The Day of Venus (XI)

How to Create Your Own Religion:

Invite. Observe the ecstatic moments that occur in your body throughout life, taking note of the details, and without discriminating against their form–welcome in these customized pleasure wavelengths as they are, and pursue them. Be pulled by what gives your spine, your feet, your wrists, your ears The Surge of Delight.

Call upon the names given to what makes you feel a flight in your chest–no tiny offering of joy taken for granted–they all play a role. Refer to your muses, the songs that have moved you, the stars that speak to you in the sky, your favorite chords, ingredients, chapters, psalms. Find comfort in the melodies of your sirens, the messages of your most treasured passages, your beloved monks, prophets, the villains you defend, your many teachers in the form of hymn, poem, story, painting, dance.

Attend Your Ceremonies, and tend to a temple made entirely of your own design–walls of valley, a seat by a window, a rock beside a creek, the bench of a train station, the base of a mountain, the throne of a hilltop, the heated gray cement slab in the courtyard of the company you work for, the green silk given to you by your mother on your 8th birthday, laid beside your bed. Whether church or palace, parking lot or basement, all praises are felt the same. All Places Are Holy Places. Create an alter out of the pieces of the world you’re drawn to–a 4 of spades card you found on the sidewalk, a feather, something to burn. Let there be a representation for the water, the earth, the wind and the fire inherent within, as much as without.

Recite the love letters you hear in your mind when you close your eyes; the words and phrases that bring you blankets of protection; the symbols that seem familiar, whether they were taught or created, or both. Recognize the sensation of familiar ancient comfort–allow them to wisp you into yourself, and out. Repeat their verses, and resound the proverbs that bind themselves to you. Chant them into form while you dance and while you stumble, before and during dreaming, while burning the toast. Turn your many prayers into songs, and sing out the passenger window while washing the dishes, as you rock your daughter to sleep, turn sand into glass, clay into brick, flower to seed.

Bow your head to the origins of any and every triumphant practice, movement, motion, task, and ritual that has moved you–anything that has even for a moment stirred your soul in a profound way. Do this and know: you are bowing to the same Creator as we all are. We Are All Sacred. Cultivate a routine that incorporates a daily honoring of the ones who have come before. Give gratitude for the tools they’ve passed on, the clues they’ve left behind. Abandon any declaration of separateness, and surrender to the call of the invisible thread binding us all.

Write the words of your Holy Text with your hands, your hips, the symbols formed by your spine as it braids itself through existence–electric and ancient. Know that to speak it is to write it, and to write it, to speak it. Develop a keen awareness of the word choices you are making, the words you are noticing around you, the phrases you are repeating, the topics you give energy and time to with your words. We write our own stories into existence by way of the words we choose, the words we allow to slip off of our tongues.

Tune into the signals coming to you from inside of yourself, and let those voices which are closest to your heart be the ones you filter your incoming messages through. The Voice That Knows what is best medicine for your spirit, the Mother and Father Guardians we have a direct line to. The antennas of the centipede that is your spine are alive and well. Use them.


We are all traced back to The Mother of All Mothers and All of Us Are Holy. –Let Us Remember


Flowers gifted by second graders this week
A student’s desk, as she left it, before going to lunch

The Day of Venus (IX)

There is no such thing as “one right way”, and there are infinite possibilities.

When a thought or idea comes into focus, if it is insistent on imposing a limitation or shortcoming of any kind, sharpen your knife and prepare to mold it into a delicacy. When it presents itself at your door, say “I’ll be right out” and ask it to have a seat on the porch swing. With a Resting Into Presence, mixed with the persistence of your most stubborn of angels, sit beside it and offer it The Simple Awareness of Yourself. Stay in your heart, take it lovingly by the hand, and Walk Yourself Home.

Your self-imposed “flaws” are Your Greatest Majesties, the very tools that free you. It is in honoring and acknowledging the totality of our experiences that we are unbinded. It is in glorifying the sensation of both light and dark within ourselves, that we are able to dance with the experiences we encounter in each moment.

Observing The Reality of Impermanence will create a resolution within you to really be in every moment as it comes. So I take note of the mauve-rose on my lover’s cheeks, in sync with the mug in her hand. I create a tapestry in my mind, of the way the brown of her eyes is the sun just beginning to be seen on the horizon. I take the moment in like it is the wisdom of a thousand pages. I take it in as A Painting to Remember to Paint one day.

There is only right here and right now. Nobody could ever convince me that “time is running out”–running out of what? <–(after I wrote this I asked myself out loud “What if time is really running in?” and cackled for at least 5 minutes I’ll have everybody know.) Anyway, right now I am in this skin, this room, beside a purple shawl one of my dearest friends gifted me, overdue library books, and Texas cedar ash. I see color, shape, shadow, light. I am here until I am there, and when I’m there I’ll be there too–tending to a fire, sleeping beside a creek, closing my eyes to see.

I am learning how to gracefully exit spaces 
where people seem a little too eager
to spit on the angels,
mock the messengers,
scrunch their noses and deny
the sacredness of even themselves.

There are things that are meant to be felt more than understood. I do feel there are things that when you strive to understand, you get further away from. It is when you loosen and let your body fall into the world–it is never as clear as then.

Everyone will want you to move—to tell the story as they see it should be told, offer you glasses to look through, tell you who to protect, who to follow, what to conceal, pave you a pretty little road—and you must stay right where you are.

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.