Emotions as Internal Revolution...

Last night I cried so hard, I swear... I triggered and turned on a new experimental psychic nerve that hooks my heart up to the guts of humanity. I felt some new circuit grow and light up like a fire fly in the depths of my darkness. I cried so hard I felt like I challenged the banshees of the back waters of Louisiana to have a sound off in my bundled brain. This sorrow of the sullen was, of course, spawned by the various "intense" stories that are strewn around the planet these days, and of course the intensity of my own personal "loss" labeled... Daddy's Death.

I trusted the feeling tones and asked for protection as I made my way down into the depths of my own grief and despair... I found that these tendrils were here, present, all along, independent of the "stories" that seemed to navigate me to them. That the external stories were simply triggers to get me to FEEL the currents of what lays beneath this diaphragm day in and day out. Which is intense e-motion, energy in motion, and then after that is expressed... a whole lot of potent, nothingness...

I swear my jaw locked I cried so hard last night.

I felt all the shadows that so many light workers are so hell bent on denying. This is truly what Haiti is showing us. That we would be so willing to project the darkness of our own fragmented shadow onto the world instead of willingly working to integrate it, within our own psyche...

The moment after my jaw locked, and out sprawled a howl in symetrical proportion to the beasts that every breath of separation has ever spawned... I felt the lightest, sweetest, most precious connection to the Earth, Humanity, and Life... I have ever felt. I am a tracker of these tendrils, I am a life circuit junkie. I let out a laugh that had the innocence of the little girl within me. Before the traumas, before the traps, the death wishes, the dregs of duty, the obligations of society, the need to rail against the machine, for identity.

Even my skin felt softer.

There is no revolution that is needed from the outside. This is purely an internal process. Self revolution is the only option available for us as humanity as a whole... Nobody can breath for me. Nobody can feel for me. Nobody can offer solace from the outside in... This type of revolution must come from the inside out. The terrain of the Emotional realm is sometimes terrifying and I can see that most of the world was created to distract going within and developing the tools to safely navigate these mysterious emotions.

"Consume, don't feel" is the mantra of the world.

"Conceptualize, don't feel" is the mantra of the mind.

"Conform, don't feel" is the mantra of culture.

In the spirit of culture jamming... I intend to feel.

MU

Unrestrained Bliss Encounters a Raucous Ride in The Lost (yet Luscious) Land Of MU..... Its all for U!!!

Post Bloom...

Now and here, present, the unique bloom that comes from all the ranting and resisting and rebelling... Its here in the heart as a vibration, a particular pitch, a sirens call that sends a silent and resilient sonar. 

I can hear the call again, clearly, and see where blame has chiseled a case, stormed judgment and self loathing, appointed evidence and effort as witnesses, and condemned creation to the podium...

From this realization, from the expression of anger, through consciously and compassionately seeing it while it moves through me... there is an energetic bloom that is born, and for this I am grateful. 

This bloom is a color, I've not been exposed to, its a texture that a jelly fish would think slippery, soft, and vital... its a vibrational entity all of it own....and it asks me to go slower, stop more, be silent, and slip off alone away from the raucous human party and paint a picture about Mu and the way the trees (in that land) have pin feathers and literally (for literal purposes) bleed ultra-violet streams of continual consciousness....

Tormented Torrents

I am sick of the saccharin love. So sick of the sickness. Sick of grammar and war.  These limits, the livid local...the barbed wire leaves. So sick of the hatred, the genetic manipulators, the time keepers proclaim.....Procreation? In hell? Fuck it. So sick of having to make some sort of sense, a semblance of sanity in such this asylum, sold as an asset.

Sick of the seeking and the preaching...of trying to contain the mystical moon in a shallow and ego-ick sloppy saloon. 

Sick of lying to the sly and conscious slope of my own spine. 

This rage will transmute its fury into the passion that creates and combusts worlds. I am not confused about the vibrational source and power of one tiny tendril of a thought. And, I won't lie about the oppression and I will not pretend that Misogyny is not our leading mascot.

Lemuria is rising. These dusty wings have sipped the storm of infinity.

The codes that flipped the hour glass so long ago are rising, to be re configured into this stream of consciousness I am ... She is running on empty and has 3,021 wounds in her heart that need self healing... Grace wants absolute respect, for these limbs have been torn, tattered and terrorized by my own solution of separation.

BUST!!!

The torture I may create for myself, is a conscious consequence. I need self-respect and honor for the shadow splice and allowance for the dark corridors that will open to the mind bending meadow of Dignity...

I'll learn (for this I am sure) and love will always have her way with me. 

She will always triumph and the mind (this mirror maze) will forever burn in the fire of her True Blood... creating T-Cells as she goes, within, to the marrow of her making.

It is my turn, and I walk softly on the heels of my own shadow, knowing my name, blazing force, single, violet flame...

I am writing the story, and holding the heart of glory as she gushes with Gods SPEED.

Its tricky to Tenderize Me....

Allah

You could 

have

lingered longer

@ the spot

that had no

white wash

wisdom

But instead

you

ran with red 

to secure

your

way to god...

Untitled Thread

EVEN with an intention of bringing the mirror mess back into the lucid and luminous light, I still yearned for this spillage to be perfect (hence, no posts)...However, since the sudden passing of my beloved biological father (this life time)...on the 1st of this month, I've no time for even the thought of putrefied perfect, rather this is: a rubber meets the road kind of catharsis. 

Catalytic catharsis. 

Contagious catharsis.

All I can hear is: One. Thread. At. A. Time. Love.

And.... Why. Don't. You. Post. More. Posts. Love. 

Because, Dear Cacophony... and Central Splicing Station... 

I. Still. Can't. Tell. The. Difference. From. Perceptual. Lies... Cultural. Bias... Patriarchal Propaganda... And The. Supposed. Freedom. Of. Expression.

Easy there tiger...

This blog is about documenting the process of bringing the beautiful mess back into the light. This is about untangling the thoughts that have oppressed me/the feminine for millennium. This is an ignition of sorts. A digital exposure...Exposing myself to cyber space, a metaphor for the ethers. 

I am not appalled nor enthralled about the way Reality is...it changes and shifts depending upon the level of consciousness of the observer...

On beautiful days when I am loving myself seamlessly, I can get lost in something sparkly (tracking the shine) while time is exposed as the imposture it is, on those loving days if I breathe just right, and move like a cobra (teetering) I can coax open a rabbit hole in the atmosphere (I haven't followed them yet, I get too nervous). 

On hard days when the resistance is strong and all that longs to live within me has its center stage, I feel like I am in a neurological straight jacket, and the mind rages like Medusa's slithering snakes...because it blames the oppression "on something out there"...instead of seeing it as a contrasting tool, to create a different reality. 

To create through inspiration, rather than by default.