hamartia
“Your body is not just a clay tent that you live in, it’s a piece of the universe you have been given. ”
A Season of Expansion
Have you done the things you want to do? What is the quest of this phase? How much has your heart grown from the devastation?
Snails fell from the bouquet of mint, and I washed the dirt from each stem as I would a baby's feet. My heart knows no limit, and I suffer for my hope.
Wishful Thinking. I hand out smiles like the sun spreads its beams; unconditionally and without temperance. There are no clouds in my atmosphere. I wrinkle rainbows and whisper wind. I tempt the worms to surface from the dense earth and breathe their last before the bird comes.
Contraction feeds the expansion, where one spreads its wings to soar, and the other coils tightly into a ball. Material combustion: stars burst, my womb bleeds, and it's always the New Moon when I feel fatal. Tiny and bold. The smallest droplets point at the many ways we free ourselves.
The system is flawed, and I must find the weak points to slip out; moving sideways was always the better option.
Four syllables: how many ways can you say, I Miss You without sounding needy? Planets take the same path in their rotation around the sun though the transition is always different owing to the degree of rotation. There is always a pause at the end to leave space for the return.
There is only one question worth asking: do you feel for the prod of destiny or listen to your own sense of free will? I've always extended beyond my limits, reaching for the thing I cannot fully see, though I feel its presence. The curtain lifts and falls like the moon drawing the tide back and forth over the earth.
Spanda. Qualia. Echo of Vitality. The remnants on the shore are brushed by elements and fit into the palm or a wee pocket. Is it worth picking it up, or can you leave things where they are? My whole being vibrates with the sound of the Divine, and it's taken me thirty-five years to realize that the only quest is to let go and give what you have away.
It is a wonder to wander so far outside yourself that you question your framework of being. The construct, the social condition, the cultural imprint that dictated who you must become!
Shantala, Goddess Parvati, Mother Earth, and invoker of Shakti. It is Shantala who holds me. Gaze with Grace; How do you remember who you are when nothing stays the same? The core of my being is a person who loves learning, seeking, and stretching muscles and mind. The eternal is one sound that creaks and groans and trembles in the hard bed when the lights go out. Absence of the sun and moon; without a Father or Mother; where am I? Who Am I? Where do I belong?
Yesterday I took the long road home through Agdal and visited a park with the tallest trees coated in orange and purple blossoms. The pavement was scattered with wet petals. It rained all day, and the streets were full of puddles. My sandals got wet and stained the soles of my feet yellow. I was listening to Omid Safi, and just as he spoke the word, soaring, I saw a large blue heron spread its wings and leap from the nest in one of the trees!
Herons are solitary animals. They are patient, observant, and strike only when necessary. They travel alone and take one mate to tend to their brood. This brave bird showed up several times in the dissolution of my relationship with Greg. I take it as a sign to move into solitude and refine my relationships. My heart is still the size of a fist, though it has energetically expanded to fill whatever room I stand in.
Pay Attention! Karuna.
Read more books.
I send blessings to everyone I love, from the past and present. The mosque of my soul is wide enough to receive all those who enter without anyone departing to make space. Each devastation rips me wide open, pressure bursting like concrete pathways under demolition. The rupture reveals the sand beneath the stone, a softness.
I let the rocks fly and used my hands to clear the debris. It is painful, bringing light to the areas once in the shade. I blink-blink-blink, and the tears burn. My body burns. I stand in the heat until the discomfort subsides. I am trained to endure. Be in the beat of each breath. Stress and residual longing. Withdrawal: how to hold a heart in acceptance of what is without clinging to the past or demanding the future you desire?
My gold glasses with rose lenses paint my world in a dusky shadow. When the beams are too bright, instead of turning away, I close my eyes and practice receiving the intensity. How to stay open with the blinds drawn tight? How to be still without withdrawing? How to listen to what is without manipulating the narrative?
Feed Your Head.
Listen, I am alone in a way I don't enjoy. I am without external distractions and influencers, and the worms wriggling to the surface are screaming. This is how I was born. I believe that I asked, and The Creator heard me and said, here you go! I chose this.
It all starts with a question. I know my gift is writing; the query belongs to the story I wish to tell.
The last thing I said to Abderrahmane on the beach when we said goodbye was that I wanted a sacred partnership. That I do not do transactional relationships. I am not looking for friends; I am looking for spiritual seekers! Soulmates. Playmates. Dust from the stars that burst from being too bright!!!
He did not say anything- what is there to say?
Feed Your Head.
I never need a response. I do not want reconsideration. I only ask for what there is right here and now. Someone once told me that I am a very 'present person,' that I exist at the moment, and what came beforehand seems like it doesn't exist. They meant it as an insult; it was said in a way to make me sound silly and stupid, and frivolous.
Is it wrong to erase the past if we have gathered what is necessary from historical lessons and achievements? Why keep carrying it all around? It's too heavy; my heart cannot fling or float when weighted by such dated narratives.
Memories are fiction; fiction is a memory. Each is an echo of what was and what will become if we are willing to imagine what can be.
When I wake up, the first task I perform is to draw a large white ring of light around my body. I start at my heart, where I place my hands and move outwards until I am coated by a thin shell similar to a cacoon. I walk in this light all day long. I take it off before sleep so my dreams can engage the wider webbing of the universe.
I dreamt of Macey last night. She is well. I felt it. She has a wide community around her, lots of friends in the typical Taurean fashion.
This time last year, the ripping occurred between Josie and myself. I don't need to check in on Josie; she is magnificent. Gold and creamsicle orange. When I picture Josie, I see her sitting on the wooden porch painting her nails lime green. She had beautiful hands and feet.
Everyone goes back to the Source that they seek. Waheguru.
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