Casting Spells of Love and Forbidden Fruits
Unleashing the power of the mighty pen
Fragmented completely and thoroughly broken with explicitness as the only means for definition of said brokenness.
Stiffer then a corpse giving deathbed’s modern-day look of peeking sun and morning moon’s confused look transpiring onto pages of life. Collapsing lung crashing thoughts yielding nothing in return, paralleling altered states failing to grasp written and non-written words, just avoided truth remaining as if patterned after a triggered, traumatic experience, yesteryear and childhood blanketed cover-ups.
Year after year, the clouds roll in, bringing heavy density with midsummer night’s dream foreign to fading memories of ancient and futuristic potentialities, yet it remains. Sitting as the joints pop and lock with no explanation, something giving way.
Unbending to right-the-wrongs, stroke-work and masterful penning deliberately on hold, just being in the present moment, like a seven and seven wistful faithfully twisting of lime. Sitting, allowing discomfort leading up to misery and pain, bringing discovery to July’s forbidden truth, waiting — still intently waiting for the answers to life’s crippling effect on body and spirit.
Deep into the cavernous thought we go, yet again profoundly given directions to innermost workings of self-awakening truths. Overabundance, lack thereof, fears of unknown or traumatic response like an allergen twisting sinuses uprooting peace and solitude of falsities.
The boredom of daily observatory looking outwardly at the folks banging their drums all day, not giving thought but just being self-amidst physical dualistic and spiritual bodies of universal consciousness. Inner stares, piercing gaze cutting laser-like etchings within stones of time giving purposeful meaning of nothingness and happiness in every breath.
Take up the sword, re-writing missing chapters of life’s chapter book’s unfinished storylines, casting spells, prophesying, and self-proclaiming reality as it was intended — free and clear of hazy truths just observing passing clouds coloring our sunny days.
With every stroke, lightened loads and calming winds brushing through imaginary locks of love, planting seeds of change on fertile ground. Waters quenching thirst completing the course, the drenching entirety of cosmic vibratory truth, spinning threads of interwoven reality — it is coming of age.
~ Ani Po
No explanation to this one, just an invite to share what thoughts come through for you. Looking forward to your sharing in this dance.
