju & no one ever

    Redeemed it with a blessing.

    Cuz I recognize them.

    From before, some my own

    You enter here at your peril

    With the potential of  your sorrow

    For I am only a battery

    Only a mirror

    I will up the energy of the situation

    Since what I think if it is on my honest face.

    Someday that face will look into your own

    I amplify & reflect back.

    I clap endlessly one-handed

    I walk the forest listening for downing trees

    I cannot play that game of throwns any more

    I want to belong to a vibrant community of like minds

    Who do not throw away their own decisions, but do not force them either. What would it take to not be the problem but the problem-solver?

    ALL EARS’

    Could I be a Listener?

    A listening device of analog proportions?

    What would it take to be fluid of body once again,

    To have a man, once, lift me to himself & cradle me

    Set a seal upon that Seer Eye: awaken it with unexpected vision

    There is a reason they slay the spirit there

    But I seek not even the smallest of deaths

    To bring it to the surface, to lead the light

    To have a unicorn kind of magic: emergent,

    Masculine, parting the very air

    For in between the particles

    I would go

    To achieve the feminine.

    It sees me to be: finally whole,

    Not foresworn in the belly.

    My spirit parts are strong, but invisible here

    Jovial, they push other stuff out of the way to have theirs.