I live in a prison.
A prison of my body, each wall crumbling beneath the weight.
Somedays I feel so trapped in this prison, others I am so glad I have somewhere to call home.
Sanctuary.
Today I feel the structure of my prison sigh with exhaustion, sadness, loneliness.
I have not been tending to my sanctuary lately and it starts to fall apart in decay.
It is amazing how just one day of neglect makes the walls shutter.
So each day I must tend my prison/sanctuary. With kind words, loving caresses, truth, and devotion.
And Faith.


Unfinished 11/27.11

In the moments...

It is in the moments in the in between that I find myself. Fogging up the bathroom mirror with my breath, counting to ten to see if I can stand it. It is the moments when I am tired and close to tears that me peaks through...pulling at the edges, as if I wasn't unraveling fast enough as it is.  Bit by bit I am tearing apart. And each old piece is replaced with something new, similar but different, replication but developing at the same time. And all those pieces that fall away like burned flecks of paper are the bits of me that I am scared to lose. The bits that I have become so comfortable with. The bits I have grown to love and identify with. But now the new bits come in. Ripping off my old bits and tossing them carelessly into the bright flame. Each day it is a choice I make. I rip off these bits and replace them with new bits. Sometimes the choice is not even conscious... this is what I am supposed to do right? This is what my world is supposed to look like. This every striving, never happy, pushing and pulling, drive towards things I do not have. Things I should have. Things I should want...things I do want. And I wonder is it me that really wants these things, or is it the old comfortable, lovable, easily identifiable bits that long for these things? And I wonder...does it really matter?  

The Harvest Moon

This one is dedicated to my goddess friend Shinay who is a constant reminder of what it means to live in grace.

The harvest moon peaks over the horizon. Smiling at all the little people. This is a special time for the moon. When she gets to try on all her lovely oranges, yellows, and reds. She can swell with fullness, delight, and contentment as she over looks her beautiful world changing colors to match her. The leaves  giving up their redness in devotion and then falling to the ground in surrender, grateful of the gift to have been on this earth. The trees, naked of their children, reach to the heaves with spindly arms embracing the dark warmth the sky offers them. The ground sighs in relief as the expired leaves cover it's surfacing offering the warmth it was desperately praying for. And as the moon slowly saunters across the sky observing all that has been laid out before her, she chuckles knowing that today was just another day, and that tomorrow will be another.