we have come to be danced…

We have come to be danced
Not the pretty dance
Not the pretty pretty, pick me, pick me dance
But the claw our way back into the belly
Of the sacred, sensual animal dance
The unhinged, unplugged, cat is out of its box dance
The holding the precious moment in the palms
Of our hands and feet dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the jiffy booby, shake your booty for him dance
But the wring the sadness from our skin dance
The blow the chip off our shoulder dance.
The slap the apology from our posture dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the monkey see, monkey do dance
One two dance like you
One two three, dance like me dance
but the grave robber, tomb stalker
Tearing scabs and scars open dance
The rub the rhythm raw against our soul dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the nice, invisible, self-conscious shuffle
But the matted hair flying, voodoo mama
Shaman shakin’ ancient bones dance
The strip us from our casings, return our wings
Sharpen our claws and tongues dance
The shed dead cells and slip into
The luminous skin of love dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the hold our breath and wallow in the shallow end of the floor dance
But the meeting of the trinity, the body breath and beat dance
The shout hallelujah from the top of our thighs dance
The mother may I?
Yes you may take 10 giant leaps dance
The olly olly oxen free free free dance
The everyone can come to our heaven dance.

We have come to be danced
Where the kingdom’s collide
In the cathedral of flesh
To burn back into the light
To unravel, to play, to fly, to pray
To root in skin sanctuary
We have come to be danced

WE HAVE COME.

– Jewel Mathieson –

the moment…

that moment whenThe moment when, after many years of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room, house, half-acre, square mile, island, country, knowing at last how you got there, and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can’t breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.

– Margaret Atwood –

the student…

I don’t believe in them
but somewhere
there are gods
hiding inside of their own heads
using all their might
trying to stop their own eardrums from pounding out
the sound of your name

you are lightning
trying to tame thunder
leaving split second scars against the sky
as if you were breaking the skin of something that won’t die

my first instinct
is the same as my second
strongly reinforced
as if by a diamond sheeting
that donated its glimmer to charity so that it could look dull and tough
a shine now scuffed
as if the world left a bruise on light
I fight my instinct long enough to realize
that I won’t win
I give in
surrendering to an impulse
somewhat believing that my imprisonment will not involve torture if I I confess everything I know

I know
nothing

I bring an emptiness to your need
like a dog laying a skeleton at your feet bone by bone
I lay stone all around you in a circle as if at any moment you will burst into flame and warm us
long enough so that I can tell you my ghost story

that a part of me
still haunts my memory
it throws chairs against my mirrored mind
cracking the reflections
in which I once thought
I would find answers

if I reflect long enough
there will be answers

but like mail on Sunday
none came

so I sit before flowers
hoping they will train me in the art
of opening up

I stand on mountain tops believing
that avalanches will teach me to let go

I know
nothing

but I am here to learn.

– Shane Koyczan –

cumming into your own…

… our battle cry for authenticity and the ideas it creates about who we are can sometimes serve to guard us against vulnerability. These places we call “in-authenticity” may just be the edges, or the uncharted territories, of who we consider ourselves to be. Consciously going to the edges of what we feel is “authentic” may actually be an opening to increased possibilities…

– necessary shenanigans, “the practice of play” –

cumming into your own

little bits of light…

a little light

I can’t see it your way, you can’t see it my way please,
Maybe we’re too close to see,
Open up and let it be, all that it can be
Sometimes, just a little bit of light,
Little bit of light, little bit of light,
Is what I need
You shut down your borders,
Close your eyes and throw your words around,
When everything gets hard to take,
You disappear and hide away,
And hope you won’t be found,
Sometimes, just a little bit of light…

– Martin and James –

light at the end of the tunnel