little girl, crying in the dirt parking lot of a church over a skinned knee you managed to get playing red rover
You end up falling off a boulder in Death Valley in a dozen years, laughing out loud as you discover all the bruises and scratches with your friends later by the campfire light
tormented 20 year old virgin, mind always racing with unanswered questions, fear ever brooding in your heart
You have your first threesome, and then your first foursome, the summer you’ll spend traveling after you turn 27
sweet darling of thirteen, writing out a list of attributes for your perfect man with your best friend: ‘godly, hard worker, patient…’
You fall into the hopeless romance of your life with a criminal, both knowing and unknowingly – you’ll divorce him six years later without any regrets, but with plenty of secrets
innocent baby, not more than eleven – throwing up dozens of pills; all alone in a big house on a lonely mountain with only guilt and shame to guide you
You live –

a gentle stirring like
breezes tickling leaves
ants rustling beneath
grass growing
flowers blooming
sunshine thawing snow
listen with your whole
suspended breath
tremors of focus
gaping open mind
deliciously craving
hope that persists
it’s not here yet
but it’s coming
persisting passed
primordial deaths
pushing up beyond
limits condemning
reaching out and in
to find reunion’s bliss
like whispers on wind
lost to distractions
yet still ever there
for those of us listening
following paths of light
the fae leave in dust
it’s not obvious
until you see it
close eyes and savor
falling back into dark
letting possibility implode
freeing up all powers
dancing to the silence
caught in rhythms unknown
allow conciousness’ expanse
collapse all assumption
cradling soft tenderness
adorning love with glories
breathe and be breathed
join once again in beingness
it’s not only an end
this awakening

I’ve had this feeling lately – daily blogging is getting dull, or uninspired… More and more I don’t know what to post, or I just don’t want to post…Like I’m tapped out or something.

But…

I know I’ve got more gems in me, somewhere… I haven’t even been doing this long enough to be good at it really.

So, perhaps the problem isn’t really me, maybe it’s my approach.

On rare occasions, I know what I want to blog, but most of the time I’m just grasping for something or anything to post last minute. That always makes it stressful. Who wants to feel stressed every day?

So, I’m going to try something new. I’ve found a journal prompt app that I am going to be using for a while and see how that goes. Rather than wonder what to post, I’ll simply reply to a prompt from this app in a blog.

This way, I won’t be pressured to come up with a topic from scratch every day even before I can get to the work of blogging. I hope that this plan will help me to overcome this slub, and ultimately make me a better blogger.

I’m sure I won’t always need the prompts, but I’m glad that I can utilize this option until I’m feeling more confident about my own idea formation… And I’m sure things will become much more diverse and interesting with this outside influence spurring my reflections and perspectives too.

Image: Internet

Wish there was another label
beside I and me and myself
Something to call this thisness
like void or empty or anything
So terribly open, gaping wide
and still pulling at it ever more
Hiding and pacing and waiting
this all feels too fucking familiar
All and every abomination mine
each morsel of filth my litter
Collapsing in and condensing
suffocating, ever building pressure
Buried indeed, here with sins
conception boldly daring to defy
Yet a still, small hope glimmers
even deeper and further inside
Light of hope’s bright tremors
a quaking from within the All
Releasing once again with life
from possibilities of nothings
Death and decay not hindering
the propelling new growth’s glory
Out of the muddy wretchedness
springs forth virgin pure and holy
How could we not mourn our loss
without also celebrating our gains
For with each spiral going higher
we also must root down deeper in
So yes, if “I” must, I cry for this
for the million creatures dying
I mourn those of violent death
that love was ever made a crime
I rage against the senseless pain
I wail for lack of self-compassion
For though you may be calling “me”
it is We with whom I am passioned

“Is 6:45 early enough?” I wonder, quickly calculating that my Sadhana just took about an hour and 15 minutes.

“I could push it up, maybe to 6:15?” I think, glancing at my phone to see that it’s now 10:55pm. “Closer to eight hours if I leave it…” I briefly consider if I’ll go to yoga class in the morning before remembering that I’m waiting to see if we get as much spring snow as they say…

“I could still make it regardless,” I finally admit to myself and decide to leave the alarm set for a quarter to seven.

“Since when is getting up before seven not early enough for me?” I laugh, suddenly realising how absurd this sutuation would have been to me at every other stage of my life. I had never been an early riser, especially not voluntarily.

Smiling, I think about how easy it was getting up at 5:15 earlier this week to work out with my best friend. I feel satisfied in a deep and thorough way… “I’ve worked hard for this.”