Maybe guttural and maybe just utterances that we don t consciously make. I am talking about perhaps whacked out breathing that makes noises, words or phrases, sighs, baby type sounds, screams, anything that you may have noticed coming out that you didn t intend upon. 54 more words
Tags » Utterances
I have come to abandon Self to Her place in sweet nakedness on the altar … where others have been to mock her mattress of petals woven of forgotten flowers and the feathers of sky songs … She will not bleed when they cut her breast, … for she has become a vision at last. 8 more words
The sun set this evening in a blaze of pinkish coral and sherbet orange outlining the cottontail tufts of the sky high thunder clouds … the ghost trails were more distinct than I have seen them in many moons … hot white traces of memories the Summer has yet imagined while spinning in the dew cuddled rain … eyes closed … all smiles … not caring if we fell in the mud or forgot our way home for a time … the sky was that which childhood has daydreams about when it cannot react to hearing Mother calling it’s name … it is too lost in the beauty in the pureness the butterfly must know all too well … and those of us who have been lucky enough to love from the bottom of a hungry belly cling to when we sleep alone one more night … at times I trace the cloud edges with my fingertips … other times with my mind’s eyes … on days like this, however, the gods do this for all of us … we are all favored in the Light and in the Love which originates from the collective … Sweet and Bright Blessings Brothers and Sisters of Spirit … I must sleep. 9 more words
The edge of the bamboo grove is still the eye of the storm spinning roulette in my crown caravan wheels … I sit on Tara’s throne in the cup of a lotus blossom and wait … it has been two thousand years since my oath was taken … it has been only six days since the last battle was waged … my wounds are healing … the rainbow comes each morning to nurture me in the colors given by the master of creation … at times there are seven shades … at others seventy hues of the heavens … yet, more warriors than not can only perceive The Absence or The Light … I soak in the Rain of the Father who brought these children … his Bride nurses my wounds with her herbs and spittle … All is silent in this glimpse beyond witnessing … my construct of sheltered shamelessness … where the voices of the atmosphere are all one hears … until it is time again to listen for the whimpering of battle … to engage … until slightness perceives a wrestling along the lines of demarcation … between peace and those who cannot surrender their slit soaked war … I am honorably armed and thus, I rise to bear the sword of my soul once again … blood thirst emotion not yet mastered … my humans unable to lie down the spear and saber even when the helpless slaughtered can be seen … I seek them beyound the gates of illusion … their Nirvana hidden in the storm clouds the bamboo grove swirls beneath … I face the Void wuxia as was the Buddha.