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Winter Movement Monastery - Charlotte Pettus |
Thursday, December 30, 2004
The continuity of being in this place, writing in the same manner in a different pace. Who knows what it all means, certainly not me because I still feel clueless as a rock garden. Spindles of me stretching out beyond my sight or awareness, how much can I take before I just pop, careening in abysses of fudge colored dung. I dunno, I want it all to make sense, but what do I have to give up to be me? Who do I have to give up and can I take it all. Spasms of memory shake my internal organs like cheesecake decomposing in a pile of leaves. If there is truth out there I sure do wish someone would let me know a life of peace and prosperity can’t be that hard, but there are all the sacrifices to be made and again what are those? Lap dogs covet my position high above them spouting my tirades I hope one day they’ll listen. Wish I could be me once and for all. I don’t mind being all these people I am, but I sure wish we could have less issues. I want to talk and be really heard, I mean I always feel I have important things to say when I say them, can’t the rest of the world think so?
Love isn’t a word, it’s a gut instinct telling you to run like hell. Run away from anything that might require work and dedication. Flee from the hard work and pain, shifting ceaselessly while I roll around in this giant cement mixer, how can they possibly think me cruel or insensitive? How can they keep calling me these names when they don’t even know that I don’t know who I am? How can I be expected to conform to a mold I can’t see and don’t understand? Let me make my own mold so I can break it later and pray for some peace of mind. Juxtaposition – who knew? Crazy women in my family strive to bring home the bacon all the while careening into insanity – I think we are not workers, dreamers maybe, but not for the kind of work they want from us and certainly not in this lifetime. Pansies are so colorful and grow with big flat faces in the face of adversity, snow and inclement weather.
Later – after chanting Hafulth, focusing the chant on a prolonged/ongoing malady
The breath is comforting, loving, nurturing. I don’t know where it comes from my body’s wisdom to do these things, to talk to me and tell me when or who to leave or what to do or not. I do not know, I can only believe my body knows best. As I focus on my abdomen and uterus, the familiar but only occasional pain near my left ovary flares and then subsides. Too many people, places events and things running through my head, how can I be sure who is really talking to me? My pelvic area and the contents of its bowl are sad, I cry for them and wonder will I ever be healed and can I do it myself? I hope for resolution, I pray for peace of mind body and spirit, I pray for the balance and the wisdom to guide me there. Purple heart shaped flowers are my only love, but where to find such and anomaly and who will be guarding it’s pink pansy delicacy? I want to be well, to heal and find faith in my body again, to love and cherish all the good, bad, and ugly of it, I want to be whole. Some part of me leads the silent rebellion of no. No, not to me, but no to be healed fore the sake of being with another. How do I convince myself it’s okay? How do I say we will change the things we have done, well, we cannot say, we must only do and in the doing will come the knowing.
Later – After evening free dance
My dance, your dance, our dance, dance for thought dance for food dance like a living being sold for soul who knew it could be so beautiful? I thought I was life, but it’s only a journey I’m on, going through the void without a parachute. Who knew I would love and be loved like a star in the night? Scary light a magnet that gets so close. Who knew this could be me? Who knew I could love and grow to be loved, who knew I had it in me to be a great wealth soaring through infinity like a crazy diamond in the sky, purple blue flowers tilt their little heads and pass me by because they don’t need what I have to say. Stupid chirping flower has no brain, but neither do I when it comes to love, played out like a broken fiddle that’s forgotten how to sing. Who is this little girl who hears so much and knows so little, bless her heart poor baby didn’t know how to cry. Maybe she forgot, but maybe I didn’t know. What’s a life worth that you don’t know? Expendable – expandable, all praising, loving like a flower that cuts back. Who could have know this is my life, my prize, my contest – mostly because no one else was playing, just me jumbled into some love that got thrown out with the trash. I wish I knew what my legs were just trying to tell me; maybe to shut up and be quiet. Maybe I just couldn’t live with knowing? Maybe I’m painfully aware of what should be said already but don’t know how to say I forgot, or I don’t know, maybe with a dream of frogs I could learn the lesson I forgot I didn’t know? Who knows but me really and who else would really care? I need a vision and a dream, and a daddy to call my own; one with little blisters that pop when you call their names. I need a go-go vroom-vroom, get in my hot wheels Tonka toy and fly like a bat raring lunatic to the other side of this crazy whacked out love of mine. Is it just me or does life really unfold like a blanket that didn’t get washed?
Friday, December 31, 2004
After morning dancing
Righteous in my liberation the openness of my vagina like a breath of fresh air, like I’d never had one piece or love like a pebble floating away on bile infested dreams and couldn’t be mingled with the rest of the love that flows forth untainted from the shores of Gitchigumi. Like a little toad who cries out why can’t you just learn this one thing and hold it all together with some chewing gum or something? Like a snake speaking from its cold little heart, pouting that we can’t see what’s really inside. Well hold on tight little darling, cause it’s all coming to a head when you finish this song. Even if your little birds are there to help try and stop me with some venomous smoke rings and poisoned toadstools of love, joy is only there for those who take it. The rest can eat you up and spit out the seeds. Passion doesn’t wait in the desert, it IS the desert and you the deserted, so freaking jump up and take hold of your joy cause it’s all you got baby doll, smoking your two-bit pipe of dreams that doesn’t even manifest like little roses painting daisies cause they’re cute. Well fuck your cute, this bitch is bad and now you’re in her way. Wind storms and pine needles got nothing on this chick. You want power? You got power! You want love? You got love, some undying endless rage of little banana pops loading like a freight train to your thighs. Lemme tell you baby this is it. This is the time and don’t think it’s going to go away just cause you don’t want it now just cause you can’t see how it ends! Well lemme tell you, you are the one and now one else is going to step up and take pace and jump. Jump cause it’s gonna get you fame, jump cause it’s gonna get you fortune, but most importantly, jump, because if you don’t do it no one else will and THAT’S your power. Blind like a flying trapeze artist with no arms, this is your life, lap it up, like the bowl and call it a day.
Saturday, January 1, 2005
Peace flits in and out of dream passages left open by rays of sunlight to my mind. Better unfolding like a blue dream that holds me tightly behind the golden door of love. Joy brings ecstasy in pieces and jams the pure with the clean and holds the unbridled truth of kisses and running rain with dreams of heat unfolding before the eyes of the chastened, hoping and praying in longer and longer bands of joy. Who can tell which joy will be mine and which is to share with others, but hopefully there are lovers who can see beyond the mist and join with parents of unfolding joy, unfolding joy and love.
Sunday, January 2, 2005
There is no god but God and he is my friend eternal. Life changes in a heartbeat on a dime and in the blink of an eye, but how can I tell you I love you without giving my heart away. You always know how to take my breath away, but you sometimes take my soul with it. Lively and lustfully hoping and praying. Self and soul are sometimes whole without knowing how to separate briefly in your desperation can you please get me out of my head. Please let me believe in a little bit of hope and trust that you will just need less than your pain will say how can I accept your love if I can’t even accept mine. Truth is a being in disguise trying to help me find a joking prayer. Please join me in congratulating my whole heart and cover the rest with leaves, gently moldy and wet with decomposition. Help me know the when’s and where’s, let me find the peace which passeth all understanding because enlightenment is the process for the joy that I need. Who knew my dad would be the teacher of light and I the light ray dancing for no other purpose than to join the star in bright communion, luscious with love.
Before evening session
Calm falls across my soul loving like a giant bat, leathery wings playing with my soul. Who could have guessed I was the only one I need. No more than this, I was no more than this spinning moment of joy and ecstasy, blissful in my heaven of hope, blown away by the love that surrounds the air in my lungs, the peace that washes over my heart and the pain that flows and ebbs on my doorstep of a soul. Rejoicing in the roots deep inside to you I climb I want to be there in that space with you in love and joy and peace and ecstasy. Momma take me home to the pumpkin pie, help heal my wounds, help me see the unadulterated truth of fish when they lay eggs in tiny perfection, closing in on each other bold and bright round a soft, gushy like little drops of wet flour left on the counter, is this the place I think it is or is this the place I want it to be because I can’t tell the difference without a witness and I really can’t tell the difference when you’re there, so where’s the line between luscious and lame? Where’s the line between you and me and how do I recognize it when I see it. Hoping and believing are not the same, so why give me dissolution. I can’t even begin to imagine why I can’t see it because it’s right there, right before me and I feel no pain, but to see and know it might be there brings more pain so why look? Why care? Why do I want to know why do I want to see and what is the purpose once I do? It just can’t be real because I don’t want it to be.
After circle & free dancing
“Hitting the wall”
Hitting the wall feels like a lead weight in my stomach. No, more, it feels like someone throwing a medicine ball at my stomach when I am unprepared, sick like I’m about to throw up. I wish I knew what the thing was – whether I’m throwing all my energy out there all at once or if when I do put the energy out it just gets sucked into the vacuum, or a combination of both? I noticed when I really wanted to gout in the circle and lay it all down, get it all out, high speed, high energy, like a total madwoman and there it was, the sickness that almost takes me out every time. Push through it though, calm myself and keep moving, I can go on I can even push again, but not as hard. I wonder what this is. I can return to almost normal, but the feeling is still there in the pit of my stomach, lying in wait for me to do something stoopid…like whirl. Well, we’ll see what happens.
After whirling…again
I did not get sick, I am not sick. It may have been the best I’ve felt whirling, minus the couple of collisions with Ann. I feel so complete and happy when I whirl.
Monday, January 3, 2005
After free, slow movement
If changes are made slowly with attention to detail, if changes are made with focus on all areas involved, the changes are less jarring and can transition smoothly without pops and grinds and grumblings. This is true for life movements as well as body movements.
After Sufi Nap
Spirit binds creeps flows creaks and bends within my body. Pieces are not what they once were pacing myself with gently pieces of love and affection I hone my art and then my body, stretching lengthening laughing crying. Inhale, exhale place the baby before the buggy but without thought to what will happen next, turns on points, dimes dropped in silence pay no heed to silence and creeping meadows speak softly to me, rejoicing the decadent pace. Toes curl in anticipation wanting to know what is next, but the blinding spirit often subdues my heart until I can no longer speak, but rather hum softly somewhere in my chest, crying for a chance to know why even. Purging muck I hope it can hold out until there is not point anymore for joy to enter or find its way through darkness, speaking sometimes in not so hushed an quiet voices always calling out from the great void to carry me further and further into the mist of no return. Joy is present always, no peace do I find so there is no worry, no matter, no nevermind. Keeping up with the crazy part of my feet is unbridled passion and following like a chased tiger for freedom of passion clinging desperately on the ever present jingle that has become this world around me. Peace only makes sense from within so hard without trying to act like a friend of mine when I can’t see past your eyes into your motives. Can you really decide to be me and then up and leave with no direction, no purpose no hope of return? Clearly these are the words of a woman possessed, but I never said possessed of what. Clearly these are the words of a woman possessed. Change hurts freely and sometimes it just bees that way, temptation falling from the sky like scattered leaves to the wind and I have no hope of moving my lawn today. Peaches and cream can only get you so far then you look to the fermentation for the funky good time. Holding crescents of shadows in the palms of my hands I just want to know who is in charge and what the hell are they thinking?
After massage swapping
I understand so much now. As Sita rubbed on me, I focused my attention where her hands were, primarily to pay attention for technique so that I could give her an equally good massage. The result was Sita saying that I was easy to work on. Apparently with focused attention to where she placed her hands, I was able to relax those areas so completely that I feel like a different person.
Tuesday, January 4, 2005
After morning work – Chanting Hadi, first lying down then walking, then again, sitting. Deep Yoga stretching.
After last night it occurs to me that I can heal myself. I focused attention on an area of pain, primarily with my hand resting on or near the area. Placing my hands allows for my focus to sharpen, feeling through the area and allowing it to speak back its needs to me. Thank god for Dunya’s intuition. My right hip flexor (out of whack since October) finally feels some release. I was focusing my attention there primarily and later after the walking chanting (which actually made me sore and tense) Dunya led us through a series of stretches that finally worked around to several I needed for my hip flexors. The walking chant really took quite a bit of effort. My mind kept trailing away and I would loose my balance. Focus kept me centered and only reminded me of how much attention I need to pay to what I am doing.
Later after free dance
Brick walls pieced together with the thickest of sand, quietly tumble as I breathe inhalations to the pain, the sadness, the sickness, the emptiness, the loneliness, and where does it all go but up, taken care of in the universal Kenmore. Wash away my problems and give them to someone else who needs the lesson, pour soul. Trying to be brave in the face of impending change causes stress to form around my ribs like a corset of barbed wire poking and gouging with each expanding breath. Send the breath to the barbed wire and feel it untangle. Loosen its grip from my torso, please be gone. Selfish in my prayers for everyone to be ‘up to snuff’ but so desperate to have functioning humans around me, aware and unaware they grate on my soul like steel dragged across gravel. No parallels to this discomfort, it is what it is, no bending or shaping will change how if feels, only the relaxing of my death grip hold on the world around me trying to unwind by using brute force when all I have to do is breathe. Breathe and focus, breathe and focus.
After Krys’ Birthday dance and Group Witness Dancing
Piercing passion with a knife from my soul I feel the burning but there is no hunger, no want, no need, no desire. I feel the presence of every man fly from my side and I am alone there in the threshold through which to pass there is no doorway to be opened, there is only me and I am there in the middle of it all: grief, pain, sorrow, joy, confusion, rebellion, hope, bliss. Contact of love is fruitless with no tree to pluck it from and in my eyes I have so much to see before blindness sets in. Take the control from my palm and wrap it around my legs because that’s the only way to get this girl to do anything. Pages missing from my life that I could not see and have not opened and don’t care to know they are there, just gone, ripped out, torn down like my little soul split like peas and boiling over and over. Writing feels so impressive when it doesn’t come from me. Is this where everything really comes from too? Blinding lights streak like arrows from my heart, penetrating all who would stand before me with no warning, but they wouldn’t move. Peace is like some lap dog that gets hungry and decides the bowl is more interesting. In my heart Truth flies and flees, no grasping, just a glimmer before there is nothing; again the void, the emptiness no peace do I find, everyone has eaten it all but take back the leftovers and see how upset they get. In love all is clean, all is shiny, purity wraps and warps, who’s to say why I can’t be whole when so many others never were before me, spinning, whirling, this is my lineage, this is my truth, this is the flavor. I hold my tongue before the depressor went mad, crazy splinters flying, turning, turmoil and peace these are my trademarks. Like the only friends I will ever really know, blaming some injustice of love for breaking my heart before the folds. The flocks of sheep who follow and follow me, then decide they are the wolves. If it ever ends the universe should suck us all up in a big slurpee straw and belch us back into the void! That would teach us right. Who was supposed to wash the dishes before Jesus came over? Who was supposed to feed the dog? There is no peace in a place like this until the dog gets fed. Probably protruding like a stick pin from some unfinished dress that snagged my nipple on the way down. I wish somewhere my life made sense, alternating chaos and love and always I am the creator and the demolisher. Kali Ma. I am the destroyer, but I am Shams too. I am the light, it is me, I am it.
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