I am the daughter of an ancient drumbeat
Bump bada bump bada bump bump bump
Bada bump bada bump bada bump bump bump
Bada bump, bada bump, bada bump,
ba bump, ba bump, ba bump
Now alive in my heart
And it wants me to start a revolution
Of LOVE
But not the way most people think of the word love
So, it challenges my definitions and suppositions
about where and how to find and flow with this
elusive, yet ever-present enigma
One thing LOVE whispers to me tonight
about love and Love…
You cannot keep a fire glowing
without breathing room for air
between things
And it also needs attuned tending, adding kindling,
adjusting the arrangement of the elements,
and paper that ignites fast & furious, tossed in,
or tucked into the just-right openings,
so it doesn’t die out from lack of attention
and sensitive, skillful care.
And then, when to let it go,
To stop the poking or pursing your lips,
and accept it’s reached its natural end,
or add another log and lean in
I am the radiant goddess
I am the soulmate of my soul
I am beholden to the Beauty
I am the keeper of the whole
I am
I am the sword of surrender,
too swift for thinking,
too light for fear
I am the pause of pure Presence
and the pulse of Creation,
infinitely, irresistibly,
simply and supremely
HERE
Come sit with Me
If you really do want to be free
If you truly wish to let go of “Try”
and trust this pull above all else, and let
the good girl seeker-achiever pusher die
p.s. “die” = dissolve into essence :-)
The moon doesn’t chase me
And the sun doesn’t try hard to wake me
They simply hang out with the sky gods,
doing their thing, without evaluating
how productive or pleasant they’ve been
As they faithfully rise and glow, rest and show
their real beauty, again and again
Gladly
What is this fiction
that bamboozles us into believing and behaving
MADLY,
Jumping through hoops one day,
Collapsing or cowering in the closet the next
Searching and searing for Love
in all the programmed places,
Ruminating and rehearsing
backward flips for approval,
Pursing our lips
over counting currencies, or waiting for a text
When the goddesses of gone gone beyond would
GLADLY
Grant us every desire
to quench our soul’s JOY
and help us let go of any prisonality ploy
for the attention or affection the
con mind conjures we deserve,
that are mere distractions from the true fire
that we come from, and are here now
to spark and to serve
This is not procrastination.
This is Priestess energy rising,
No more compromising!
While I can hear the consternation
of those old inner debate club voices
wriggling like a fish on a hook,
Is this surrender or sabotage, avoidance or ascension?
There is another frequency beyond any of that tension
Quietly flowing with illogical & infinite
Peace, Wisdom, and Joy.
From this channel, the Goddess of Truth gives me a look
like Glenda tilting her head, smiling kindly,
while gently removing familiar ploys,
Assuring me- You’ve always had the power, my dear
to feel what is pure LOVE
and sniff moldy, scoldy fear.
That something that would not let you push yourself
to get your “but in the chair” or “just do it”
is a fierce Warrior of Refusal
to anything that carries the residue
of abuse to your true spirit --
of trying to be a good girl, to earn value,
to be swayed by the mayor of Scare City
convincing you to vote for his legislation.
We can’t wait for that charlatan to turn in his resignation.
We must immerse you in beautification
of neglected, abandoned areas that had gone fallow,
and shower them with adoration.
To till the dirt of hallowed ground.
Plant new seeds, be willing to wait,
and trust the fertility of co-creation
with the life force that orchestrates galaxies,
and inspires men to make machines that fly.
We diverted you from taking the bait
of the shouldmeister’s saucy strip tease.
We needed to knock you down to uplevel your Why.
Beware of old yarns wrapped in new costumes.
Underneath those glinty, glamy, sequined strategies
is the stench of "bills to pay, people to please."
What appears as weak resistance to the 2.0 clock-punchers
is a 3.0 solidarity strike to demand that you reclaim
Who you really are and why you came.
Yes, again, as we lean into this next swerve
of the upward spiral of humanity’s future-pull to wake
from the spell of slave chains sold as modern success,
and as hard to break as a meth addiction illusion mess.
It’s time for you to let time bend and
wrap around the full moon,
To celebrate this Lion’s Gate portal
and let every morsel of the old doer go-getter dissolve,
into the spaciousness that just knows
there aren’t really any problems to solve.
Or productivity to police.
Ask Mary & Yeshua, Metatron & Merlin to sign your prisonality release.
Embrace the sacred dance of your inner dragons
of masculine and feminine, pragmatic matter and profound Mystery.
Marvel as they entwine in motion like the double helix of your soul’s DNA.
Trust that you are a servant of this temple,
and the meant to be reborn leaders who need this medicine will find their way.
This isn't decorating. It's Devotion.
Unplug until you feel the ocean tides rise and fall in your chest
And believe the remedy isn’t more accountability or
marketing consultants or consequences for missed deadlines,
but in giving it all a rest,
and appreciate the paradox
of what it really means to stay true to your quest.
Drip
Drip, drip, tickety tic, bing
goes the pinball thing
bumping off corners inside my head
colorful, sparkly light desires mixed with
rusty, almost broken, slow-release dread
Who’s in there, still hanging on, trying to win an old game,
and getting nicknamed All Thumbs?
I know how to navigate around the shysters of Scare City
But sometimes I just seem to go deaf and dumb
and blind to the Light graciously offered by the Goddess of Infinity
Voices and choices bouncing around
to the sounds of ancient, calm waters
and newly homeless squatters, like Polly Playsmall or Tommy Tryharder
not wanting to act their age
You better show me the money, honey, the inner chief worry officer yaps
Oh, god, can we get that dude to go take a coffee break,
for Pete’s sake, a couple of chill back-up singers grab the mic, taking center stage
She’s not going to starve. She’s a Lemurian queen, ya know
And she’s waking up to not falling for your traps.
And, then, another trap door appears to lure us out of that familiar cage
This one is sweet and sour, can’t quite tell
if I should let my heart swell every other hour
You too would fail at this tournament for attention
If you could smell his smell, and
Drink in his skin
And did I mention that smile?
Well, hell, you’d just throw your hands up, and mumble, “No contest”
So, we might as well just enjoy a bit of reverie
rather than trying to do our best
with good girl, profit-pressured productivity
Then I see that inner security cop, leaning in the doorway
of this crumbling arcade,
The buttons on his 1970’s blue uniform about to pop
I pretend to not notice, but he makes me stop
Then regales some tall tales of lies I’ve been sold,
Warning me to not get into a chase with someone who keeps slamming on the breaks,
Punctuated with, “You have a right to remain silent.”
So, I obey his order to let flickering temptations go cold
Is my body bracing at who wants to scold me next?
What friend-masked foe might plead with me to shout or pout
While I lean in to the essence in me that doesn’t need to figure it out,
As Wisdom begins to seep in patiently
And without any trepidation or doubt,
another dimension starts to take hold,
like the mountain mist that permeates the sky,
at first, so delicate and fleeting, then
formidable, and deleting every tree,
and covering anything else the five-sensory eye once could see
And this energy has no interest
in hustling for gold coins or lustful loins,
And those plastic buzzers and bells all start to melt
While my heart recalls what it has felt
when essence entwines with essence,
or the Mystery serves Her ministry through me
Thus, I remember what I want to trust
and let these hungry ghosts return to dust
Surrendering sweetly,
I dissolve into this mist, and hear it whisper into my soul
You know the goal
You know our deal
We promised to help you wake up to what is fake and what is REAL
and reach the ones whom you are meant to teach,
and return the favor forward, to help them break out of their trance
in the human-doing, programmed, cha-cha dance
You know you did not come here
to be a beggar for money or love or anything else to try to earn your worth
You volunteered to midwife a new civilization’s birth
Not just to show them how to meditate or self-regulate stress into bliss,
But to honestly receive the kiss of the One True Beloved,
And to embody the UNKNOWABLE,
Calling them home,
Between breaths, underneath the wound, beyond the outer news noise,
and free from the confines of the con mind,
Calling them home,
for each of you to be tossed about in the froth and foam
of this OCEAN of LOVE, becoming a vast sea of unimaginable GRACE
With the power to shape continents,
and the peace to want nothing,
and the longing for true resonance,
Outside of the popular pace of this dystopian rat race,
A new kind of strength and solidarity shall rise
that will heal the calamity and reveal the new face of humanity.
THIS LOVE
Clever, clever, clever-tongued son of a gun
Once upon a time did fool me
And I let that flashy carnival ride rule me
Falling hook line and sinker
Seducing this thinker
Into a web of lies so thick
none of us could see that he was sick
And sweet as molasses
Shocking and knocking us all on our asses,
We adored and believed him so
In his enlightened, conscious, artist, author, poet, Instagram man show
And I the lucky muse on his arm
With wedding bells about to chime
Who knew the gnarly dark under all that charm
All that glitters is not gold and often hides a crime
Like the slight of hand in something like magic
Be wary of fairy tales turning suddenly tragic
And now these ten years hence
I am no longer on the fence about
My sanity or dignity or drum roll, ladies & gentlemen,
my response ability
for everything
for everything that makes me cry or laugh or sigh
or back up and try again to mend
a tender wounded part inside,
and re-source my sovereignty with the Alchemy of Infinity
And open my heart so wide
that the stars sing my name
And remind me to claim what I really came for
This LOVE This LOVE This LOVE
that could never be contained in a kiss or a sonnet
no matter how many thumbs up or hearts were on it
I had already been singing, no victims, only volunteers
for many seeker-achiever years,
But that rug yanked beneath my feet
forced me to meet my own wretched shadows, hidden discretely
underneath those pretty yarns in a subconscious tapestry
of self-deception, and, ultimately, birthed a blessed resurrection
of this LOVE that constanly reminds me to not chase false substitutes
and to return, again and again, to the roots
Of this LOVE
This LOVE that holds me steady, 24-7
This LOVE that I AM,
Here, now, and eternally, not waiting for some earned heaven
This LOVE willing and ready,
filled with unimaginable Grace, without hesitation,
To be the pulse of creation
Embodied, deliciously, in me
So, today- I can rejoice in every choice I’ve ever made,
and trust a higher LOVE was, and shall be leading the way,
as we get to create a better world reality,
forgiving and forgoing any love-bombing, future-faking
that had any sway, knowing This LOVE is real and
always inviting my true soul’s delight to come out to play!
Free at Last
May I fall asleep to the dying world,
and wake up to the new Light
inside my soul
Shining its rays into the musty basement
of so many lives stored, boxes brimming
with the psyche’s old story-strategy accumulation
and limitation cobwebs
I thought were made of steel.
Formerly con’d by the precocious inner jester,
smiling and assuring me he was in charge of my happiness.
He would help me heal.
While jangling keys for rusty prisonality cages,
taunting all those players to stay safe, and in their lanes,
to keep doing their good girl tap dances or sexy siren songs.
But now there’s a longing
for real emancipation
beyond anything any of them ever bragged about
or offered as the velvet-roped, sweet-smelling plantation
And in this Light, I see
there is no cage, and I am free.
