The Day of Venus (V)

I imagine the inside of my mind, the veins and arteries and muscles of my body, the pulsing of blood around my heart, to be a garden, a sanctuary, a safe place to live inside of. POP–in the midst of reveling in this returned-to-again-and-again state of being, I pulled The Wheel of Fortune card 2x both upright and reversed this week so “wheeeeee” to the unknown floors that have and will be pulled out from underneath me, and “WHEEEEEEE” to navigating through external shifts with my heart centered. It gets easier with time—easier and easier to stay with me in spite of changes. The power of relying on myself for my inner peace >; The power of turning to and utilizing my rituals >>; The power of seeing the world around me–the people, the events, the discomforts, the surprises—as symbols designed to enrich and refine my soul–intricately placed as mirrors and opportunities to ascend deeper into love and alignment >>>.

Through learning about the breath a lot recently, and how much of our breathing throughout the day is connected to our ability to speak and move from a place of truth, love and compassion, I have been able to stay aware and open to invitations, gifts, blessings. Able to stay authentic and true to myself. When the breath is constricted, shallow and hurried it is more likely a person will react instead of respond, or be defensive instead of curious and humble. It’s an ever-unfolding acceptance that I am the creator of my world, the reigns being the tools I have and continue to return to and nourish. It is easy for me to let go–so what? I enjoy being light in my body, and I enjoy being on the vibration of love because it is when I am in a state of love I am playful, open, able, bold. I don’t have to leave this state if I don’t want to. When illusions presents themselves, I say “I SEE YOU” and stay in the juicy flow I have created for myself until everyone around me joins in or leaves (muahaha).

Practice–think of it all as opportunities to practice. There is no “end” of the victory–no finish line to cross or last chapter to read before the book reaches it’s end–it is an ongoing series of victories where you accumulate more patience, and more space for love to dig it’s roots down deep.

Why I Am Exempt: I want you to win. I will not argue with your offenses or defenses. You come in, I make you something to drink, make sure you are warm. You leave, I wish you bliss and fulfillment. You are powerful, yes. You are a winner, yes! For YOU there reading: I visualize your shoulders loose, tilting your chin back to laugh beside the amber light of dawn and dusk. Your glass is filled by someone who adores you, and sometimes that person is you.

My prayer is that all your patience, all moments of striving under the ground, are rewarded with acknowledgment, comforts–that there is justice done by what work has been done in the unseen, the dirty, the days of being blindfolded and told to keep going.

I want you to FEEL the sensation of “winning” so much it becomes your default setting. I want to put “OH MY GOD–I DID IT!” into a bottle and give it away for free. I want this feeling to build more and more every day, every month, every year. I want it to become so much of what you are aware you are made of, that any mutterings of falsehoods or shortcomings, any voice standing in a game they’ve created themselves shouting, “C’mon let’s see whose got it!” is left bewildered by how much you are celebrating their existence, praising their gifts.

I want the propensity of anyone’s need for battle to become deflated in the light of my ability to give, to love on, to see the richness in everything. This is not disdain or resentment merely disguised as generosity–this is a potent, chest-opening, knee-dropping, tears-for-all-we-are offering. This is felt. This is tried and true from a lifetime of Vasalisa-as-my-guardian presence. This is a “Look at me–you are a fucking GIFT” potion, and I give it to anyone with their hands out, anyone whose eyes look into mine. I give it away in my dreamworld. I never run out of it. I am made of it and so are you. You are left with your trophy in hand and a game with no opponent when you come to my door. There is no interest in divide and conquer when you know who you are.

There is power in being silent. There is power in patience. There is power in softness.

This is your reminder that nobody is responsible for uncovering your lids of longing, for taking the words out that express your deepest needs, except yourself. It is no one else’s responsibility to tune in for you. It is both your birthright, and your responsibility to bring into harmony what you say, do and believe–what you say, do, and desire.

Love on me 
with your thoughts. 

Love on me 
without saying anything. 

Love on me as you would the first seed you've ever planted in the ground. 

Walk around The House of My Heart 
as if you know where I've placed the glasses, 
my favorite dress, a picture of my mother. 
Paced and patient, feel the carpet on the skin of your feet. 
See the mugs I've left by the sink, by the window, beside my bed, and smile. 

Leave your shoes at the door. 

The Day of Venus (Ⅳ)

Dreams don’t have collars or strainers–they are big chunks of cardammon and star anise in your teeth, so what do we do with that? We find a way to have it slide into and out of our mouths, and back into The Bowl.

Behind the words you say I want them to be true. I want the curtain to be drawn back to see the stage as you say it’s set. I want to float under the sky without caution, with my eyes meditating on the moon, in a harbor you’ve created. ~ I want the words I say to be as true as a curtain drawn to reveal the stage set exactly as I say it is set. I want to float under the sky without caution, the moon in my body, in a harbor I have created for myself.

Energy is transported, transmuted, transferred, received, given, and stored. But never lost, and never created without the alchemical process involving what has already been created.

Oh how the very things that break our hearts bring us closer to ourselves, closer to God.

It counts for something–your eyes giving squinty smiles to people passing by, the encouragement you give to a stranger in line at winco, the wise crack you exchanged with your coworker, the graceful departure, the supportive gesture, a note for your lover beside the coffee pot. The invisible work is the way you move in the world–not your title, your degree, or your craft.

I found a lion whispering in my stomach, no roaring for days. The quiver in my voice is what I banish, and I am learning to say it straight from my ribcage, and from the red of my womb.

I trust myself enough to follow the feeling of ecstasy to it’s end.

I reclaim time, by giving myself my time–playing my music, typing like this, paying close attention to what I am participating in, being selective, and re-directive.. How To Redirect Yourself: Draw attention to simple sensations that make you feel good about your world, yourself–start with the simplest of things such as the way the colors in the sky contrast, how orange the moon is, how soft the fabric is against your skin. Look at any distractive or destructive time thief of a thought and say ‘NO’ the way you would to someone about to step into oncoming traffic, then with relief take a hold of your shoulders and walk yourself home.

What I notice in another, is within me as well.

Your breathing is your own, is your messenger, is your teacher, is your anchor. I honed in on the pit of my stomach that feels like fire and I imagined it spreading through my body via my blood. I pretended to be a woven basket of tangerines and lemons next to the clothesline.

The fixation on one perspective is to be studied–catch it like a slippery fish–that moment where your mind is heading toward choosing an idea to look for within the words others say, the world itself

We create what we fixate on.

Made of All

There once was a River
in love with a Tree,
from his bark, to his roots,
to the valley he feeds.

"I'll show him my heart.
How close can I get?"
she sang in sweet day-streams
around his grass bed. 

One day he was swaying,
blown by the Wind--
all her whisping beauty
enveloping them.

"How I long to move you,"
the River cried out.
"But look what the Wind did--
I'm grateful somehow."

He spent his days glowing,
warmed by the Sun.
His branches were growing,
inviting everyone.

"If only you could absorb me--
feel all I have within,
but look how you're giving
to the world we're both in."

River spent her time laughing,
felt the love from his leaves.
They played in the soil.
They kissed through the breeze.

Every night he was shining,
all silver bright green.
The Moon she was smiling,
upon everything.

"What's it like to be up there--
beaming down from above?
Is it only from up there,
that he feels any love?"

River cried as the Rain fell,
the earth drinking in.
She grew tired of drowning,
and decided to swim. 

She was led to the Ocean.
She danced with the Wind.
The Sun rose in the morning,
and the Moon smiled again. 

My love is the Wind,
the Moon 
and the Sun. 
My love is the Rain.
Our love is One. 

My love is the Wind, 
the Moon and the Sun.
My love is the Rain. 
All Our Love is One.