Fever Dreams

Fever Dreams.
Deep fear.
The kind that makes you flee,
instead of freezing.
Being frozen is only
a side effect.
Learning to recognize
Love,
what and who and where
Truth,
our own
Will,
when to know we're being called
Trust,
when to surrender
Partnership,
when to be led, when to lead

Fear is the teacher,
I am learning how to be afraid
Truly,
in trust
Madly,
in a way the outer world can't accept
Deeply,
in a way I have yet to see

The only path to love,
true love,
is allowing,
and surrender.
This I learn everyday.

Fear.
Not the opposite of love,
only crushed rose petals
along the path
to the inevitable.

--A Walker,
Fever dreams, Brighid's shift

The Package

The older woman watched from behind the counter as she walked in the door appearing a little lost, downtrodden, carrying a wrapped package, empty box and looking for packing tape. 

"You can wrap that first at the counter and pay here at the desk later", she offered helpfully.

The younger woman nodded to her and went about carefully taping the box together. She carefully used the bubble wrap then placed the package gently, as if it were a tiny child swaddled in cotton fabric, streaked with tears and dirt. She taped up the box and fumbled in her pocket for the address, and wrote it lightly and carefully on the outer mailing label. Satisfied, she waited silently in line for the older woman to be free. When called, she solemnly placed the box on the desk.

"Did you want insurance against damage with that?"

The middle-aged woman's face wavered in front of hers for a moment, and suddenly as much younger woman appeared; one whose face was carefree and unlined with worry, age or pain. 

The younger woman stifled a laugh as her eyes welled with tears and she replied, "It's already broken." 

The older woman only nodded, and then said, "That'll be $23.32, please." 

The younger woman thanked her, and turned to leave. She glanced back once, looking as if she'd forgotten something. The older woman noticed her smile then for the first time, and she watched her leave a few pounds and years lighter than when she walked in. 

The philosophy and service of a kiss

Two lips part to receive the tongue of the other-- simple, natural, seeking, probing-- action born of desire; not to possess, but of deepest connection. The moment when awareness merges with the tip of the tongue of the beloved entering the temple is the fullness and connection of love.

The philosophy and service of a kiss~ the merging and harmony of the two that are one. The truth shines through when heart, lips and tongue unite.

Ancestral Knowing

If we allow ourselves to be aware of the truth within our cellular structure, it will teach us things that we cannot learn in any other way. The spirit aspect of us is no more or less powerfully present than the density of what we determine to be physically 'solid', and is interwoven on all levels of our being. This may include things about our animal nature we don't wish to acknowledge, and speaks not only of ourselves, but all that surrounds us. Knowing, in this way provides divine support from within, and requires no need for outer protection or a masking of self. Our body and blood hold the keys to unlock ourselves and heal our ancestry back to the first; back to source. Freedom begins within.

A story of water and fire...

My mind reaches backward,
stretches forward
in a futile quest to stop the pain
twisting my gut
with worry and fear.
Heat sears my body,
as I toss and turn,
Inflamed.
Incensed.

Visceral,
fear memory of not being wanted--
sourceless,
deep vulnerability present within
crying out for wordless expression--
to be taken where it will,
though the mind struggles to pull me out,
like a drowning child.

This feeling is ancient,
and wants to attach itself here,
in this space.
Desperate for reassurance
of my own desirability,
that my existence matters
at all.
Feelings wash over me
like water;
I'm not even sure they belong to me,
yet they need expression,
and proof of Love.
What is that, in the face of eternity?

Is my own life not proof enough?

Tears carry me,
and my throat is hoarse, and raw.
Release is within,
but not accessible today.
The core of me knows
a truth I can't yet reach.
Calling into the dark,
Begging,
for someone to hold my heart--
to tuck me away
in a space of love
until I can find
where I lost the thread...

How we love...

The Beloved wears your face
in a waking moment
opening my mouth gently,
breathing in desire;

A longing in the belly,
and a spiraling movement of heart,
awakening a depth within
the center
unknown even to itself.

'Oh god' floats on the released throaty breath,
Adoring eyes watch, and feel and know.

This is how we love into and through
the Other.
This fragile, imperfect honoring
reaches depths and unlocks doorways
into Bliss.

It beckons like a crooked finger--
Urging, insistent,
Come with me.

Surrender

photo-- Dana Levy-Wendt

When you are crying, cry.
When you are flailing, flail.
When you are lost, sit and be still.
When you are in a tempest, let go.
Don't let anyone tell you how; you already know.

You can only be where you are.
So be there,
In the best way you know how.
That is enough, for now.

There will be a candle lit,
for when you find your way home.