Category Archives: Wild Woman

To Honor Kali

The Goddess Kali-ma

The Goddess Kali-ma

I hear her voice as twinkling smooth as wine

Her lips sparkling words like silver sweet

Precious in their divine

Guiding hands to keep me warm with a caresses gentle bliss

Heated breath of her lover’s mouth emblazoned with her kiss

I walk with her on star-lit roads

I hear her sigh the night

I hear a tiny cricket’s call

The wisp of an owl in flight

I smell the scent of impending rain

The trickle of a nearby stream

The blush of moon blessed breezes

Floating through my dreams

Intimate imaginings spring forth in passions song

Spooned soft against my lover’s thigh

Eternal night prolonged

Pressed tight with lust to feed at her breast

I feel the release of my birth

I respond to her smoldering touch

I’m embraced within her earth

Brushed Out

Clumps of dirt, dust, and debris rotted my brains

whenever I tried to speak to passers by

I’d hold my beggar’s cup earnestly pushing

for loose change to fall chiming into the depths

speaking foul breathed words of backwards intent

Clumps of zombie flesh fell from my body

repulsing potential friends, disgusting possible employers

until

I blinked my eyes to dream and you coalesced

pristine

extraordinary

You made strange sense of my chaos, spoke to me

with careful brush strokes through my tangled words

Ever so gently you tugged at my self-loathing,

conditioned my confidence,

curled my toes with affection,

showered me with the truth through your actions

as you loved my pieces back together.

With frightened squalling wails of labor,

forsaking all others

I was born into redemption with your hand embracing mine

the day I agreed with you that I am worthy of love

These Are My People: Jamie Lopez and JuJu

https://www.facebook.com/artistjamielopez/timeline Jamie Lopez is a prolific painter with a distinctive style and color palette. Her innovative exuberance melts happiness into every brush/pen stroke.

https://www.facebook.com/artistjamielopez/timeline
Jamie Lopez is a prolific painter with a distinctive style and color palette. Her innovative exuberance melts happiness into every brush/pen stroke. THIS ONE IS SOLD!

She lives in self-inflicted padded walls

Created with cotton balls,

Elmer’s glue, squished on fun

By her autistic son

She schools him on the finer points of life while

She’s splashing in the shallow end

Of the dating pool

Yelling,

“MARCO!” in the language of JuJu.

The responses are comical if not misplaced

By distorted males riding by on penny pony floaties

They shout “CABBAGE!” or “BOK CHOY!” or “PETUNIA!”

From the deep end where she already dipped her mug

Into the drunken pissy beer and found the taste repugnant.

She rejects the self-proclaimed wise men and gurus

Whom are no more effective than arm-chair quarterbacks.

Instead she paints herself a wisdom

Of spiraling owls and feminine curly tailed girls

That return prosperity in accordance to her schoolgirl happy.

When she looks at her beloved son, she realizes,

She is his Sherlock, he, her Watson.

Where she is prismatic and lively

He is repetitive and monochromatic

But they take out the crayons together one by one

Exploring every color of the world as a dynamic duo

Some days, when she’s a grounded bird and doesn’t want to fly

Juju nurtures her with yesterday’s worms and reminds her to seek the sky.

A meal with friends

If you're a vegetarian or vegan, that steak is metaphorical.

If you’re a vegetarian or vegan, that steak is metaphorical.

My dear friends,

I invite you to my table where you may not like everything set in front of you, but if you nibble just a bit, perhaps you’ll discover that we like the same things but not spiced quite the same way. I want us to walk away from the table with heavy sighs of satisfaction, not frustration or the silence of an empty plate. I need you to rub your belly then your hands together and eagerly anticipate the next course to come. But first I need to establish some ground rules for this conversation so that we can see each other in a new light, candlelight perhaps with the soft glowing edges and the warmth of good natured humor served like gravy.

My friends, I gather you today to first offer you my hands. I offer you my hands in service because you’ve offered yours to me or to others. I’ve seen the example you set and I wish to embrace your hand with my own. I wish to mimic that which I have learned at your knee. I wish to give to those who have less than I do. I wish to hug those who need comfort. I wish to press my hands against the faces of those I love, you and my neighbors (even when this is far too difficult to do) with gentle caresses of: “I’ve been there too.” “I can help you.” “Let’s do this together.” I will share my hands.

My dear ones, I bring you with me to give a part of my spirit to each of you. I offer you my spirit so that you know you’re not alone. I offer you that place you can put your woes and troubles without having someone try to fix you or the situation. Even though I may try, I know, as you do, that I can only offer support while you learn how to live your life. We all do this. We all try on things our spirit can’t handle and mine has worn many hats. I will shine for you when the night in your heart is so dark and you feel you’ve lost your way. I can be your lighthouse. I can because you’ve asked. I can be your champion because you require it of me. And when you’ve used what you need and what I can give to you, we will continue on our paths, better for the adventure we’ve shared spirit to spirit, step by step. I will give you parts of my spirit.

My beloved ones, I am delighted that you join me at the table of love. I offer you my friendship wearing the face of devotion that love gives me. I do, however, need to remind you that I am, like you, human. I will do my best to give to you the love my heart has for you. Even if I don’t understand, if you come to me with troubled heart, my arms will open to shower you with encouragement because love, to me, does that. It shows me that I am beautiful. It shows me that I am worthy. It shows me that I have more strength than I imagined. It shows me that even with all my lumpy bumpy bits, I am destined to become the best version of me just as you are to become the best version of you. There isn’t a linear timeline to dictate when you will be this mythical you or the fantasy me. Sometimes we are everything we’re meant to be, other times we are striving to gain our footing. I will love you through it because I need/want/have to and I may/may not have regrets about it, but that’s my battle, not yours. I will give you love.

My sisters and brothers, this sounds like a zombie idea, and maybe it is, but I will gift you my intellect. My ideas, ideals, thoughts, knowledge, and wisdom are yours to rifle through like a high-end second-hand sale. My ideas because they may help you stride forward in your world and people don’t forget that. My ideals because Utopia can only occur if we continue to strive for an unobtainable perfection that I see with my Spirit Eyes from the Otherwhere. My thoughts because sometimes they share with me a place that seems wacky, outrageous, and naked as a jay-bird but filled with mischief and delightful daring that presses forward into the mundane world with colorful prances of pretty playgrounds the world is renowned for owning. My knowledge because I read less than I should but more than others. I try hard not to just scratch the surface on things that interest me because it’s when you’ve dug down through the facts and seen both sides of the story that you can figure out the truth in your own mind. You can make your own decisions. I will try to help by maintaining as accurate of a log in my mind to share with you. If I don’t know, I will find the answer or we can seek it together. We can learn from/with one another. My wisdom I also offer because I’ve made a lot of bad decisions that gave me perspective on so many of the defined nouns and yet they are but a drop in the bucket of what this world has available. I query everything and everyone to discover the secrets it/they hold(s) and I’m rarely disappointed. I invite you to share your intellect with me. I will gift you with what treasures my vessel has accumulated so we can fill one another with knowledge.

And if, as I intended at the beginning of our “meal” together, we push back with a burp and smile at one another with a peaceful parting of ways, then that we’ve broken bread together makes my heart happy. I wish for you peace, blessings, and the pursuit of your own bliss, for when we are together in whichever capacity we are kind enough to share, then I know we will both and all be better for it. Please pass on the bread of life sugared and spiced exactly right for you and for me. Peace and light to you my dear friends. I wish you a fond good life.

Change and Progress: Learning to Birth Risks

I am gestating in the womb of change and progress.

I am developing the skills and strength to become reborn in my own image without the yoke of false hope, without the bearing of bloody lies, without the praise for being different tainted with shame. The strings and ropes that moored me to the shore are severed with my clear consent. I am no longer anchored at the pier of someone else’s demands and lack of mercy. What is no longer necessary for my survival is falling away rapidly, some of which is regret.

I Regret that I didn’t realize sooner what was occurring. I Regret that my need to hope that things would improve could not be sated by the harmful actions of others. I Regret that I saw the omens, realized the map, and ignored my compass.

But there will be obvious bouts of discord as there always are when rebirth is occurring. There is always pain, but that is the labor of passion. That is the direction of one’s eyes being opened to a new dawn. That is the sanctity of new life being brought into the world despite the age of its possessor. It is a covenant union between life and the living. It is where, just outside of the comfort zone, new and wild adventures are committed to memories with delight. It is where the spirit remembers why the pain is sometimes deeply necessary. It’s there so we remember not to walk that path any more. That pain is there as a guidepost, a milestone, a mile-marker.

My future destination is still being navigated, charted, and lined into a clearly mapped path. But I fear the end result out of resistance to chaos, upheaval, and the possibility of error. I am petrified that I will be stillborn. I am so frightened that I won’t evolve into something or someone I recognize. I look in the mirror and wonder what’s next, what am I going to do? I play the Wo-Co-Sho (would have, could have, should have) game and the What-if’s because my uncertainty in the future is wrought with cautious ambition.

I know better. I know that I am being guided by the blessings, gifts and goals painted on my dreamy canvas. I know that what is to come is not for me to know, even if I can see glimpses of it. I know that once I’ve arrived in THAT place, it will match my vision and I will weep once again with gratitude.

But, for now, I will gestate in the womb of change while I grow into my new spirit self. While I bloom, blossom, develop, and change. The risks that are involved, while in this state, are negligible.

It’s what comes after the rebirth and during that process that will engage every moment of bravery required of my soul spirit to achieve that which my heart remembers, requires, and desires above all else. My courage will come when it is needed as long as my feet are still moving towards my own evolution and reconstruction of who I am destined to be at this time in my life.

My umbilical chord hums with rejuvenation and possibility. The anticipation of new sprinkled with historical re-validation, and written onto slightly off key musical staffs, create wonder in my spirit. I wonder if this music I hear is loud enough to be heard by others. I wonder if this tune I write will inspire others to seek their symphony, to take the risks that encourage growth into the sonata after the dirge has bilged their spirits clear of the desperate attempt to belong where they don’t.

Some of the music my spirit knows are still empty notes played at random while the steady rhythm of my heartbeat drives me forward. The harmonica plays. The violin strings. The chorus of bass (because it’s all about the bass, ’bout the bass, no trouble) drives the beat forward. I am immaculate but still dusty and bloodied from my last go round. I see the path to walk, nay run, and I lay my foot down against the soft walls of wisdom. I must keep moving forward.

The risk will be worth the reward despite the outcome of the final piece I’ve committed to writing. The outcome, come what may, will be life unfolding in a grand mastery of orchestral parts with some blended so lovingly with beauty that joy is easily found.

I will be reborn. I will shake free of this shell. I’ve become like a chrysalis wrapped tight in swaddling adventure, changing my colors, changing my heart, changing my spirit for the next chapter. I will be reborn because to remain where I am, who I am, doing what I’ve always done is not an option if I hope to experience the life I was destined to meet. I MUST risk everything in order to rise up and meet the challenge of my spirit. This temporary state of rebuilding is my sole opportunity for the path I’ve chosen. But it isn’t my only option or way to get there, it’s just my choice to follow this particular path.

One foot in front of the other. One step forward. One belief that I am more than what I am right now. One wise guide that tells me to bloom, to grow, to breathe, live, act. I follow this inner voice, but I’m truly leading myself on my own spiritual journey.

Random Notes from my book

As the kids run through the grass, they kick up passels of summer gnats that flutter like dust in the sunlight.

Clarinets lined up like a firing squad splattering shrill notes on the crowd with missing rhythm and imprecise playing. SPLAT! WHACK! ting! Sploot! Trill!

To stretch my aching back, I bent oddly angled and realized by the horrified look of the salesclerk that I must have looked like I was trying to poop my pants.

I am an evil monkey today
I can behave exactly how I wish
I’m proudly wearing my top hat
they ignore my empty dish
I have crashed into the universe
it has politely punched me back
so I’ll sip my bitter coffee drink
while plotting my next attack

“Curse you vile human!” vs. “Have a blessed day!”

Blessed is a bisexual word. It can go either way. The argument is stated whether it be the Pagan or Christian way. Blessed or Bless-ed belongs to both or the other.

If you can’t see your shorts beneath your shirt, go change. That’s not attractive.

New Moon

New Moon

New Moon

Will you come spiral a dance with me

without your shoes or dress

on the naked earth

with a smile and a blush

your only adornment

under the dark of the moon

or the lavender of twilight

gleaming highlights of stars

on the curve of your knees, hips, and breasts

while the lungs of summer exhale

its final breezy breaths

until the wheel has come full circle?

Will you surrender to the rhythm of night

embracing the cicadas and crickets

as the treble notes of the living dark

while the thumping of our feet on the dirt

rustle leaves like the skirts we puddled

at the edge of the clearing

where the last of the season’s fireflies

beg for a mate to relieve their lonely hearts

while we build momentum in the cooling air

wildly sacrificing modesty for our natural state of being.

I See You

Kaleidoscope_13I see you. You are not invisible to me. When I look at you, you wear no clothes. You wear no physical form. There is a ball around your body that lights up when you’re around people you like and dims when you’re not fond of them. The ball has colors and patterns that are spectacularly blended to me. I see you.

You’re a kaleidoscope of vivid colors that ebb and flow depending on how you move the liquid essence that you float in unwittingly. Where there is pain, I see the darkness. Where there is love, I see the light. Where you reside is usually a central color that tells me everything I need to know about you. I am a voyeur of sorts but not the creepy kind. I will not jump from your closet unexpectedly one night. I will meet you on the terms you’ve established. Because I can feel your intent.

I’m sorry if you feel I’ve invaded your privacy. I don’t know how to turn it off. I don’t really don’t want to because it’s served me so well. It’s proven invaluable to me to seek others of the light. It’s proven invaluable to me when I know I can’t trust a person because they are too consumed by material things to know they’re spiritual beings. It’s guided me effectively to incredible experiences through people with knowledge so deeply profound that I sometimes weep with gratefulness while others cause me deep caution.

It’s a feeling of authentic appreciation of identity that can only bloom with the watering of confidence when I see people that fit into their spirits; That “get it”. When I see someone working actively to grow into their spirits, I can forgive almost anything they do because I witness the evolution of color as if a perfect painting were in the works and I get to watch the brushstrokes fall on the canvas. It’s glorious to see. My gift allows me the privilege without effort.

There are also people who are not exactly dark and not exactly light. They are in a flux between worlds. The material world grabs their ankles and wrists tugging them away from their destiny. Their spirit self does a watoosie trying to find footing, trying to fill in the blanks. There are some that stand in this disarray and cry out that they don’t know who they are or that they don’t know what they’re doing. Nobody knows for sure what we’re doing. We just come up with a plan and see how it pans out. If we’re lucky, we have guides to show us the way out. I am one of those guides but I don’t know everything.

It is increasingly difficult when I feel as if I am carrying/dragging them towards the light. They start off saying, “Oh yes! I really want to do something different and I really like your ideas. Let’s go on this journey together.” I comply and we have long talks deep into the night. The kind that feels like it is the most important conversation I’ll ever have. For that moment in time that glimpse into the moonlight or the daylight it truly is. The intensity can’t be matched because it is so relevant. It is crucially real. But they fall back asleep and forget that we’d every spoken the conversation. With some, that shine so brightly but fear themselves, I keep trying to wake them up because I believe they need to be; because they said they wanted to be.

I don’t say anything to people who are dark. I don’t squeal with delight when I see them. Their wounds run far too deep for me to do anything other than shine a light at the end of their tunnel and coax them from sleep if they’re ready. There have been times when words came out of my mouth that weren’t mine but were intended for a particular person. Just like that, it’s as if a small miracle, sometimes large, happens but it isn’t mine. That’s when my light can reach into that dark place and help bring them home to the light where they belong. Those are the people that shoot past me like a rocket grinning from ear to ear on the tides of self-discovery and I cherish each one that finds that place. I do not gift them because it’s already theirs as it is yours. I may just nudge the light a tad to the right so they can see they’re really okay.

But I can’t carry them. I can’t wake them up. I can’t do that. I can’t pick someone up and force them to embrace their colors. It is ALWAYS the individual choices that color their spirits. It is ALWAYS their responsibility. I learned this and other rules of engagement when watching the masterpieces I encounter.

I can’t tell people what color they will become but I can tell them what color I see. The colors don’t have traits as much as they have emotions attached to them. When I see the colors and I really like them, I have to wait. I can’t immediately bond with them because rarely, but it does happen, they are wearing someone else’s colors. Like maybe they had a bad interaction with someone so it clouds their spirit or they’ve just received great news and are wearing that instead of their normal vestments. It’s the wolf in sheep’s clothing that causes me to ease my steps.

The physical being, the way you wish people to see you comes second. When I see someone that matches their physical self with their spirit self, it’s a feeling of home. It’s a feeling of such personal integrity, I think, “YOU! You’re there!” Sometimes it surprises me so much to find an authentic person that I actually say that out loud. There are many people who come close to matching but, it’s like they choose the wrong pair of socks or the wrong shade of happy. It’s just enough off for me to recognize that they’re missing parts of themselves or aren’t aware they are. It is my experience that it’s typically the latter.

The physical being does matter. I don’t wish you to have the wrong impression. I do see it, but not until I’ve peered through the spirit. When I tell someone that they are beautiful, I see them as I’ve described to you. I wish I could paint each person so they could see their beauty too. As if, if I could create them on canvas, they might appreciate their own divinity that seems apparent to me. But instead I’ll follow the advice of my kind Uncle Les who said, “Mare, whatever you do, keep doing it. The world needs more of it.” So it is written, so it is done.

Get the BLA’s

I went to the mall the other day. In one of the junctions there is a Starbucks kiosk with umbrella-ed tables (indoors which I thought odd) on the backside four seats per table. As I passed by, I saw an older woman sitting with her husband. She was wearing white pants that had china blue floral print on them, a blue button up shirt, navy sandals, and white pearl jewelry. He was wearing a blue plaid shirt and khaki pants with sensible brown shoes.

“Your pants are fabulous!” I commented to her.

“What?” She asked while leaning forward to engage in conversation with me and my friend.

“Your pants. They look like they belong on a tea pot. I really like them.”

“Oh yes. I think I got them,” She looked at her husband searching for the answer. “at Kohl’s. I think I gave $13 dollars for them.”

“No kidding? I just really liked them. Your outfit is very well done. I admire good style when I see it.” I smiled at her. “And your outfit fits nicely with hers too.” I comment, including her husband in the mix.

“After 55 years of marriage, it’s kind of a given.” Despite our gasps of appreciation and admiration, he continued. “She has better taste than I do. What she buys, I wear.”

“Oh stop! He hates shopping. That’s the only reason I buy the clothes.” She chuckled and ribbed him with her elbow to the amusement of my friend and I.

My friend struck up a conversation about long term relationships with the woman while I stood rather awkwardly. I stepped over to be a bit closer to the husband.

“Fifty-five years? That’s pretty impressive.” I said.

“You know what I learned?” He waited. I realized he expected a response.

“What did you learn?”

“I worked my whole life. I spent weeks away from home making a living for my wife and family. I completely forgot to live my life. And now I’m old and I don’t know who she is other than I married her.”

I panicked. Had his wife heard that? (No, she had not.) Had anyone else heard that? (Apparently, just me.) I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say so I nodded my head as if I understood. It was a bubble that only he and I belonged in at that moment.

“If I had to do it all over again, I’d have vacationed more and learned more about her. Now I just follow her around because she knows how to live better than I do. I’ll probably die before her and I know she’ll just keep on living.” He said with a sense of regret and remorse in his voice.

At the table next to theirs, a younger man, college-aged maybe, paid attention just long enough for the bubble to burst and then we were being drawn back into the wife’s conversation with my friend. With a pat of hands and a parting smiling wave, we left the couple sitting in the mall and carried about our shopping.

There are conversations we have with a variety of people in a variety of situations on a myriad of topics, but every once in a while there is a message given by something…bigger than us. It’s so powerful that it can take weeks to chew about and identify the flavors. They are never without the spice of truth seasoning the breath of omen.

Breathe. I hear it. Breathe. Live. Breathe. Act. Breathe.

I work in a factory right now. It’s a means to an end. I like the people I work with, the work is not difficult, the hours are long, but I know this isn’t my way of life. This is how I can support my family while working towards living my life. But I see the people I work with accepting this as if it were their only fate. Others are exactly where they belong and want to be without questioning whether there is more to life or not. It baffles me why they never ask the questions I do. Is there more? Is there a meaning to what we’re doing?

Live your life right now. Could you heed his warning? Right now, could you just begin living or would you have to figure out how to do that like he seemed baffled about learning how to do? Could you take a deep breath and jump into the pool of understanding that your destiny may not be where you currently find yourself? I have and I could, but I wonder just how many others couldn’t do that because they have no idea how deep the water actually is in the Life End of the gene pool.

Breathe. I hear it. The steady inhale/exhale that is necessary that so many take for granted until they can’t any more. There are more ways than one to quit breathing life.

I’ve seen people who have negative thing after negative thing happen to them in constant battering waves of despair against their psyche. They do not seem to realize that it is life attempting to guide them towards another direction. They just keep plodding along, heading the wrong way and wondering why everything seems so dark. If you find yourself walking on this path or feel like you are, what is it you’re missing? Are you following your destiny or plodding along? Are you working for a living or are you living? Breathe. Listen. Act.

Who you are and what you’re supposed to be doing has been whispered into your soul all your life. Heed the wisdom of your own knowledge. Embrace the path that’s destined to be yours. Believe that with the changes you’re making, things will get better. If you feel yourself wanting to make a right turn because that’s how you’d normally go, turn left. If you find yourself wondering if you should still be in this relationship, you probably shouldn’t be. Whatever questions you’re posing, if you’re unhappy, truly unhappy, with whatever is going on in your life, change. Take YOUR life by the reigns and guide it instead of reacting to circumstances that you probably created for yourself. Act.

You don’t need the drama to remember that life is now. You need to be able to actually live it. Get rid of the negative that surrounds your thoughts, your relationships. And you say, “I can’t do that because…” then you’ve already lost. Don’t be afraid. You already know what you’re supposed to do. One step to the right and you’re moving a different direction.

I’ve heard it said that life begins just outside of your comfort zone and have tried it enough times to realize that it is indeed. Live. Step a bit to the right of where your path would normally go and discover something new that you’d not noticed. Take a different route home from work. Try a new restaurant that you’ve been meaning to. Today is some day. Some day is today. Right now is your chance to live.

I’ve seen people with brilliant minds come into a place where they seem to accept that this is life. It’s not that they don’t know there is more out there, they just give up fighting for it. They resign themselves to the mundane.

There is something to be said about stability. I know, for example, that I can depend on myself for at least a chuckle during the day no matter how badly the day goes. I know that when I see my husband, I feel better and have come to depend on his just being around me. But when those things become taken for granted. When these events are just how things are without change or fluctuation other than minor differences, I feel like I’m missing out on something big, don’t you?

One step to the right and the perspective changes. Bringing flowers home instead of the empty lunch bucket makes a difference. Sending a random message to a loved one to remind them that you’re thinking of them makes a difference. Writing an article to remind others to act is making a difference. Whatever you do, do something. Don’t just talk about it, do.

Breathe. Live. Act. It’s just one step to the right to change the direction.