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.

Free Fridays (III)

Writing is inviting a few monkeys into your home 
to do away with order, 
politeness, 
all of the value placed
on this stone, 
a gift, your prayer mat. 

I call upon a forgetfulness of my self. May it feel good coming out of me, and may it always be nothing more than that that matters. May I be alone with myself while welcoming in everything that comes to my door. Let it dance with me as it arrives, then take me home when it is time to.

Loss is on my mind, and I mean that in all ways loss exists--
the branches removed, 
the uprooting of the neighbors we got used to growing beside. 
The losses we remember, the losses we feel but cannot see.. 

Where should I be the loudest? The scaled and bloody and feathered within, sings louder and more gloriously reckless every day, in front of anyone near. From womb to wind, it arrives before my mind gets in the way.

“You are learning about you. And I am learning about me.” To love is to embody and witness sovereignty– welcome it, encourage The Right to Belong To Oneself–allow it to be. -On how many ways there are to love me

We should take time to study our minds while they are not being fed, 
gaze at what we are in the rhythm of feeding ourselves.
Play with what the patterns that exist within us
long to create
out of color, matter,
symbol, sound.