the light comes…

http://soloxme.tumblr.com/post/91360500052

My story isn’t sweet and harmonious, like invented stories.
It tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream,
like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.

— Hermann Hesse —

not our darkness that most frightens…

You sit in the light for me because I ask you to. You wait. You stroke my leg with a secret smile, and let me drink you in. I lose myself in my looking, in all your shadowed man-grooves. I lose my breath in your stillness. This pause we take is a lesson I don’t want to forget. I close my eyes; I want to imprint you deeper. When I open them, there you are – still waiting – wanting to be seen.

We are learning to be with one another, here, in this light that softens the heated edge of an afternoon delight. You lean back and even from this distance, I can taste your skin. Even as my supple clit thickens and my lips whet, you wait for me to be done with you. And in such thots, we stumble. Headlong, we stumble past one another in the crowded halls of Time. A cycle well-worn.

What songs are sung for a soul who seeks?
Who dances when the moon’s teat drips with longing?

There is nothing poetic about falling in love; it is starkest reality and basest need exposed. Utterly, it spends us even as we bleed. To love is to choose to be raw. Open.

Here with you, I walk blindly into an ancient light that conceals nothing, a light that wholly reveals from the inside. And suddenly, it is me sitting in front of another, being seen. We have shape-shifted into all our Unexpecteds. What there is, though, is light; a light that changes everything.

Look up, my soul whispers.
Here I am, my sweet.
Look up into Love.
Walk into the light.

I see you.

happy new year…

This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.

– Walt Whitman –

blessings for the longest night…

All throughout these months
as the shadows
have lengthened,
this blessing has been
gathering itself,
making ready,
preparing for
this night.

It has practiced
walking in the dark,
traveling with
its eyes closed,
feeling its way
by memory
by touch
by the pull of the moon
even as it wanes.

So believe me
when I tell you
this blessing will
reach you
even if you
have not light enough
to read it;
it will find you
even though you cannot
see it coming.

You will know
the moment of its
arriving
by your release
of the breath
you have held
so long;
a loosening
of the clenching
in your hands,
of the clutch
around your heart;
a thinning
of the darkness
that had drawn itself
around you.

This blessing
does not mean
to take the night away
but it knows
its hidden roads,
knows the resting spots
along the path,
knows what it means
to travel
in the company
of a friend.

So when
this blessing comes,
take its hand.
Get up.blessing
Set out on the road
you cannot see.

This is the night
when you can trust
that any direction
you go,
you will be walking
toward the dawn.

– Jan Richardson –