Riding the Light –

Blog

  • Living as Though I’m Alive

    Living as Though I’m Alive

    My little heart yearns for beauty. We look under the winter-crackled leaves, turn over pebbles. We peer into relationships for Saviors. We are soothed by desert rain & the strong, piercing sunlight limning the horizon to East & West as Sol passes over the landscape, also likely searching.

    What have we found? At the end of the day, I empty my pockets on the bureau. Some coins, uncomfortable earrings, a phone number scribbled with a name I already do not recall what I promised to provide them. Lately, I have taken to “listening to music” at the end of the day – putting down the book or the computer & just taking in lyrics from various songs. And these are all about love. Even in this dry & artificial way, my day ends with love.

    Someday someone will sing a song over me. Someday I will wear that beautiful dress, be a beautiful mess, meet a pair of eyes in a café, be asked into relationship, be invited into the arms of an already dancing body…I just need to hold on a little longer.

    My boundaries don’t so much as narrow as entrench. It is more of an effort to cross them in search of. I care less about the shape of my body than the shape of my lonely heart. As the physical condenses, the spiritual expands into a cool cloud in search of ignition. When the match strikes, I will be overcome with love, cast so deeply into the energy I am so ready for & all about.

    My fate sits like the cat outside the mousehole. There is no menace here, only mystery. Will I be embraced or tattered? Can either matter? I am as old as I am…my secret passages are shattered by my own hand – always seeking.

    I used to put things together; now I pull them apart for the juicy center. Now I wonder if circumcision – cutting myself off for exposure – is the way to proceed. What profit here? Cui bono? Maybe within the secret, smelly darkness where there’s a proliferation of underlife I will find love. For the sake of all holy or hellish, I have stood on the mountaintops of life & scanned the vistas. 

    I have seen the beauty, taken in the airs. I have profited experience from the storms at sea washing treasure onto my beaches. I have shaken spears at the menace on the horizon. I have cried into my own arms of a night again alone. I pick up smooth pebbles on the beach, lacking the wherewithal to build my own house. So I dwell in the backrooms of love, never venturing out unguarded.

    No more! Now I am walking naked, fat may flab where it may…I am declaring my beauty of soul. I am tearstained, bloody, hungry. I am a menace to myself with this exposure but ask if I care. The blue days give way to white nights. I sleep as though there is a tomorrow to live for.

    I am the sugar spooned into the cup of life, swirled about in a dizzy tizzy…scooped up, poured over, sipped & tasted for exotic flavor. I am in love with home sweet home, with home sweet love, with dancing every cell loose from its center. I will no longer behave according to catechism…these words have worn out a welcome I should never have borne.

    Before death finds me napping on the periphery of life, I will enjoin it fully! I will take my soul in both hands, put it into the waters of love, watch it expand. I will drag it back to slit it open, inserting my heart. I am here to experience life & I will throw myself onto it in full tackle, bring it into all I am, wriggle with its subduction, its seduction. I am not here to overcome anymore; I’ve beaten at the cat’s whiskers so many times.

    Devour me or drive me off, O Life. No more games here, I haven’t the time to be other than who I have become after all these years. Get behind me or in front of me but get out of my way! I’m coming through, Life. It’s my time.

  • The Shape of Happiness

    SEPTEMBER

    For a longish time I saddled up the dream each morning,

    With darkness’ fall, I brushed you off my shoulders

    Realigning my balance for dreams.

    Old man, you are banished

    Into your well of no acknowledgement;

    In your inability to reveal love, review life.

    Pack your suitcase of pretended nonchalance

    Put it by the bus stop bench

    For your tour of lonely eternity:

    But wait! You are not alone!

    It only seemed that way.

    You dipped eager fingers into my life

    Allowed small satisfactions: matches, not candles

    Yes, I liked you imperious & you swelled to fill that role —

    When slipping into the kitchen to embrace me

    Was all you ever needed to do.

    OCTOBER

    The linking fingers slide apart

    Where once was full embrace…

    We are a remembrance of recognition

    Smoke without mirrors: an irritant.

    The road has twisted; I am no longer faint of heart

    Nor will I falter in seeking out of your grasp

    I forced all my music into one instrument

    When I needed a concert hall orchestra.

    Divinity is upon me again

    Claimed in its embrace, I dare once more to dance.

    NOVEMBER

    Time to let you go now.

    Unlace the dream tied ‘round my wrist

    Close my eyes to open them to the new world

    Without shadows.

    Time to shoulder my pack

    Set by the roadside in anticipation

    Of traveling with you

    We had a picnic for a feast

    A day in the life…

    A purloined kiss.

    The song’s delicious fading

    Out of memory, beyond horizons

    Many endings, many deaths

    From dearth of dreams.

    I shake myself, I rouse to reroute the sun

    There are new trails I follow now

    I am around your shadow & gone.

  • HOW BLESSED WE ARE

    HOW BLESSED WE ARE

    HOW BLESSED WE ARE…

    “With too much to eat,” as my dear friend says.

    With tryptophan dreams, friends to loudly greet & gently hug, with cheeks to buss, hands to clasp, making a human wreath around a laden table.

    How much fortune is ours when love rolls in & out like the tides of change, depositing gifts in shining merriment, or withdrawing everything near & dear with voracious tongues of flame?

    How fulfilled our promises kept, to be where we are with those who accept us as we are in this living moment.

    Bless us before the food grows cold, these dishes prepared in loving anticipation of sharing. We gather to bask in the anticipation of joy, little & large blessings of friendship & regard. We laugh, even as we are moved by the plight of those with so much less or nothing at all. We who are healthy, whole, in warm spaces with beloved possessions, still reach to those unable to reclaim these. We pray & we promise our prayers.

    The whys will not wait, but we will be present today. In the dream of what we do have, in our gratitude, our love for the energy to help others rise from ashes. We love our children & bless our circumstances. We pray back the holy tides of abundance for all as we submerge in Grace.

  • Eros Landing

    EROS LANDING

    Let go of me.

    I demand this: I am silk & slippery

    Without even your touch

    I cannot get away

    From this hold

    One word, one look,

    One imperious look

    And I am fainting into your arms

    Licking your neck

    Lower, lower

    While the heat crawls upward

    At levels I’ve never experienced

    Before

    At pain

    Not pleasure

    That I know would be severe

    Contractions, brain-wave disturbances

    Mighty & sensuous

    As silk & slippery

    As us is us when us it is

    —

    Yes,  you’re a bull, all cock & balls

    But what I would do with these

    You would never rationally explain…

    You will never have experienced

    What I plan: what my body has in store for you

    Wrapped in my legs

    My arms

    My tongues loving all over you

    —

    Villain! Thief! I cry aloud

    But in your arms

    These turn to melting moans

    O lord, get me out of this cliché

    Beyond & farther out that I’ve ever been

    And I know how to weave words

    Into pleasure; pressure

    Pulsing presences

    With a depth charge at the center.

    But I find traces of you even where you have not been

    This life

    Explosives

    I can only detonate with you

    Not hands, not devices…never anything but

    Your body, your pulses rocking me into earthquakes

    Prising the continental plates of me

    It would be as no other ever has been

    Why now? why me? What circle of hell

    Would you have me walk along the edge

    To arrive at your smile

    What trembling & where next

    I am trapped here, tripped there

    Scourged by desire

    With no edges,  no boundaries,

    Nothing other than you

    To resolve this

    To partner me

    To part me in the center

    No conversation

    No ending of heat

    This hum along the perineum

    Only the hot friction

    Of finally, come take me

    Come thrust into me

    Come overpower me

    But expect no mercy in return

    Expect no quarter

    For I will match you drop for drop

    Sound for sound

    Slick & sure & sleek of surface

    Now now now now now

    —

    You are the clothes I would wear

    The songs I hear

    The love I may never have

    You are heat of a winter night

    When I would wake shivering

    You are a fire for which I have no quenching

    Until you find that in me & take me with you

    Over & under you

    The stretching into forever

    We could interact

    The arch that continues into full circle

    Under the earth

    The body’s rainbow

    Needing no grounding

    No gold

    Only make rain on me

    Until I scream out loud

    No code words, no stopping

    No borders of “ever”

    Before or after

    Once would never be enough

    And a hundred times would stir up only more

    Of the same, not even close

    Braid me into you

    Turning, turning, tugging down everything

    That keeps us apart

    I hear the sounds of clothes tearing

    Infinity inviting divinity invading destiny

    Only touch me: I am yours

    In such full measure

    You will never be hungry again.

    While I starve quietly remembering you.

    Set me free before it happens

    Be the hurricane turned aside

    Blowing up the coast & out to sea.

    —

    And even as I cry “release me!”

    It is a word that goes both ways

    Into me & out of you

    A word that captures my hands

    Erodes my will

    Take me into tomorrow

    For there is nothing left of today

    Without you.

    —

    Another cigarette

    But nothing tamps this down

    Not even flame

    Can match what I feel

    Skipping the record

    To only the beat

    A drum hidden in the blood

    Begins

    When you hold out your hand

    When I accept a fate

    I have run around the earth to escape

    Where does this come from?

    What did I do that was so terrible

    My fate is to wander, whimpering

    Or pour words onto paper

    Like some Niagara gathering

    From every river on earth

    To pour over you

    Not cascade, not a rain

    But a raw force

    That brings boulders

    Bouncing in a dance

    To rip roots

    Gouge the edges

    Of the watercourse

    Until these emerge

    In glory & new earth

    Where more waters may flow

    —

    O, I would hold you breathless

    Conquer you like a country

    Heretofore unseen

    Uninhabited

    Lay down with me & start

    Close your eyes to receive

    But understand

    You will not be who you were

    When you rise.

    —

    What will I do with you?

    Nothing that’s not been done before

    Tho not to you, perhaps

    There is all of me to use

    From breath to breast

    With each heartbeat

    A new sensation

    But in the hard, unheard hereafter

    What will you do with me

    When I cannot do without you?

    —

    So let me go

    While we survive

    To walk apart

    No long looks over shoulders

    No blushes, for nothing has happened

    Except under the surfaces

    We threaten with words

    I cannot be more naked

    If I wore no clothes at all.

     

  • Rendezvous Denied

    Rendezvous Denied

    Whim, Quim, Desire & Mire

    Once upon a time, a tiny bubble rose up to encompass a small, localized starfield: mine. I thought – but thinking is so overrated when the heart is involved. So I acted. I reached & tugged & wrapped, pulled, but he was willing. I see now I should have issued  a disclaimer tho we did discuss some terms & conditions.

    What was I asking this man? To help me remember the carnality of being female. Recall that rush of skin on skin, penetration, giving & taking breath together. Waallll, Pilgrim, here’s the thing about embarking upon dreams. That bubble can pop in a second. Fulfillment can remain a breath away or be brought in with one quick inhalation.

    At one point, in thinking about the meetup, my feet were yanked back to earth so hard my teeth clacked. I cancelled our assignation; I weakened, I re-assigned our assignation. I wish I could say I was being noble & backing out because there’s a wife involved. But I was horny, he was willing, the wife would “never know.” But I would. There was coughing behind my soul, making it hard to hear my heart.

    Our email correspondence was tony. Mine in poetry, his in more the style of a graphic novel. We achieved a high level of sexual tension in words via these exchanges.

    But two days before the attenuated appointment, I bailed. I was coming home from Hillsboro after a cleaning gig. I never eat hotdogs, but I had a hardcore yen for a hotdog on a bun, fresh with onions & yellow mustard. So I stopped at a little eatery called “The Missing Link” where hotdogs are the main course. I acquired my tasty treat, miffed at there being a cold bun with it. Why couldn’t the owner, Randy, warm the buns?

    I turned on my phone, it interrupted itself falling over message pings. I was happy to see a few from my paramour. Except he was describing his visit to a urologist for a check-up, and the note included details which were definitely TMI. It was a moment of high hilarity on one level…these things only happen to me in the universe…but eating my annual hotdog in company with three emails about his detailed examination by three female med techs of a highly sensitive area. Well, you get the picture.

    That bubble popped audibly & wetly. I dropped out of our rendezvous like a meerkat disappearing underground.

    My imagination clashed with my tastebuds. O Lord!

    His detailed emails were to my sensibilities what a killer frost is to a budding rose. The bubblegum music stopped, the hot dog went back down onto the plate. In a moment, anything written on the slate between us was wiped clean.

    There’s an empty space: no sentimental residue. I’m either really good at organic pragmatism or a cold-hearted bitch of the first order. But it’s a qualification of Libra that the knife used to cut cords be sharp enough to stop blood.

    There’s always more to a story. These words run from my fingers like notes over a piano’s keys. Somewhere a symphony resides in potential. I hope to one day wind up with a man to play two-hand, a fella whose congruency with me is based on an ability to fulfill a relationship, no holds barred. Someone single.

    Oops, there’s another bubble rising!

     

  • Once-Love: Time for You to Go

    Once-Love: Time for You to Go

    I have a hurricane for a heart, I see it from the space between us.

    Counterclockwise / widdershins to time

    I would turn the clocks back

    And that would be easier than loving you now.

    I would halt the sea as the next wave rises

    So much simpler than trying not to

    Write the words I want to say.

    I feel tasered: my energy scatters in all directions;

    My heart drums out your name

    I stop my ears from answer

    You cannot open these connections

    You dare not flirt

    For I will take you down.

    And here, at my level, there are only your hands

    My mouth…

    And Hunger so strong

    It hurts.

    I cannot begin to use the words to say

    What I feel

    For the whole world would fall in love with me.

    Swept away & far beyond

    Where you have any permission to go.

     

    “Ethics? The hell with ethics – it’s my life!”

    I am calm. I dismiss the whole event out of hand.

    Then your name on an email steals across the screen

    Like a French kiss.

    O God, I have been here before.

    No Bollywood maiden, nor even matron

    But ringing with tiny bells, rolling my kohl-shaped eyes

    Slipping upstairs to the bedroom

    Wearing only perfume.

    Why you? You unlikely beast of passion

    I do not even know your whole name

    Only you wear holey sweaters.

    And your smile replaces where my heart once dwelt.

    You test a sentence on me; I am not sure you mean to say

    What I hear. I am not sure I hear

    What you say.

    In the variation:

    Wanting so much of one

    The other sets up as pain.

    My body is stately now, not shapely.

    But every cell remembers passion &

    That unremembered is easily created.

    Tongues & fingertips – even toes to slide

    There is silk here & salt where memory is only love

    And I am a Fool beyond the boundary of

    All the handbooks for the league of decency

    Burnt to ash by the simple casual reply I give.

    When I have erased six messages I could not send.

     

    Don’t hit reply unless you mean it

    You cannot understand how easily I will seduce you with words

    Bring you to heel, to your unready knees

    Or at least the closest chair

    When they give way on you

    I worry too much about appearances

    When all that is remembered are results

    I would create a fountain of you

    And eagerly pull this into me

    My tight interior, ready hips,

    I would dance you into me

    So you would not see the slack breasts

    Or wrinkled thighs

    My musk would be your air

    And your breath would catch in wonder

    To enter me; the holy of holies

    The prize for which gods fought in times Before.

    Don’t toy with me, don’t send me cute little words

    For you are not my unwed lover

    To take me in any fashion

    But my own.

    Beware the simple sentence

    That compounds to loving me

    For you will never return with words

    To me what I will make you feel

    You will touch once

    For the burn scar can only remedy

    By applications of the same

    And yes, this is an almighty ego

    Against which you bruise

    But I will not be other than I am

    To Love.

    When with her, the only “lie” is to lie down in opening surrender.

  • Dream On, It’s My Dime

    Dream On, It’s My Dime

    One of the ways I handle current tensions & strife is through laughter. You might say I’ve had a lot of titters in my life lately, if not outright guffaws. Fortunately, I have a lilting little chuckle which engages others into at least a smile.

    Once again, I dreamed of being outdoors naked. From the waist up, this time. I was carrying an open paperback in front of me, so I didn’t immediately notice. A paperback didn’t quite cover this, tho – I needed a big ole “Look” Magazine (too obvious?) or a classic edition of “Life” – not that abbreviated, shrunken offering now available.

    Sadly or strangely or whatever, the man I was walking alongside of didn’t notice either. But glancing down, I realized my situation, lilted a chuckle & turned around, heading back toward the upstairs apartment where I was staying with total strangers. I did mull over, along the way, if anyone was noticing my bare-naked, be-moled back & thinking: “that woman has nothing on from the waist up.” No one tapped me on the shoulder or leered an “O Miss!” or “O Ma’am” at me. I was just bemused & wondering why no one had said anything when I exited that apartment – after all, the residents were friendly, not relatives & had surely noticed my déshabillé. Non? I felt a bit better when I spotted a cyclist who also seemed naked from the waist up, until I saw she had large flesh-covered straps criss-crossing her back. Ok, so I was the only one on this street in this state (undressed, not of the union.)

    I find the older I get the more focused I am on looking young. This oxymoron can rule a life  if not taken firmly in hand – since nothing else is affixed to one place anymore, at least I can allow my beliefs to be so. When a friend treated me to a cupping demonstration which delineated how to firm up the face once again by the use of an extremely small traffic-cone-shaped item, (which resembles a thimble for a giant who cannot get the hang of sewing) plus varied accessories made appropriately of smooth stone, I was eager & embarrassed to attend. It’s unexpectedly effective in a reverse kind of way, & I find that I now have a few more wrinkles under development than before. Perhaps I’m not using it correctly? This is one where I thought I didn’t need to read the instructions but maybe I’d better find the booklet before I become a historic road marker. Although I could achieve THAT anytime I just made my dream come true…

    On the 19th this month, I have a hairdresser appointment. Which leads me to wonder at the vagaries of a language where we strip our clothes but dress our hair. Before the dream of walking downtown topless, I was dreaming of my hair & woke to a call of nature picturing a great add-on I need to share with my tolerant stylist. Since I plan to have the sides clipped in closely, I may get lightning bolts shaved out over my ears. This would refute the girlfriends who are dismayed by my idea of a perm at my age. Perhaps they are picturing a senior perm – wispy gray strands over a pink scalp, unevenly curled & wavering. This is not my hair, folks. My hair has an aspect of “OMG, is that a toupee?” about it. One could upend me & mop the floor with the growth I have. It’s not a complaint, but rather a brag that I say this. However, lifelong growth patterns dictate that my hair grows only out the top of my head in any comb-able fashion. The sides tend to bush out, so it looks like I’m wearing earmuffs, but not so nicely as Leia affected in “Star Wars.” I’m serious when I say earmuffs. Recall the fuzzy kind Mom used to buy in winter? Where your entire scalp froze painfully to the wire connector, but your ears stayed warm?

    I am a firm contender in the argument that VANITY, not hearing, is the last sense to depart the body. If you dispute this unscientific finding, I remind you that one of the activities of the undertaker, after gluing your mouth shut, is to apply makeup. You’re dead! What need here? It might be the only opportunity you had in your life to be out in front of friends without a big fuss on how you look. Really, what do you care? You’re supposed to be signing up for harp lessons, or getting the folds in your robe right, or learning how to artfully arrange your wings upon sitting on small gold throne-stools. But, sigh, what do I know? For me, it may be my last chance to float in out of people’s heads, trying to understand them better than I do now.

    Because if age has taught me anything, it is that I will never understand people no matter how much they & I agree or nod together, or tsk-tsk together about the neighbors.

    So, let’s wander out of this delightful little ramble through my head & maybe rummage in the fridge for a breakfast egg, or a bacon slice to cook up. I’m supposed to be taking my walk right now, but I have a mysteriously sore foot. And it might be chilly out there to start, so that by the time I get home, (almost) all the layers I started out with will be tied around my waist with the pocket my keys are in dragging along the ground.

    I wonder if I have any cheese left for an omelet.

     

     

  • For A Fool Too Wise To Be Foolish

    For A Fool Too Wise To Be Foolish

    O foolish man

    Who cannot accept

    The hands of a woman

    Looking to heal you

    O holy man

    Set apart from the rest

    Singled out by the surprise

    Of unexpected Love.

    Were I you, I would find the strength

    To mount the dream

    Galloping so insistently through

    Your benumbed psyche.

    I would hold to the pommel of

    My hand offered in friendship

    And admiration

    Even beyond their physical application

    Bound only by eternal spirit…

    O man in my missing dreams

    Glimpsed from the corners of

    Tearing eyes

    What could have been

    Or might have been –

    Kept asunder by circumstance

    By timing

    By opportunities unpresented

    Unprecedented,

    By promises of another lifetime

    Extending into these our now-lives.

    I would uncross your arms

    Set so firmly over your heart

    I would face my face

    Shining with blessing for you

    Accept what is offered

    Although it can never be an all from nothing.

     

    O dearest man I touched with all my being

    I brushed with my beating/beaten heart

    O king of my wondering servitude

    I would render with tendresse & laughing joy

    Were you only to accept

    To the limits we must draw

    Within the abilities I have to offer,

    For these would delimit you also.

     

    O wisest man

    To back away from my incendiary

    Lust for life lived well

    In utter expansion &

    Manifest truth

    It is to your bald being

    A covering so soft

    It is to your naked skin

    A balm upending the

    Hardening of your limbs

    In resistance.

     

    Choose your boundary lines

    Implant them well, that nothing

    Can reach you

    For this seems what attends you best.

     

    I fade outside the vision in your eyes

     

    Yet I remain, as said before

    A good woman looking for a good man

    Who seeks a good woman.

    And Fate & Faith will not leave me upended

    Fallen from the blessing of your regard.

    I will not resume invisibility

    As my starting place

    I am far too exposed to so many surfaces

    To step into any background

    You may fashion.

    I have seared your closing heart

    Too well.

     

    You may choose to retreat

    To cover that which thrives in lightness

    But I will never again

    Be who I was

    For having known the potential of your love.

     

     

     

  • The Nevers

    The Nevers

    GOD NEVER BLINKS

    I live in grace & wonder

    Beneath the wheeling stars

    I follow His pointing finger

    Into Life unbounded by Humanity

    Imperfect & sometimes off-course…

    He lights my way with darkness, but grants wings

    My Being: Blessed & Present.

    GODDESS NEVER LOSES ME

    Tho I fret about midnight awakenings

    Spun from misremembering

    Her love & gifting in my life

    Choosing popcorn for dinner

    Coffee at wee hours

    This glorious chill of a deepening Fall night

    Giving way to opening eyes

    Casting off misperceptions of being alone

    LOVE NEVER STUMBLES

    As I do, sore-footed

    Worn by silliness, thinking myself lost

    At sea or drowned in sorrow.

    MUSE WAITS FOREVER

    Burning brightly her torch of perceptions

    Sparks are all about me – words of

    Wonder & dismay in equal measure.

    WONDER NEVER CEASES

    Tho I pull on shawls against the chill

    And nudge the holy heater of true love

    With a poke & a push until it hums on

    Tho I think I’m feeling my way, alone & grasping

    For all I think I do not have

    Shown in this life, I have All.

    LIFE NEVER DOUBTS

    But expresses thru me as joy, or friendship

    As lovingkindness

    After despairs of my own manufacture

    THANKS-GIVING NEVER FALTERS

    When tingling all with its Holy Effervescence

    Pushing me to love each life I have encountered

    BLESSING NEVER SURRENDERS

    Tho I pat it down for weapons

    Before allowing entry

    Into my muddy little heart

    HOLINESS NEVER FAILS

    To bring me to my knees

    I wonder at its myriad

    Expressions in my life

    As food or friends or bad-hair days

    When I resemble not so much of beauty

    As a well-used broom, stood in a corner

    With the spokes every whichway

    Done with dust, observing only the shining

    LIFE NEVER DIES

    No matter all the evidence au contraire

    FRIENDS NEVER HATE

    Tho they may turn away

    From the disgrace of my unbelief

    Till I come ‘round again

    In starkest blessing of naked need.

    PRAYER NEVER HESITATES

    To place powerful hands under my arms

    Hauling me up to face all of this once again.

  • For Those Who Called in Concern

    For Those Who Called in Concern

    My Dear Guardian Angel,”R”

    Well? What’s up with all the despair stuff?

    Here’s this, Miss: Others cannot bear your pain, but you can. You always resurface, bobbing up like a cork with a smiley face. (Ok, sorry for that.)

    But you know what I mean.

    It is not their life – when they experience a slam-dunk of emotion, they have their own words. You manage to put it out there &, as you said, to share & show your care. Your plea for help will not go unnoticed & it will say for others what they cannot.

    Others may witness, but they may not take the wheel of the boat to steer you into harbor, nor push you to do so. They can point, like the Ghost of Christmas Future, but only that.

    If your vision is locked down in emotion, you’ll not perceive this at all. That’s perfectly okay. The words are given to you in their order & for their reasons. It is intent, one of the ways you bring about Change.

    Yesterday was about letting go. The hotbath, the talk, the feelings, the scouring of Rose’s shop which yielded little to nothing. One small disappointment followed another – losing all your emails…unanswered questions…a crazy day for you, my anal-retentive Child.

    Now you can work out that comedy routine you need to polish off for Open Mic this last Friday. Roads are clear & paths opened of obstacles Put up the fliers, hand out the broadsheets, laugh & beat the dream of the Future with a big stick, for it has brightened with the wash of your pain.

    For those who console you, give thanks. They will smile to hear of your returned good cheer. This cloud has passed over your sun. you made it sound like the storm of the ages, but all that’s left is shining.

    Soon the world changes: it will no longer be edged in darkness. The light will be brighter than you’ve ever seen, for the Father has taken up the polish & the Mother has surrendered her apron to dance.

    Think of it as expressing the Community Angst. Give thanks the job of Sin-Eater has changed to writing words!

    Don’t limit yourself to one kind of music. The blessing of your words is for all. You are the tool we use to focus, & if others catch fire, so be it. You have not been burned…blessing enough for this midnight.

    Be well, my Little Old Lady. You make a fine wordsmith & your craft is sharp with unexpected Light, that all who wish to, see.

    “Write on,” to coin the phrase yet again, stamping a new face upon the currency – write on.

    Love,

    R.