Black rainbows on the road

Unseen except these lenses 

Secret prism decoders 

Sunlight bounces through trees

Thirsty eyes on a rock and roll road trip

For pain and gorgeousness

It’s all happening at the speed of light under a bright sky

Regardless of gravity 

And yet bound by it utterly

As the dotted white lines disappear in time to the beat of every song on the radio.

The asphalt ribbon races up my heart – highway patrol notwithstanding. 

It’ll be my turn at the wheel soon – so here’s my lovesong to the road. 

Advertisements

Before dawn, Monday Sep 11 

Still dark, early. 

Sleepless. 

Waiting for daylight. First light is less than an hour way, but it’s raining again.

Irma came and went on her drunken destructive way to points north. 

We have electricity, and I am safe and dry and grateful. 

Electricity, but no internet. So at the moment I am just writing to myself, but I am thinking about all of those in Irma’s path and hoping you are also safe and dry.  

Sleepless. 

Waiting for the internet, as much as I wait for daylight. 

Breathing.

Waiting. 

—posted after 4PM EST Monday September 11th, safe, happy to know most folks are okay. 

Observing the Edges of #Irma

Although all of your elements 

Are the same as any Florida storm,

You remain apart, as an angry archangel to a mourning dove.

You twist the daylight to eerie

And smear the sky to spooky rain

Drunk upon your own power, 

You rip what you touch.

Do I bow and curtsy before your authority? 

I suppose you’ll give us no such choice in the matter. 

Come on then, Irma.  Ready as we’re gonna be. 

—- Posting from southwest Florida after days of preparations and prayers, Sunday afternoon, September 10. This is the first moment I’ve had to pause and record.  Pulled from my New Orleans Voodoo Tarot deck on Friday September 8, this 3 card draw demands attention. Here’s to being able to post again before long. 

Thoughts on the Matrix

“As long as we are in the matrix of space and time, we are never actually still.” – Yoga Anatomy – 2nd edition, by Leslie Kaminoff, Amy Matthews

The etymological dictionary tells us that Matrix = mother, womb, uterus, source, origin – from the Latin.

Matrices in biology and mathematics may be the media from which we arise, the mold in which we are formed, 

But Trinity tells Neo the Truth:  “The Matrix cannot tell you who you are.”


As if by stepping into the surf at sunset

I could walk that gold path of light 

And steer for the sun feathered with clouds piled high like a city across the gulf

I sink feet into the waving sands that pull and swell against my legs and lulled by the roaring whisper

Remember something my grandfather – on my mother’s side – told me once –

At a sunset beach, his straw hat tilted toward the molten-skyed ocean

His white shirt bright against the seaside pines, his eyes insistent, his ears keen to the waves rippling against the sand – 

You hear that? That is the heartbeat of the earth. 



Between the silence and the words

I keep finding walls and cliffs and windows, waves and sky and sun and moon, 

Trees and streets and faces, food and flowers and stories. 

Were it forbidden, I would have to dance away the rage and grief and 

Hope my feet would rewrite language itself to sound the song of life but 

Behind it all, stares the abyss.

In not looking away, do I lose my mind?

What power surges just beyond understanding?

A current that yearns for a channel, longs for a rhythm, 

A green fuse driven to bloom among the stars, I too, long to unfold upward into the sky like petals to the sun,

To shine outward into the abyss,

To see it through with you, in utter acceptance. 

   With gratitude to Dylan Thomas

Come closer

Let not fear rule your heart, nor your spirit, nor your hand, my valorous one,

Even as you face my writhing wrath, hissing and yawning fangs to the air, I sport above you, delighted by thee clad in futile armor, by thy shining sword, aiming for my scales not once pierced,

And the sheen of sweet sweat across your blessed face, how I love it.

And your blade arm firm, fierce, unwavering and yet bound by the rhythm of your terrified heart as my wings spread their incandescent iridescence against your doomed courage.

There you stand, legs wide, broad chest heaving, leagues from the heart of your hearth, in my den. In MY den. Across treacherous maps you have come to dispatch my glory, and your eyes, I see, are wide and full of a love you had not expected.

Captivated by the swirling current of my presence, unable to find purchase on any single aspect, but seared upon your heart is my horrific beauty, slithering fire upon the wing.

And although you know you could, you would, worship me as your fiery goddess for all time with the eternity I would give you, you find some corner of cruelty that abhors my whirling flame, ridden by no man, and you charge forward, roaring your gorgeous killing rage, which I savor in my grief, that none so brave as you shall come again.