“”all the fruits of the apple tree are rising suns,” […] “celebrate” the apple. ” -156

 

Claim your woman

Claim

flame, mane, fame, name, pain, frame, train, brain, drain, vein, rain, sane, crane,

Claim your sane insanity

and watch your wings grow

Flying flying in the whole, in the name of your reveries

Claim your wings, spread them along the winds of your reclaimed body

My woman body

My woman

builds log cabins that stretch along the seas of hills, like the depths of her insides,

Stretching like the depths of her roots, stretching like the body of her yoni.

My woman

listens to the trees surrounding her cabin,

Listening, surrendering to their wisdom

My woman

Expands and extends her will to the cottonwood stands,

As they give breath to the dissinigration of her knowing.

 

Craving the whole

Labyrinth of

Arousing her

Inner beaming

Moon body

 

Do not censor the body, do not sensor the speech

And do not sensor the breath

For when you censor, you take away your authenticity, your you, your whole.

Claim your whole,

claim your woman.

Claim

“These memories of odors from the past are recovered by closing our eyes.” (136)

I had sensitive eyes.

I closed them when she cooked.

There were always lots of deep smells coming from our tiny kitchens,

smells like cheese, grilllled

smells of peas, soup I never enjoyed

smells of tomatoes, roasted by the sun, roasted by her pans

smells that got in my eyes and would push me out the door, begging for crisp air

air that soothed my eyes, relief from the oil that thickly smoked, filling our rooms, our clothes.

The payoff was always sweet, sopapillas drizzled in warm honey, mmm

bringing home the taste of trips to new mexico for time with grandpa.

Once they caused a fire,

the kitchen lit up like the orange summer sky

my heart jumped out of my throat,

my eyes lit up with fear

grabbed the baby and raced my young feet out the back door.

we laughed afterward for hours, on the warm concrete, swimming in the story.

Our sweet home sopapilla fire, catching the eye of our hearts.

 

I am re-introduced to the memories of my ethnicity when i close my eyes to the thought of the smokey oil wafting into my bedroom, belly warmed by the thought of mom in the kitchen, preparing our favorite foods.

This universe of warmth is forgotton, fogged by time, by distance. Becoming weaker and weaker is my voice, is my connection to this warmth.  But forever am I awoken by the smells of southwestern food when I close my eyes.  Finding a world of intensity melding into warmth, melding into happy bellies, melding into fire, melding into laughter with loved ones.

Home

(Here I am trying to convey the difference between being awake with my passion ie. reverie, vs being asleep with my passion ie. dream. They – the animus and anima – mingle and mesh and become woven in my mind and body.)

“In the background, down in the depths, way down in the depths, the novelist was well aware that human nature was weaving possibilities of union – ” (87)

 

DEPTHS.

I am dipping my heart into the hardness that the rocks of my dreams pull up, they are snapping the quiet surface with the cracking sounds of bones.

Wake up.

There are rocking orgasms present

and this drives my delicate thoughts of the sacred

Venus body.

Here, I am safe. I can Be from a place of knowing. stroking the softness of her skin, asking her questions and recalling memories of days birthed.

Here, I am awake. I can experience the velvet breaths and breasts of holy nourishment.

I am Sustained widely.

Sleep.

Deep deep deep, I fall into a spinning wave of lava

I must engage the fiery depths of your lips sweet one, I must enfold the embrace.

tails, tales, and dreams of the future: the courageous hope that drives and directs my waking

Venus body.

Rocks emerge forth, with sharp edges and prominent lines, that fold gracefully into the crevices, yet leave marks of eternity.

I am Sustained with depth.

 

I am driven, lulled, by the depth, by the power in edges, and in curves. I am dripping in a whole world of dreams and of reveries for the yoni. The Venus body continues to sail within the waves of eternity, silently ringing deep in my womb. She wholly rings in me and screams yes!

 

Here is what is evoked when I play with opposing, what I believe to be, masculine vs feminine words. Leading myself into “the labyrinth of the intimate Nature of things.” (32)

 

The lips of my memories kiss the very essence of my dripping voice;

the tenderness of my speech has dripped among the burning field in which I’ve roamed,

when I have burntly spoken these words, am I lost, or awakening?

Awoken by my bliss of contact with the penetrated body, silently wondering, what will you stoke within me?

The tuning bridge of the wondered has twisted my pantomime in two                                               a lulling amorous feistiness, asking for an inner possessing, a release

of inconsistent forethought.  

Possessed by my own content I ask, witch way do you hold your eyes when you fully arise to the reveries of wholesome bodily exposure?

Enlighten your willing and I shall hand you my willed.