Thursday, March 24, 2016

Wisdom Women

"You are not meant to go where it is safe, where love is--you are meant to go where you are sent, and bring love"





Those words from a most remarkable woman! I met Claudia on my most recent visit to Yelapa--a bit piece of sanctuary a ferry ride away from Puerto Vallarta that became a second home when cooking for a yoga retreat there a year ago. This time around, she was one of the many gorgeous offerings in coming back. Claudia is a stringer of beads into jewellery saturated in spiritual storytellings, weaver of the tiniest details into the most subtly grand expressions, a dreamer who made a home out of visions, time, and nature; she is an offerer of wisdom, space, and laughter, a believer in magic, a woman who's words I wanted to wrap my tongue, pen, and heart around. 

Words like:

"you lose the experience of human evolution when you are lost in routine."
"make things glaringly different"
"decide which of your wants are needs; learn what you can be happy without."






She told too, a particularly resonating tale of eight people, including yourself, together at a well. You are getting water from this well, pulling up buckets of clean, elixir like refreshment. This brings you joy, delight. But none of the other seven is filling their buckets. None of the other seven are celebrating receiving this revival of spirit, this life source. Your joy then, is limited to you. There is no sharing, there is no extension of happiness. The water is God, the divine, actual source--whomever you pray to-- and when you are fuelled by something greater than you, when we all tap into that immensity, our vitality, our happiness extends.

In my interpretation: we are enough on our own, but together, on a soul full level, we are so much more.

And every woman that I have met here has continued to remind me of that.

Reminded me that we all have wisdom, we all have a healing energy, we are all seeds with the propensity to bloom into our uniquely gorgeous selves--abundant in offering and expression. While I was in complete awe of Claudia--truly one of the most generous spirits I have ever gotten to share guacamole with--her wise self listened so easily, so fixedly to each of us, sharing in the enrapture.


We are rapturous Women. Meant for the Sisterhood that I have found here and the one that is my tribe at home. Meant not to compete, judge, or compare ourselves to each other but to join hands and hearts and walk home together. Meant to empower each other, permit one another to show up as we are in movement, voice, full amplitude of self, by embodying our very own majestic sovereignty. A goddess is not some ethereal, unattainable being limited by a convoluted changing definition of beauty, but a woman alive with joy for her fellow femmes, grounded in the wisdom of the mothers before and the one's that are nature herself.








Yelapa, herself, is Woman. Hare Hare. Pachamamma. The ocean is her voluptuous womb, her Earth fertile with cycles of life and possibility. She unravels herself to you in offerings when you accept her nurturing. She is often called a vortex, for you lose all that you created a false sense of necessity out of when you are held in her arms and come to know, sweetly, what truly matters. In every contour, every intimate space that she lovingly receives your searching--knowing--self with is another detail of her feminine beauty: the ginger plants blooming, the side of the mountain painted red as the sun sets, Our lady of Guadalupe hung from beams and tucked into stone crevices, every woman that for however impermanently, calls her sanctuary home--the women whose singing voices echo in the caverns of every soul here, who drum with the power of the sea, and call the hummingbirds home with a harmonica. Yelapa is more raw, more honest, more than any poem I could hope to write. She dances and you dance with her. And, Women, we were meant to dance.













On my first full day here I felt her. Under my feet and in the heat of the sun, in the Women who have welcomed me and the kind men who respect her and hers, in how she pulls my heart to the sea and to home. She calls me to connect to what I know is constant, is God, and extend my happiness. And while I was asked to come and have been shown nothing but love, the love I feel sent to give is not ignorable.


To my Sisters, Mothers, Grandmothers, to the newest extensions of my tribe who offer me their wisdom and allow me to share mine: understand your reverence, fill your soul, extend yourself. I love you.




I imagine us {poem}



I imagine we would have danced.

You would have taken me by the hand
and spun me,
once,
slowly,
so you could watch me me move
before pulling me into you.

Told me all you needed to say
with the smile of your eyes
and kissed me,
hard,
when the sheer love offered
back through mine
took hold of your heart.

Spin.
Hold.
Your hands on my hips,
they land there
the same as mine know to kind your neck,
my fingers can dance on their own in your hair.
Shoeless.
Careless.
In awe.

I am in awe of how real
that dream feels.
Of how my imagination
can make an already gorgeous moment
that much more potent with
a simple vision of you.

This way you touch everything
I touch and see all
that I see.
I can collect our words--
repeat them,
create them.
I can still feel your fingers and
smile to mimic
what I remember in your eyes.

Memories of you spin me now,
so sensational I risk
the distortion of my reality,
might miss the beauty of my aloneness.
And yours?

Do I linger in your thoughts.
Do you look out at the sea
and long to wonder out loud to me?
Wish to catch my hand and
run at the waves,
collide with the salt
as we did with each other
once,
spin
in the water
find your wet hands at my waist
and mine, their, where they've always
been, at the subtle scoop of your neck.

Do you scoop me up in your dreams,
in the moments of your day
when you have too much time to
think,
when there is space for your
heart and head to converse
and the love we shared
makes your eyes smile again?

Or am I truly alone in knowing
that you cannot ever unlove
one whom your soul has danced itself
into,
lost in a sea of memories,
and dreams, that still,
with hope,
could be.




As published by Elephant Journal: http://www.elephantjournal.com/2016/03/you-still-spin-me-poem/


You've become a part of me {poem}




















Your lips on mine--
reminiscent.

Your tongue searched my mouth
for the words that were not there,
answers to what I could
not make clear for you.

Promises you would
not let yourself make--
you left them there,
and still I feel their
weight;
obvious,
unfinished.

Just as I feel your fingers
lingering at the curve
of my elbows,
guiding me closer--
subtle,
wanting.

They are at the back of my neck,
cradling my skull
and lacing through my curls
as if trying to find their way
into the thoughts I hold back.

When you took my hand,
you took my entire heart.

And now as I breathe in
I feel you there.
In the swell of my chest with breath
I am still in your arms,
tucked in by your neck,
where I can just barely feel (I swear I can feel them still…)
your soft lips by my cheek.

Parts of you linger
with my eyes closed and my mind wild--
if I open them
perhaps they will meet yours
and find that glint
that admits that you are right here with me now:
grateful.
Fearful--
so afraid that we cannot
make a future on
our collection of presents,
the insistence of our past.

Breathe out.

I am cavernous.
Spacious.
Yet full,
for every crevice that you have touched,
that your memory has seeped
into lingers in the
Universe of my being.

Your touch has become a part of me.
So familiar
that the contours of body
know the wind
and water
to be your fingers,
the sun to be the heat
of your skin on mine,
the way you have let me feel
is imprinted on my soul,
a song I will never forget.

Sing, sweet lover.
Every word never shared,
and I will for you--
because surely the sweetest
melodies
come from hearts
that remember what it was like
to beat together.



As published by Elephant Journal: http://www.elephantjournal.com/2016/03/i-remember-you-poem/






Wednesday, March 23, 2016

To wake next to you {poem}




















Do all lovers lose sleep over each other?

I do not mean in worry,
distrust or fear.

I do not mean to toss and turn
writhing against
a discontented heart.

No, I mean to be held in
love under the stars,
holding on to any amount of awake--
as I do--
just to hear the subtle,
easy lull of your breath.

Drift in and out of dreams
at best,
all to aware of
my arm draped casually
at your side,
just your finger tips on my thigh.

When no dream could be
as sweet as
leaning into the warmth of
your chest
as the watching moon disappears
and the sun spreads out
over our sheets.

I want to wake
but where I ended
the night next to you,
and just barely touch my lips to yours,
watch the lines on your brow
form and soften
and your shoulders sigh
into the pillows,
a smile,
even before you open your eyes
and pull me in.

Good morning.

Kiss me back.
Make me laugh.
Tell me you waited all night
to wake up to me,
the reality for lovers
better than the sweetest of dreams.




As published by Elephant Journal: http://www.elephantjournal.com/2016/03/i-dreamed-of-waking-with-you-poem/