My New Life

This is how it feels to come back to myself

Finally

A valley away from where I started out

And I have found home within myself

At last

My soul flickered tenuously, life time to life time

Uncomfortable in my body, carrying a deep knowing of what was to come

Living was like walking a terrible tightrope

But when I finally fell

Somehow I landed on my hands and feet

Hips square to the ground, my nose to the dirt

And I found my place in it all

No more circling

No more agonizing

No more waiting to hear the terrible ending

The only way out of this cycle was through

How in this lifetime did I finally learn discipline and surrender?

How did all the lessons line up this way?

The way my feet press down into the ground is different now

The pattern has ended

I can return to myself

It is over

At last

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The Distance

You love me from a distance

Like there are whole fields and twisting roads between us

Like we set out to meet, but walked right by going opposite ways.

We missed each other by minutes.

I waited alone in the dark.

You sat patiently under the trees.

I orbit wide. I carried asteroids on my shoulders.

And when I finally made it back to earth

You turn away from me like you don’t know who I am, or where I’ve been.

We reach for each other, grasping in syncopated rhythm;

And once in a lifetime the tips of our fingers brush and lock together.

There is something we cannot forget:

The potential that we lost-

That slipped away as we turned apart-

Interrupted by our own journeys.

There is a way it could have been different:

In another world, on another timeline,

When maybe we did not sever or snap with the fierceness of bone.

When Gods Speak

There are things we do that make gods speak

You guide me into it

My back pressed into the ground, skin smeared with sand and ash

And in my eyes only sky, only stars

But you are close by: the tightness in my stomach tells me

What I desire is wrong: the sacrifice. The horror. The frenzy.

But when we do it together it is right.

The primal need for my blood fulfilled.

So we do the things that make gods speak:

I cover my face with dirt, and feel my rib cage collapse under the pressure of your feet

Each bone snaps in ecstatic chorus

A shock wave of ache and fear as my spine folds in on itself

This is how I am opened

This is how I am transmuted back and forth

Through lifetimes

These rituals unfold again and again:

The torment. The bliss. The blood. The skin.

You are my healer. You are my savior. You are my destroyer. You are my life ender.

And only the gods can hear my desire: the strange craving for the pain you inflict.

But we have done this many times before

Lifetime after lifetime

It is the only way we can make the gods speak to us

I go as far as I must to hear their voices

And I do

So this is what I asked for

So this is what I suffered to find

So we stand still and listen.

Broken

These are the years that broke me

Broke me with black eyes- black tongue- throat gaping

These are the years I survived

Survived with bones of grey and nerves of white

My fingers prying open what had closed

The ash of each tragedy poured like thick dust from my mouth

There was hardness where there should have been softness

There were leaks of bile and blood where there should have been strength

Dampness eroded my core. Dryness peeled apart my skin.

These are the years that broke me. Years of skeletons, years of gravestones.

Worms grew out from under my nails.

I was muffled by my own corpse. Waiting for early death.

These are the years that broke me. These are the years I pieced myself back together.

Pulling apart each thread in my own fate.

I broke open. Rebuilding cell by cell. Fusing back what fell apart.

These are the years that broke me. That tore me open.

Weighed down by own death. Weighed down by fate.

But I am alive now, and my soul drifts untethered.

The rebuilding

Now I begin to rebuild

Slowly

Starting from the bones

Starting from the roots

New tendrils spreading out under rocks

Veins curling around organs delicate and white, like lace

The winding spirals of mitochondria

My circulatory system pulsing outward through networks of fungus and soil

Intimately mingling with the moistening tissues

To recharge my life, starting from the deepest places

It will take eternity to heal

It will encompass my entire soul

Now it begins with the smallest budding stems

And a handful of moist earth

Growing upwards, pushing outwards,

Tendril after tendril unfolding, reaching for the sky

Escaping My Life

Is it possible to escape your own life? To slip out of it like a bad habit or peel it away like a sunburn?

My life piles on itself and grates like bone stacked on bone. And I am stuck between the teeth of earth and sky. I am gazing up into the jaws of the universe. I am riding on the tongue of my own manifestation.

I long for a space I will not create for myself. I am caught in a loop. I am spit out and tumbled back suddenly. But I always know what is coming.

And I always know what it means. The clouds tell me. I cannot hide from the whispers in the air. Each sign piles on top of the other like compost mulching together.

And I am caught underneath it all, as quiet and small as a worm.

Frozen

I stumbled on an invisible wall and fell to my knees.

I wail against it with hard fists. But the wall digs deeper into the ground with stony heels- with callous soles- and refuses to budge.

Here in the deep layers of me there is a mountain as course as concrete. My nerves are wrapped in cold resistance.

I can feel along the edges of it, but I cannot pull it down or break it apart. My hands are left covered in flakes of concrete and clay.

Some days I find the smallest crack, and I can peer down into the underbelly of myself- but the path descends down into the dark forever.

Still: I breathe, and I grow into the space.

Finding Myself Again

Is this the place I can find myself again?

No. This is the place where everything I know has crumbled.

And I prayed for it. I pushed open the heavy door of my own transformation. I sought it out myself, against the pull of fate. And I keep each piece of my evolution clamped tight in my fists.

But there is no end to it. Like when I climb long hills in wet forests, waiting for the tree line to open on a high windy crest-

But the trail just keeps unfolding under me. The path goes on endlessly.

In the bay below me a thousand year old fish laughs. His knowledge is effortless.

Everything here is waiting. Waiting for the shift. Holding its breath before the next change.

Everywhere I go I see Gods. But they stand frozen. They do not speak to me.

Everything I find is another message: the white heron in the marsh, the barred owl on the road, the young buck mottled white.

I see them but there no words, no explanations.

Just a quiet challenge. Just a methodical pull towards something deeper.

Every moment, tile by tile, the walls of my ego are stripped bare.

Take away everything I know to be true. Perhaps if I keep letting go, I will finally find where I am meant to be.

I Died Every Day

For a year my body died every day.

Thunder rolled in my chest. My brain stuttered fast.

For a year my tears would not stop. My breath flew away from my chest. Dread circled in my gut like a spiny shark.

For a year my body died every day.

And I was not brave. My spirit fluttered weakly. I cried hot tears as I felt each moment pass- and each moment was my last. Endlessly in a horrifying spiral.

Every breath the final breath. Every second for a year. I said goodbye to the world. I said goodbye to my life.

I could not explain it. I could not put words to it.

Every moment I was dying. Without my deepest concentration I knew my breath would leave forever- my heart would beat into oblivion.

For a year my body died every day. But now I am alive.

So I ask myself: how do I come back from the dead?

How do I haul my soul out of the grave?

The First Love After You

The first love I felt after him-

It was when our eyes coming together told me how deeply I had been broken open and emptied out.

I know because in the moments we move together I can feel my skin tug apart and my chest leak an amber colored syrup like thick sap

And with each muscled contraction of my heart there is a pump of pain- a surge of heat, like i am leaping off a cliff a thousand times.

Yes, I am doing it again.

I flake the dirt off my knees.

Six years of falling. And I have finally reached the ground.

I ache for a wild love. A love where we learn how to share bile. To trade back and forth between our mouths the acid that washes into our throats from the deepest places. Burning our tongues with the sharpness of our stories.

But it will not be you.

Six years I fell. And I’ll fall again.

Here I will be once more, brushing the dirt from my knees. Left back at the beginning. Broken open. Emptied out. Ready again. Until my time folds in on itself.