Posted on

enchantment that lasts…

Can the purpose of a relationship be to trigger our wounds? In a way, yes, because that is how healing happens; darkness must be exposed before it can be transformed. The purpose of an intimate relationship is not that it be a place where we can hide from our weaknesses, but rather where we can safely let them go. It takes strength of character to truly delve into the mystery of an intimate relationship, because it takes the strength to endure a kind of psychic surgery, an emotional and psychological and even spiritual initiation into the higher Self. Only then can we know an enchantment that lasts.

― Marianne Williamson ―

Posted on

we say…

the moon's reflection

This is what we say:

There is nothing special about the way you make me feel.
A thousand thoughts have done it before.
There is nothing unique about the way you touch me.
A million dreams have done the same.

At least
this is what we say.

This is what we say
when the clouds shield moon from stars
and her from him
or him from her.

This is what we say
and we’re not wrong
as long as we say we’re right.

And as long as we stay in the clouds
we stay blind.
No matter the thousands or millions before
or after
we stay and never move.

This is what we forget:

We forget what moved us was his smell
after a day in the world without you.
We forget what moved us was her smile
how her touch found you in the forgotten secrets of your skin.
We forget how contentment feels listening to her voice
and feeling his hand take yours.
We forget that we can ask.
We forget that we can Be.
We forget that we can confess.
We forget that we are one another’s need.

We forget
that we are unlike any other
yet wholly like the other
entirely ourselves.
Matched.
Lost and found
until we find our way again.

I want.
I need.
I desire.
Yes.
I accept.

At least
This is what we say.

– Lola Moi –

seeing stars

Posted on

what does it feel like to be alive?

… Living, you stand under a waterfall. You leave the sleeping shore deliberately; you shed your dusty clothes, pick your barefoot way over the high, slippery rocks, hold your breath, choose your footing, and step into the waterfall. The hard water pelts your skull, bangs in bits on your shoulders and arms. The strong water dashes down beside you and you feel it along your calves and thighs rising roughly backup, up to the roiling surface, full of bubbles that slide up your skin or break on you at full speed. Can you breathe here? Here where the force is the greatest and only the strength of your neck holds the river out of your face. Yes, you can breathe even here. You could learn to live like this. And you can, if you concentrate, even look out at the peaceful far bank where you try to raise your arms. What a racket in your ears, what a scattershot pummeling!
It is time pounding at you, time. Knowing you are alive is watching on every side your generation’s short time falling away as fast as rivers drop through air, and feeling it hit.”

– Annie Dillard –

Posted on

he was here…

she is here

She had no need to ask why he had come.
She knew as certainly as if he had told her
that he was here to be where she was.

– Leo Tolstoy –

here is where we are

Posted on

a promise worth keeping…

This breath between us is for the givingness of time.
This look between us is the click-click of heels – someone’s, not mine.
This touch between us, a moment quickly forgotten.
This imprint of your kiss, stolen.
This breath between us is the forgiveness of time.
We will go forward reaching back.
We are blind even as we hope, with each whisper
We will become what we deserve.

– Lola Moi –

Posted on

inside outside…

inside outside

If I never see you again I will always carry you inside outside on my fingertips and at brain edges and in centers centers of what I am of what remains.

— Charles Bukowski —

of what remains