Would you wear me like a medal?
Let me brand my mouth onto your skin.
Let me draw blood from your pores;
Let me design a different shade of melanin.
Would you wear me like a medal?
Let me brand my mouth onto your skin.
Let me draw blood from your pores;
Let me design a different shade of melanin.
Your nose reminds me of spring time.
Earthy-colored, speckled sunrise,
Lucky enough to see a thousand rising suns…
In the lifetime of just one day.
The merciless wind;
fearfully painted cage-bars out of breaths.
Your heart-bird suffocated all at once…
She almost ceased.
Not realizing that all along,
I kept the windows, doors and roofs open –
that she may fly away,
should she ever tire of the worlds within me.
Some people like to call this instrument your intuition.
It’s all good and well that we attempt to be as intuitive as possible. Some authors even offer up a good few ways to sharpen this instinct, but here’s where I have a problem with this;
When your survival is based off of fight or flight, and the experiences you have had trigger specific reactions – how accurate is the inner bell?
a friend of mine is currently battling with trust when it comes to a new interest in her life. She says that he’s predominantly different from most people she’s been with thus far in his character, but there are a number of behavioral patterns which set off the alarm in her.
‘He’s excruciatingly honest some days,” she says with this playful sparkle in her eyes, ” and on other days I don’t know whether or not he even wants me to speak to him at all. He’s short tempered and secretive. Before I can confront him though he goes right back to being charming and interested, he calls, he shows interest, he shares. I on the other hand feel like I’m losing my mind from all the back and forth.”
Funny, I know how that feels and the best advice I had was to trust until she has reason not to… but, I’m concerned about having said this. The attitude of the all-forgiving, easy going, trusting saint has shattered me more times than I can count. The most infuriating part is knowing that you could have walked away earlier, you saw this unfold and yet; you chose to stay. Masochism at its finest.
This is where this “inner bell” could be useful… if it looks rotten and smells rotten – don’t eat it!
What if it isn’t rotten though?
Ever smelled some of the pre-basted meat you buy at some stores? It’s nauseating!
Does that mean you just chuck the bulk away and never set foot in that particular store again? Maybe… but there is a way to fix that. There is also a way to find out whether someone is worth the effort or not – get to know them.
The urge at first is to word vomit about all the strange and scary yet wonderful feelings your chosen other heart-beat evokes in you. Don’t do it. It’s scary for the person and most times unnecessary. Besides there’s all the time in the world to be romantic and silly. Rushing it might trigger the behavior you fear most them.
Ever considered that they too might have this so called “inner bell”? What if they too were hurt, by the exact opposite of who they are? Just because someone spends more time on the phone with you or is good at creating habits in order to keep you from questioning does not mean that they are not hiding anything.
Then there are the people who hide temporarily. The people who want to expose themselves but need to be coaxed out of their shells…
The possibilities are endless and people are different… our experiences (although shared in the collective) differ. Our fears, doubts and triggers are all different. As a younger me, I was all about the intuition thing. To an extent I still am, but here’s the difference; if I doubt I ask… in other words, if it looks rotten and it smells rotten then taste it. Not saying eat the whole thing – just try it out.
Many of the worst situations I ended up in were because I FELT that I was being messed about. Work wise, with friendships and love… and in all the other ways in which our triggers warn us. Fear tends to be the most powerful emotion. Yeah, we all like to think that love conquers all but in most cases fear trumps love.
I’ve also been at the receiving end of someone else’s “inner bell” . It is absolutely the most frustrating battle I’ve ever had to fight, and lose. You don’t FEEL like you can trust me? Why? Have I done something wrong? No, your fears are greater than your feelings and there isn’t a damn thing I can do or say to change that. I was angry for the longest of time until I saw the hypocrite in me.
Tasting is so much better. Firstly because there is never the ongoing “what if” scenario. Secondly … you might be surprised where you end up if you just force your brain to just keep quiet or at least whisper. I definitely don’t have all the answers, nor am I saying you should leap off every cliff without even checking for depth…
Just stop allowing your fears to dictate how you live your life.
We have politicians doing that for us already.
There is nothing sweeter than the elevated feeling you get when you can’t get someone off your mind. It takes over and suddenly, you see colors you couldn’t see before, taste things differently. Random heart palpitations happen and dreams become a constant state of being. Enjoy that. Revel in it. Be a kid…
And if it doesn’t taste rotten… soak it in vinegar for a few minutes.
One of the very first books I read from Moon Books had to do with spirit animals and animal magic, and as a wolf I definitely need the comfort of the forest. This book isn’t just an instruction manual (like so many of these type of books are) it cuddles you up in forest and that for me is priceless.
I am lucky enough to have the follow up books to this first gem, and I am excited to start on my next adventure with lady Draco. I strongly recommend this book and probably will ( I’m pretty sure) the rest of her books. I also found her page Traditional Witchcraft so go have a look at that too.
In terms of style I enjoy that she is more of a story teller like I mentioned earlier. It also makes me happy that old lore is a recurring topic and that we get to learn and bathe in the wonders of things that we will possibly never be able to fully comprehend.
I think I have exhausted my thesaurus and just writing this review makes the hairs on my body stand up in excitement and admiration.
Definitely worth the time it took to get to this book.
Today is my last day
I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago
then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now
I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors
There is a headline,
wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched
I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:
One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core
Two: I learned how to live with being a liar
Three: I came as a foreign being full of love
Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters
Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story
Six: I inherited the art
Seven: I will never forget
I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope
3 months before they expected me I was ready
13 years before I was
The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty
I obeyed my longing eyes
past the dioors and my goodbye suit
I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why
One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me
Two: It wasn’t always sunny
Three: How to fake the smile through heartache
Four: How to cause the same
Five: My clothes are cheap
Six: I am unworthy
Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges
So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv
and on the top right hand corner of the screen
A phrase in white paint screams out at me
One: My skin colour murdered my first love
Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes
Three: My father Died of a broken heart
Four: You saved mine
Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences
Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica
Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.
Palm on palm now
My eye lids find their space
No tears left in me
My heritage day is eternal
and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!
She is learning how to be grateful.
The steps are small, barely noticeable as the world calls and keeps on… There is not much to protest against, though the monsters in her head growl in a constant chorus of unfortunate beginnings and endings.
Nothing ever really ends where there are memories involved, and doubt is a frozen statue, alive enough to keep haunting her and misleading her… it wants to be a pillar and all she really wants is for it to disappear.
It is cold.
Her teeth speak their own unknown language as the piercing breaths let out their steam and she knows she is alive and alove. Perhaps alove is the problem, the threatening to word alove out her mind and into the hearing range of that other…she is so alove it hurts, it wobbles her walls and her frozen castle begins to melt, but it is cold…
She smiles unintentionally. There is a face, there are hands and lips and traces of traced bodies in subtle nights without beginnings and without reservations… or were there reservations? She wears a scarf
It is cold.
So alive and alove she waits… she anticipates the return of her strength which is barely a word away. She imagines being sucked into that warm embrace and the doubt disappears. Her breath becomes natural and it lightens up like the darkness in her eyes as it begins to fill up with light.
She knows that this is it, that this is visible for the first time and once a problem is shown, it is also known, thus becoming an advisor rather than a nightmare.
It begins to change her perspective and she begins to understand… that warmth is not only a touch… it is a letter, it is a name and comforting kiss… It is hearing how much you’ve been missed and out of nowhere – a sun appears; though
It is still cold.
The Web PATH Center have created, a short, sweet and tangible guide to why Sex Magick is important and helpful to and for the Pagan community all over the world.
This Moon Books release instantly captivated me, its non biased outlook and thorough layout gives this one a fresh feel and has definitely set a new standard for anyone who dares approach this topic without being more than sufficiently equipped.
In a nut shell: Enjoyable, informative and spicy!
Here in the madness of everyday foolishness I give into my monsters. I allow them to coax my spirit with their anger. I swallow regret with a teaspoon of pride and suddenly the world makes more sense. There are no more sonnets or love poems to be expected from this being… unless the other appears miraculously and deletes the folders of mistrust which are frozen as a constant back screen on the system that is her mind; like an indestructible virus slowly eating away at the system as a whole. She finds comfort in the cradles of old songs, the kind that inspired the flowing red from her veins, but that’s unimportant… nothing really matters now. The other girl has managed to return, colder and meaner and more prohibiting than ever and I rejoice that I am not alone in my own brain anymore so that she may remind me that no-one is worthy of her honesty or truth… our honesty… our truth. If fate existed, right now; I’m riding her from the back doggie style.
Now feel the tingle of the sneer down your spine reminding you to stop being a hypocrite. We all wish to be brave enough to be the gods of our own universes, I’m just cocky enough to say it loud and proud and not giving a fuck about what that’s going to sound like or alternatively what anyone else’s thoughts are on the topic. This is my life, my struggle and all along I’ve gone through it all alone. I therefore have no obligation to be thoughtful of you because you don’t matter to me. This is the safe house of a soul, heart and spirit that are so worn out that they are beyond recognition. I know not whether these really are mine anymore-I’m even more uncertain of who I once thought I was and who I am now or what I am aiming for in life, but I suppose since I write my own destiny on a tattered little book I bought yesterday from ‘Spar’ for R4.50 … I make the rules and sometimes chaos really does rule over any other rule. I invited Delirium in; she has happily brought Death with her. To kill what once was the girl in a long-since shattered mirror now forming just a broken frame around a yellowing white wall and return to me in a dead, ghostly life the girl who once scared every feeling off before it could hurt.
Welcome home sweet bitter mistress.
Tonight I let you take over me entirely and what does it matter if the act of making love remains metaphorical to me for the rest of this existence? I will still create more art than those constantly active because I will be hungry for passion always when the bitter other me isn’t looking. In those precious moments I will redirect my gaze from wishing to create and having you experience what I want you to. I will be the rapist of your mind… bestowing on you the truth no matter how many times you deny it. I will repeat and scream it at you until you have finally believed that the “I” is the most important entity in your world.
Who can say that one reality is more important than another? It is the “I” of your world that only experiences what it does and it is that same entity who will deliver the information gathered to the greater whole when dead.
Who cares why she lied and said the things she didn’t mean… the bottom line is lies and dishonesty, why cling on to those? Surely I deserve better than to be lied to? Surely I deserve to be cared for, to be fussed over, and to be a sun for another dark soul? One wants not to question every ‘I miss you’ although that is why my bitter mistress has returned. Her function is to instill more doubt until I can no longer get hurt. My mind, soul and heart need to think always together, not allowing the heart to just feel as it pleases. Past experience has shown us that it is that initiative of the heart is what ends up breaking it in the first place. How much more anguish do I wanna allow into my life? How many humiliations and degradations? So Carpe-Diem little mistress and don’t you ever let me feel again!
Death of self is reflected in her eyes as she lies to both of us about
the real girl
and what she has been made to believe it means to be her
She stretches out imperfect perfection of silver-lined eyelashes
My insides halved
Death of me rages within as I allow my heart to descend in spinning chronicles of glimpses
flashes before my eyes as I attempt to fight the inevitable
I allow her to tear a piece of this already weathered wall
and like a starved demon she consumes all my weaknesses
She smiles at them
carefully cutting along the carved edges of past tyranny
Death of desire transcends all other deaths…
For what is a connection without the desire to sustain it?
The mouse in me begins to shy away, to fold itself into human fetal position
Suddenly the storm isn’t beautiful anymore
It overwhelms one with sweet scents to such an extent that one knows only one thing for sure
This gentleness is only temporary… it isn’t real… neither is it pure
Her piercing stare
Her words sharp as daggers
I brush it off and behave as a steel rod
I am none of this
Where words fail me
Emotion fails me more
For I find neither comfort nor forever on these fickle shores
I see a single kiss which anchored to it’s owner’s lips my core
Forging another failure
Another inexplicable disappearance of a possibility
I look for the light across from where I live
The light where I found myself
The light she was never shy to give
I wave in my imagination goodbye
And in reality
I long to allow for her to cause the change in me necessary for this dream to live