the freedom she seeks

The freedom I seek
is in my hips,
the bones of my feet,
the expanse of my ribs
answering the rhythm
like the gliding tide.
Drawn in, out, in, out,
swooning helplessly with devotion
to the silver, swollen moon
gravity herself
(who, in turn, cannot resist
describing an endless
sacred circle
around her own true love,
pachamama.)

The freedom I seek
is in my hands,
that do not flinch or clench or
raise themselves to shield my eyes
from the fire of my desire
but become the tools of its realization
in their motion,
their song,
their strength
to hold and soothe and raise
to dig and to plant
to write and to shape
to lift a butterfly from the dusty earth of a cacophonous cactus marketplace
and laugh as she flies away.

The freedom I seek
is in my sex,
full, laughing, sweaty
without shame or anticipatory collapse
I move in the knowing
I embody the name that was whispered to me
in the moonlit forest sky sanctuary
~nectar~
the spreading salve
tonic for the dark, smoldering places
merciful death transmuting into 
fertility
I am she
glowing, real, open.

The freedom I seek
is in my mind,
alive with possibility
as empty as the desert sky
where I take the one seat,
mistress of my destiny,
I guide my way
from choice.

The freedom I seek
is in my heart
beating universal rhythms
lush green pounding emergence, mama Africa
the rumbling silence of the buffalo
(gone from here, taken from this place)
the salmon, guided home through ineffable vastness
and you, my beloved,
the answer to one wondrous question
that time has taught me to ask
you call this dance
you enrapture this drumbeat
until
ommmmm
ba-BUM ba-BUM ba-BUM
and
whhhhhssshhhhhh (…starlight's song)
become the one prayer
that was whispered to us when we were born
and that rang out always
across our slumbering journeys.

The freedom I seek
is in me.
I am here;
I am already free.


   - caitlin cislin

copper canyon

http://www.coppercanyonpress.org/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hayden_Carruth

a poem that will soon be some play

The Invitation

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes."

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

[ oriah mountain dreamer ]

Concert Review: Notes from the Monsoon Hotel

On Thursday March 29th, Matt Coffman performed courageous acts of peacemaking as he sat in front of microphones and an audience to sing truth and beauty out into the world. His singing was accompanied by the careful work of his hands, tenderly pressing on one end of the strings and vibrating them on the other. The wooden cavity of his guitar resonated pure bliss as melody and harmony melted into liquid sound. Matt's songs spoke of comfort and restoration, longing and prosperity, hope and desire. The effect of his spirit's outpouring was felt not only by those in attendance that evening, but in the souls of beings around the globe. Matt has the ability to open hearts in a way that is unprecedented. The healing embrace of his music allows for utter and unreserved love to evolve and flourish.

- s. basset

[n.b.: mateo's new CD, "live july at the monsoon hotel" will be released shortly, a joint production of somethingconstructive.net, comfort alley recording studios, and the art of kevin panozzo]
--
because elephants are vegetarian.
http://www.somethingconstructive.net/jamanta

sculpture by valeria del ferrocarril

"Yogui"