A Resourced Player

From childhood we take what we can, what we are given from careers, school, the bus ride, walking home with strangers. We build our worlds from a young age with what is around us. For me; bridges, siblings, the neighbour, rivers, fires, lonely farm scapes that called to the desperate desire of my heart to be known and seen.

Pulled out like taffy – the rest of my life follows these themes - the places, resources and people all hark back to the early days, those early experiences build up in the cells of my breastbone and meat. Things I cannot dislodge, but can only play with, tend and grow more wide eyed aware to what I am working with.

This clay of me came from a particular river, has a particular grit, minerality, and is suited just right for kitchen bowels. It is robust and holds well for large, utilitarian dishes.  It is also sculpture clay – able to hold weight in a great piece – though the sculptor has yet to venture higher in completing this masterpiece.

And so I know me. But here is the intermingling of other clays, from other soils, stains, and rains. Bits and bobs of the other colorate my piece - run through me and affect the whole. This is beautiful. This is often painful. There are weaknesses and strengths dotted over the whole of me. But they are part of this whole.

Resourced means an ability to keep turning up to what is arising. Sometimes what is here is too much. Too much of a call to stand in my power – too easy to cower and this too is ok. I notice now that just because I cannot push through that very sticky conversation with she – I am not less.

I am aware that my resources here are thin and for good reason – they were misaligned in those early days I mentioned earlier. One day, one day I will tread here again in my power, seeing what is and speaking my truth. We all must, in our own little ways, know who we are and walk with that.

Like a Good Wine

Like a good wine I wait in my wooden cask, biding time like a microbe waiting to make my tasty assault on the world. For in here it is dark and a world unto itself. In here we wait but waiting is an outside concept. In here it teems.

Whole worlds are colliding, making, remaking life in darkness – death and rebirth are all pulsations inside our barrel of cold dark solitude. The emptiness is purely what one sees with eye and ear. Much more is below every surface – and here in the early point of maturation it’s a full on firestorm.

Breaking down all the sharp crystals that cannot be stacked - taking out all the shapes that will not hold the flavour palate. It is a re-making process – a platform on which the delight will behold itself to the beholder and, without this fight there can be no joy. The immature tones and reflections of grape on vine have to completely disappear – you won’t know us when we are done. Can’t imagine how profound a transformation is becoming me.

And one day you will try me – put your finger in and take out a dram – you are amazed – a decade later – astonished. And here I sit, slower now but becoming the art form itself. Never a thought of time or readiness – but really sinking into my own bones – really becoming me. This old dank cellar is a joyful place.

Is my happy space as this part of me sits undisturbed – waiting for its time of light once again – waiting to delight the world and pour myself out for the one and the many – for the feast that has been set – for the best wine left till last. This long, long fast in service of the unsayable – in silent retreat I have crept, crept out of your basement and into the resplendent light of your life, laughing as I sparkle in your cup.

Perplexed and Alone

Its not just the happenings of this world – well, it is  - it reverberates within me – a global feeling fed from energy across mountains, rivers, seas and land. The uprising I dreamt of years ago - and where is my place in it!? The fear filled abdication – the runner or the whatever I engager. Its fearful in my dream.

There was civil war in our land – race against race – fire and rage and darkness. Is that upon us? Is the disruption a place where lions roar and the famine has been too long? The trees are bare and signalling to one another that they didn’t communicate in time to save each other: Chemical mists and clinging teenagers all rise toward the sun with hastening speed.

The steed is chocked with his muzzle – he cannot see with his blinkers. What we’ve done to animals we do to people – to each other. Rough and tough and all the intentions of a colonizing voice – its just that – taking with impunity (so we thought) all we wanted not knowing that in deep time memory serves all as a comeback from what went on before.

We cannot steal lands, burn villages, and rape and pillage at will without consequence. Born by the children’s children – passed on to me by my forebears. Not all bad people but part of an onslaught of human mindlessness – not our greatest moment when we use our power for ourselves only. And now, this.

Seen in the distance – raged over by friends – hands wrung in the sight of the fire in the night in the glow of my phone – an ancient echo of coming together – of the broken places gather up their girdles and coming at pace to face the fear that jeered and sneered – hung ancestors in trees – used cheap – no free labour all the while drowning in the excess – the absolute filth of wealth – squandering their humanity and now here we are, here - we – are. What will we do?

Sensual Delicious Being

Step one, walk in, Step two, be you, Step three look for freedom, Step five, be alive, Step six, be a trickster, Step seven – find just a little bit of heaven here and now in this place, this action, this EXPERIENCE.

So much about the immediate experience. Yes – the way the light is on my eye, her hands on my body, yes. Do you really feel into that?! Lean into the actual happening  - all the things firing off in you, fruiting in you – the bloom and becoming of this very moment. Pleasure and pain – crunching and writhing – and the release – the perfect pitch of her hands, not too much – but then I allow the deeper break – below the surface into what’s really there for me – opening up – past wounds, traumas – the complete suit of my birthday – opening before me – my life strung out into pieces – the package coming back together. This this-ness – the really still point of the delicious undertaking of my life in microscopic view – my mind the capture machine of the wide, wild array – plug me in baby!

This ride is electric, eccentric, endo – in and replete with tender aliveness. This is what I live for, to feel. Feel, feel deeply into all things in me and around me – the dance – her feet, her hands – that moment of one-ness- then of two-ness. Step back, twirl around, come back together and now what’s there for me, for us?

Ever new coming back around again, the star slingshot halo comet coming in that wild arc of light piecing my sight – here she comes again. And over and over it goes. The program never had an end point in mind – but expansion and building new – like the corals – ever cities – larger than themselves – moving on the backs of their ancestors to new grounds – columns of water unfelt. The day has come where we must admit our unique place in the cosmos – right now – build a city for our children to come.