Sunday, August 22, 2010

The Cook -

A poetic retrospective of my Ormond Road house country Kitchen

The cook’s companion,
Who is that?
Do they sit around and give orders, while the porcelain birds on the shelve sing;
Do they finger through the bible-like pages, chubby fingers, oiled and sticky with time,
Are they invisible to the eye, but not to the sensation of imagination,
Are they free?
Can they transcend the recipe, mix it up, and let the music inspire them -

‘What did you say? Sorry I didn’t hear that’
The angel in the painting never moves, the angel tells me -
‘Communion will save your soul’
I don’t believe her; she doesn’t have chubby fingers -
Although she is oily from years of leaning against the wall, above the gas stove top,
That gives her some credit, because she is loyal, and persistent,
I think I like that about her;

They shouldn’t tell me what to do; it won’t serve that measurement,
In that glass, see-through it, can you?

The black cats dance on the mobile, there are four of them, that’s a unit,
Lucky for some, but I want to ask them if it gets tiresome, staying in that same place.

I might get some chopsticks out of the red vase, and put them in my hair, layer it on top of my head, draw it up and around, use the chopsticks to keep it all in place, crisscrossed, over each other, what a treat;
The angel won’t even notice they are missing.

What a delight to have a companion in my kitchen, to share, raise my spirit, come my black women dance with the black cats, sing with the porcelain birds on the shelve;

They look like they are kissing.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Liquid Feminine

Incarnation: personification of….. Who the hell am I?

If I'm so connected to spirit like a child and I’m fearful and scared of loosing that if I enter this body in its totally - is that why I control so intensely my experience of my physical vehicle? Trying to understand its workings, teetering on the edge of extreme, pushing the bounties, denying myself its pleasures?
What is this death throw? Is it actually "she" trying to be born. How the hell did I manage to get stuck in the ‘birth canal’ for 38 years?

What “are” the needs of this divine whole child? To be held, to be safe, to be loved unconditionally, “she” the grown up, holds her, embraces her in her arms and tells her she is all that and more, she is perfect, she is a personification of Christ.

The warrior, masculine in nature delivers strength from her core, she want’s to merge the liquid feminine from her deepest knowing and allow the two to find solace, let the physical speak in sensation, let the emotion speak in feeling, let the mind speak in form of pictures, sound and colour, stories and memory, let the spirit speak in its fluidity of all there is, was and can be.

Stories, manifestations linked into the world - juxtaposing the polarity of merging the two worlds my inner and outer – heart paradoxical life comfortably balanced with both extreme love of humanity and the loss of oneself, so anxious so fearful, mapping into my physical, my energetics, what I thought I was? what I was as a child - let this new human be born!
Merging nature in all beauty and integrity and concrete reality our 3D world - inner and outer balance, we are shifting as she is on all levels.

Inner spiritual - outer physical. where is the Resistance?

Releasing the pattens of this cycle that the father was holding his whole life. Power - hold the power of the mother.

Open the sacred heart space inside the heart, in its fluidity, its grace, its secret's.....
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