praying the wolves away

while on a pilgrimage, i had to pray the wolves away.

clear my mind
show no fear
hold on to the baby
(she didn't cry. not once.)
kneel, heartbeat steady
imploring babaluaiye
to keep his messengers from harming us

they were not hungry
or murderous
but searching for falsehoods and arrogance
somehow i seemed to know
and kept calling on sakpata

they passed us by...

reality

i have a serious thing about fulfillment. i am not a pleasant person when i am unhappy or dissatisfied.

i don't expect to be free of desire, nor do i see the absence of desire as a natural state--unless your desire is warped into addiction.

if and when i begin to feel dissatisfied or distressed, i'm learning to shift reality, to make things look, sound and feel the way i want and expect them to.

i think people get caught up in understanding that process in a negative sense, i.e., you have to hurt or harm others to achieve that goal.

you don't.
you do not have to universally impose your will to achieve your bliss.

the universe has created a space for you--you do the work to find or open that space.

the need to bend others to your will is a sign of weakness and laziness. conquering isn't the same as mastering.

i don't need to make over anything not worth my ashe.

i voice the desire, i move towards the space.

the worlds of work and drudgery will never act as mother.

the earth and the universe will.

jesus, mary and...

something from last september. just found it again...there are entirely too many notebooks lying around my house...

i, mary magdalene
seven sinned slut
of red hair and impossible curves
showered with my jesus' gifts
candles
fragrant timber
honey jars full of
anointing oil
and a map
to lead me
back home

you don't have to crucify yourself
and i don't have to hide my divinity
behind ill conceived notions of purity

we can build a villa
on the shores of the dead sea
bless the bathers from our porch
lay the foundation of new myths
when visitors attempt to classify
the sounds of our lovemaking

i can shake my shekere
while you learn the drums
wind my hips to your other rhythms
in ...inbetween-thighs time

...all the things
i miss most
when we're between incarnations

come and kneel

let
us
pray...

goodnight, moon...

it must be past my bedtime...

i need to rest, but i'd also like to travel.

drift into another level of being, something simultaneously separate from and intermingled with my self.

wander through rich, jewel toned dreams full of sweetness, kissed by the breezes outside my window.

maybe i'll get to fly.

those kinds of dreams need a soundtrack--stairstep voices facilitating travel between visions. sound and symbolism.

or maybe an old fashioned feather bed...high off the ground, set in mahogany, draped in snowy gossamer sheets of cotton and silk embroidered pillowcases. situated in an eastern bedroom filled with morning sun that eases through delicate french doors.

what would it mean to be wrapped in strong, brown arms on that morning, in that room, in that bed, after those dreams?