Raven

She swims under the ocean, goes where I go.
Pulls canoe through the stars, to where I don’t know.
Her back, steaming mystery, hard-coded resolve.
Jeweled eyes marble black, into which I dissolve
Glints of forge-fire, emerald, yew
Pools in the darkness, deep chasm blue.

She’s lodged in my body, strong, loud and unshown
a monster of chaos, black feathers explode
ca cawing with laughter, “make sense, discard,
make sense, discard, discard, discard, discard”
old friend, my heart, my guide by my side
without whom my life would be calmer but blind.

by Tasara

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Moonflower

my heart is open
it is like a lotus reaching out, touch beauty in all directions,
knowing roots into the muck of the underworld

my womb is a moonflower
not luscious red but gorgeous, lily white
teasing and gracious, open for spirit to come in

my soul rings in tune with the stars, today
there is a light that pours forth upon me
and I am grateful

for one day

grateful

by Tasara

The Well

I reached out
far
very far
and I fell.

I fell into myself
back
into
my deep, deep well
and was washed over with relief
to know that I cannot harm myself
with leaving

for I will always be there.
Like a child tottering along the edge of a rail and
the mother who won’t let her -.

Because it is back with myself where all things reside
where the moon is the richest
and I can safely lie on my back
in the summer dewy night
and look up
eyes awonder, up at the stars
private and safe
the sweetness of the night.

It is in the well
where the sacred resounds
with edges and echoes
that reach far beyond its thick moss.

It is here where the dreaming is strong
the mind is at peace
and the churning, more meaning

Chaos reaches high above the sky
order sifts between its heat waves
dust sinks and rises
patterns on the land

I come
and I go,
traveling far within the crevices
the ravaging land, untamed
yet holding wildness only in moments
when the wind turns to look at you
or me or them
and then the storm picks
one of us
and we fall back within
to realize that we
have never left

that the beauty in awe is remembering.

by Tasara

Two Songs

I reserve myself
and the fragrances within intensify, dream to potency, ready to be tapped like nectar.

I pour out
and my heart learns its opening once again, as it was many lifetimes ago.

I don’t stay sure
for sure is in motion, in the wheels spinning beneath me as I ride on my bicycle, clear day, summer beach, tempestuous storm.

There are two songs singing their wares, their ways all around and inside of me.
One old, it’s source unkind, pointing, pointing, pointing always at me.
The other, a luscious garden, so new I forget, I forget in some waking days that it can be there.

The rasping song, so old and known, plays and plays, its needle scratching the phonograph’s ear.
The other remains. It has become, like a blossom and will not fade.
Their musics swell and flow.

I am riding my bicycle.
Joy streams like a blue ribbon. Or two, or three. Red, green, blue.
My colors blend. I take the low road by the river, feeling happily endless,
before and behind, balanced in the middle.

by Tasara

The Old Black Road

I have been through cinder, nettle
Drowned in flood plains all amore
I have walked through, death and barren
valleys, never finding golden ore.

There’ve been chapters, many chapters
Filled with glue and glass and stone
Times when I was living under
surfaces to me unknown.

My traveler’s stick, my hard-earned wit
it kept me sane and safe and sore
My lantern it seemed overwhelmed
but now I know it was much more.

I shunned the sun for what I knew
the dark spark drew me while it grew
it drew the magic all around
but was so intense, those there were few.

Chaos ensued, the years went by
the sparks did come, the sparks did fly
and then one day I met a man
who returned to me my soul, this guy.

The globe of light, it filled my middle
The world became less like a riddle
I lost my friends who were not true
I learned to love to hear a fiddle.

I tracked the source, the gift to give
So I could help some others live
My eyes adjusted to the light
My sorrows melted through the sieve

This joy I find when in the road
come from love and laughter told
but also from my weathered boots
that tell me of my older roots.

For if I fall, I do not fear
as much as when in elder year
There is comfort yet to know
that love and light can only grow.

by Tasara

The Faerie Realm

The RealmI asked to be shown the extent of the Faerie Realm. Not as how it is portrayed by artists around me or talked about in tales but in a way that would be meaningful to me.

Faerie. It IS the inbetween place, which is why the inbetween places are portals to this realm. It is the inbetween place between the physical and spirit, mortal and timelessness. The interplay, a tension of the inbetween, that magical line generates a super intense force of creativity. It actually birthed the faerie creatures in the first place, organic matter liking to create.

But it creates more. It creates physical-half-physical access points to the sacred. To the most rooted forces of the elements as expressed through the elementals, divine forces of their own. The elementals manifest as dryads, nymphs…the trees and flowers and streams themselves charged with a magical potency, all tended by the faerie creatures, some spawned from such divinity, some created as byproducts of human expression. Human virtues and foibles manifested in energetic creatures that behave on their own, driven by the vast power of creativity come from the crack between here and there.

Hence the faerie realm is not one of infinite wisdom and compassion but a playground of beauty and light intermingled with all expression and deeds capable in the middle realm.

For many, getting to know the faeries opens portals to the Gods and Goddesses, Angels, Power Animals and many other beings that hang out in realms beyond the Fey. There are Gods and Goddesses that are multidimensional, causing trouble as well as joy and there are others that are completely divine, only pure passages of light and compassion. We can choose to invoke the aspects of compassion and leave the rest.

I want to align with those that are divine. I want to shine in the light of my own blessed divinity, spilling over for others around me.

by Tasara

This

Gold - LoveThis stuff,
I could reach up and touch it if I wanted to.
It used to be far away, elusive,
and now.. I can feel it.

If I reached up, my fingers would be in the sticky honey of light.
It would be contagious, shimmering down into my body,
spreading through my everything and out from my eyes
and I would see through honey colored glasses. Yes, I would. I would.

The wise rose permeates my scene. The full rose, the gentle rose.
Speaking of the softer secrets, the land, the sea,
the fragility of innocence, the fullness of the mother.

This pungent rose. And the sight of petals.
Petals, petals, everywhere.
Lily, iris, moonflower, lotus, morning glories
upright, on the ground, in the air, in my mind,
feathering against my cheek as the spring breezes flow in streams of color around me, cherry blossoms.
Flowers dainty, trite, shriill, discarded
as too petty have become my elegant world.

Life’s delight is in the changes.
The turns and the tones, the things revealed by the moon’s pull on the edges of the ocean,
rising out of the deep sand, smiling as if they’ve been there all along, watching.
I walked on a beach with a million starfishes last week.
So many stars, so fragile, so persistent, their tenacity to flourish.
So persistent.

The pleasure of the unexpected, the sudden change, brace, take hold, gasp,
stop a moment and then a slight
bright smile that slips from my lips almost without my noticing.
Oh my, look, look. What next? What fun.
What adventure. What a life when I am noticing.

I am a sandy sand dollar on the beach.
I might be noticed. I might be stepped on by the happy bounding dog.
Either way I am a sand dollar and what I am next will be different.
On someone’s dash board soaking up music from the stereo or disintegrating back to Mother Ocean,
a path is a path, each one continues, flows into another and another
endlessly, a beautiful ribbon of life as the streamers in the breeze
announcing north, east, southwest, fallow. Sync, unsync, hallow.

Sheets of laughter come by with the early wind of summer’s dawn.
Falling on the floor stuff. Puddles of your soup lost on the table as you drop the spoon, stuff.
Lost in glee, the grains shake to merry, slippery, rain-fallen, forgotten dust, return to earth.

I am bones, revealing themselves as the tide washes the sand down around me.
I am old and my time in the dark has intoned my marrow with the ancientness of myself.
I do not need a sparrow to tell me that spring has come.
I do not need my eyes or my teeth or a prowess.

I walk and the world shimmers around me.

by Tasara

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