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.
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.
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!
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!
I.G. DIDOVA 07/03/2012 12:01PM
GENTLING A WILDCAT (AGAIN)
My head hurts
I am irritable, sweaty and jittery.
I have been stuck on the same sentence for what seems like a week, but still no word fits…
Giving my tired, short-haired head a rest on the palm of my hand, glancing at the tiny arrangement beneath my window; the continuation to the problematic phrase sneaks up on me in the form of a floating sapphire while the little blue box with its lid opened on the ‘Tuesday’ section reminds me that I am safe from hallucinations as the pill had been consumed shortly after dinner. Instinctively my head returns to its previous position in order to confirm the floating gem between the branches…
I give out a nanus-sized giggle as the single stone seems to have undergone a sort of transfiguration; it is now accompanied by what seems to be its twin and as a pair they have been pasted onto a leopard patterned body.
My world becomes a vortex of memories projected through the eyes of a cat whilst the last sound before the thriller is my voice repeating the phrase over and over… until the world is calm again and the filigrees of memories take the lead, like a mirage caused by the sudden dehydration in my mouth.
Prelude, is the word best used to describe the moment when she bursts into my flat furious… both of us knowing only one way to salvage the situation.
I can see it in her eyes.
The light of my living room arrogantly ridiculed the one in her sapphires. So much so that I am scared off and in doubt my lips know only to twist and coil in to a smile…that smile… her… smile.
This act in itself is something like a language that only the hunter and the hunted understand. Similar to a contract, signed, sealed and guaranteeing a collapse of murderous intentions, only to transform them into bittersweet gasps and insatiable shadows, switching position; momentarily being the prey and in a split second, rising again to feast on an expecting, welcoming lamb.
Our eyes meet, lock, and recognise each other realizing that the storm has finally reached its peak.
The following moments are to be a musical of thundering, feminine grunts, accompanied by an inconsistent back ground of whispers and gentle clawing soothed by a salty rain which magically seeps out from our pores; still fully clothed yet naked… those are the benefits of knowing a body that is not your own as well as Da Vinci knew the Mona Lisa.
These fragrances encompass the roots of our desire, as my half-naked anatomy stretches to an eerie length in order to turn bright, electric sparks into a grey-kitten dark; welcoming the rain with the moist odour of nibbling pain gentled by the fluffy fur of the moon-lit carpet where lion and lamb become glutinous due to the excess amount of yearning flesh on craving body. My icy fingertips run around her bare hip in torturous spirals, claiming ignorance with every brush against the pink; that same place they so intently dismiss.
“Ssssss” These are stolen moments.
Her snake-resembling movement is violently clawed to a halt with a clear nail grip on stuttering thighs and mischievous hips then pulled just close enough as if in surrender only to painfully be pushed away again.
I speak out through a cork tongue, “I was under the impression that we’re waiting for the rain.”
At that I approach with my waist between her impatient legs, providing a false hope of granting her antidote to this silent, overwhelming hysteria.
“Screw the rain!”
My hungry lips travel south with a continuous kiss, hurrying past a perfect chest, not paying much attention to all the rest either, and in god-like synchronization the rain drops mercifully begin to fall to the rhythm of those inspired by the fleshy sensation between our bodies; creating the first verse before our chorus: drip… drip… drip!
From walls to wind are dancing feet moving ever forward while her skin presently owns my embrace and me.
I walk behind her almost in a waltz; my palms covering her eyes, nipples cheeky and excited by the static created when skin rubs on skin;
this grass is dampened by the slow drizzles of rain and as our feet connect to the green beneath them the tickle prepares us of the flock of shower drops, so the gentle wind gives in and gradually stops.
My grip loosens and thus my hands are left to unnerve every curve, soft mindful and cautious as they leap in a water-like manner, where a downward current is magnetic.
My breathing becomes inconsistent, hers on the other hand is heavy and deep, almost as deep as my fingertips dryly moistening, diving in then out… in and out… in circular motions.
A moment is all it takes for gravity to wrap us in a blanket of soil, leaves, my lips on her collar bone… hands wandering, alone… just then; it is my virtue that she takes while in shaking intervals our souls levitate… like a pair of savage lionesses in an excruciatingly pleasurable brawl.
The moonlight pierces through the trees and falls like a spotlight onto the mistress, excluding me from the white even as my body moves in and out of the ray’s radius. Our movements are urgent now, they roam but fail to tease; I enter her as she enters me and then the rain speeds up in accordance, heart beating so fast that I can feel it pulsating in my throat.
With my lips to her ear I utter in a questioning whisper’
“What are you?”
“I am Katt’s mosquito bite…”
Her fingers slide out; they begin to impress with a mind-map precision the surface of my tenderness.
“Effervescent tickles and biting itches… if you rub me you’ll only make it worse, leave me wanting more”
I follow suit, waking a petite thrust before she continues the monologue in her spotlight.
“Bursts of pleasure are delighted in, only when you scratch the pinnacle of my swelling… I hide and reside erect in between your porous dwelling.”
My teeth sink in as I struggle to keep my trembling hand in place and moving.
“Hard to resist me isn’t it? Come on give it a little rub… but be careful you might want to rub me again, and again, and again.
My hand exits… leaving my jaw, lips and tongue in a free range of opportunity as they begin to kiss the inside of her thigh, still I listen careful not to miss so much as a whimper.
“I am Katt’s mosquito bite… that unsubtle tickling itch… scratch me a little bit…”
Taste buds can no longer resist the beautiful taste they know will be, and so they move in with that special kiss.
“Give it a little lick… Right… there. See how that feels. Kind of makes you wanna purr… making little silly sounds as you indulge your salivatory senses with my ambrosia.”
The tireless muscle residing in my mouth now vigorously inspects this tantalizing territory as it enters… then exits… then enters…
Her nails grip on to me as she passionately pulls down on my skin in an almost branding sort of manner.
“Making my pink cheeks swell up leaving you with red blemished racing down the spine of your arched torso”
She wipes a drop of blood and licks it off.
Irrevocably aroused, I feel the approaching burst and her raging ‘mosquito bite’ meekly agrees with me.
Lifting my chin out of harm’s way, she throws herself into my chest (teeth-first)… glides into me and continues the paired journey to our peak while her fingers circulate and pulsate… her mouth sucking on to me thirsting blood.
“I am drunk your sap and so must you suck mine…”
Synchronized yet again we race towards that sacred… sacred… sacred…
“Vamp of a ten sashays turns to vampire… no scars but trails of little delights devoured.”
I can’t concentrate, I struggle to listen, my back arches, I feel the first wave of glazing delight…
“That sweet, that bEttersweet taste of sin, sensual energy…”
I own her trembling breath as we simultaneously cry out, and with the well awaited kiss, confirm the wondrous explosion of pants, moans and rain escaping now through the core of our physical being, boisterous and ready for the creeping bliss.
“You want to touch me again, don’t you?”
Exhausted and breathless we lay under the shelter of a tree. The landscape and scenery now just a contrast… steam and rain, dark and light… and then the moonlight.
She holds on to me as my lips press on to her forehead. I smell a tear roll down the side of her face as she looks at me, unwilling to utter a word. I could sense the real storm ahead so I did not dare to ask.
This was a moment not meant to be spoiled by thoughts and questions about what lay ahead in the morning. I whispered the usual sweet dreams in her ear. We were like bats worshipping one another…
And like bats, with the sunrise we were no more.
My heart threatens to tear out of my chest while I run down the stairs and towards the little place beneath my window, the sound of milk splashing on the inside of the small bottle as I skip past two steps, then three, then four.
A sharp left… then a right… then another right… now slowly… carefully.
The cat looks at me, cautious, analysing.
I take two slow steps forward, this bringing me close enough to place the bowl of milk just next to her front paws.
She seems confused, then does a catish grin in ridicule while proudly showing off her fangs and tongue…
“Black foot? Aha! So you’re a wild one. I have someone you might want to meet.”
She tilts her head still grinning at me and then the unexpected… she lays her paws at my feat.
I scoop her up and hold her to my chest… just then… a rain drop.
A small tear wells up in my eye as I begin to walk on back to my apartment.
“Well she isn’t here now Katt, but she will come back! I have some meat up there, bet you must be starving.
My palm gentles the top of her head
Her forehead had suddenly become the home of a trillion sweat droplets
The scent of a lost race against emotion was on her like a stale ashtray left in the middle of a tiny room for decades
perhaps the ashes of that which can never be repeated was exactly that
and the thoughts; no matter how consistent could not
clear out the depths of the buds; the heart that beats without feeling
the eyes that see without seeing
the sound of music without reaction
the dripping of sacred juices without an allure of passion
That phrase will never be repeated
that home will never be rebuilt
skin, fingers,flowers and hair
are the forefathers of a numb heir
to an empty castle
with naught but walls, bars, creatures, dragons and demons
the wolf alive in me alone will continue
oh wolves love once only
and… baby..oh by the way;
‘The twenty two relationships of a spiritual life and culture – and why they need protection’
Yet another from Moon Books’gems!
This wasn’t an easy book to put down, yet it was necessary to do that from time to time in order to get the full message of it!
We all know that there are certain ways of different cultures and religions, including sacred rights, days of celebration, and fewer know that even some day to day routines are also rooted in the sacred.
This concise eye-opener could not have come at a better time, for our generation is possibly among the most fearful the universe will ever experience!
The pages and messages and lessons are honestly comforting for a time when the silence is scarce and the noise is utterly scary.
‘The Good Life’ as Mr. Brendan Myers describes it, becomes less of an abstract, almost unreachable idea and simplifies it in ways that once read cannot be forgotten.
Learning the relationships between yourself and the landscape, the neighborhood, animals, doctors… to name a few; is the lightest, most pleasant melody of an alarm that wakes you to discover that you have just begun experiencing life at its true pace and meaning for the very first time.
A must read for the truth seeking soul.
Circles of Meaning, Labyrinths of Fear – For those of you more curious here’s the link that will help get hold of this one.
Love and Light!
I miss you.
It’s been a while and I know it’s my fault mainly
I really should write to you more often
You speak to me in a way that no one else knows
Like the chirping of the bird outside my window while my stone heart begins to waken
And it is pain at first
But then a spark of life happens in my wolfy veins
That is barely noticeable enough at first
Then day after day you whisper breezes of wind in return of the scorching memories and fears…
Years have passed since I truly felt like a weaver of words;
I knew I died then
Perhaps with you – is it beautiful to finally be a part of everything again?
Do you miss her?
Whoever she was…
I think your love for her inspired me so that I could not help but fall in love with that planet; a woman!
The galaxies of female curves I have seen
Left me broken dead and empty.
I am much better now though
I’m learning to forgive
To let go of the things I cannot change
I think I’m learning how to live.
Are you proud of me?
I still feel like your little girl.
I have written so much just tonight only to avoid telling you for the first and only time : I am hurt
Hurt but still breathing
Crippled but healing
With every cell in me that yearns to be
Tomorrow I will continue my quest and I will fail a little less at disproving the impossible
And fail a little less again the following day
Until impossible is nothing
Because I think not even you believed in what you chased
Not even you could dream that big
Oh but you insisted that I learn
And so I did
I dream a little less these days
I focus on success
Not in material value though I’m sorry; I’m quite alright with just being me
But I succeed a little more each day
I manage to keep me complete.
I have started learning how to be brave
Yes dad, she’s teaching me.
That nothing is ever really worth it unless it hurts a little at least!