unda_stella

Thu, 27 Mar 2008 23:11:45 GMT

Your Voice guides so many through the murkiest swamplands to those places where breath flows freely.

Beautiful, power-filled, generous, and blessed. Thank you for your existence in the here and now, there and then, and always.

Happy Birthday!

Mon, 04 Feb 2008 15:21:40 GMT

We fill crystal goblets with the dregs of our fears and, together, we toast: "to Love".

Sun, 09 Dec 2007 03:06:01 GMT

I believe in Love.

(Edit: I don't believe in much. But I believe in Love. And music.)

Sat, 10 Nov 2007 01:31:10 GMT

To remember our tones are most clear when sung from a place of Love.

It seems when we speak from our own pain the songs of others are too hard to hear and fall away as forgotten things, separate and alone.

In my heart I would see our fears, insecurities, old wounds, and terrors, melt as tears into our Mother's hands.

I would see in my eyes demons transformed into children of Light and humanity remember her Beauty.

For me there is no longer a choice. Each breath is a commitment to this place, this world, this time, these children of our Mother. Each breath is a commitment to Love.

And so I breathe.

Thu, 20 Sep 2007 21:51:24 GMT

Although the tides are always changing the Sea remains, in Truth, truly herself. Be as the sea, daughter, speak in Love and be free.

Sun, 09 Sep 2007 14:33:23 GMT

In a dream I catch you, beautiful sneak, planting bright flowers in the courtyard outside my window. The sun kisses your golden waves and drops dust over blooming yellows, whites, and reds, coloring the courtyard (and my dreams) with a shimmery song that smells of a world in bloom.

Fri, 31 Aug 2007 12:29:51 GMT

Here is your AstroSlam for Friday, August 31:

When a friend calls you at 10am and you are still asleep, you'll suddenly feel like an incredible lazy slob. Upon pondering, you'll decide you really like being a lazy slob.

Wed, 29 Aug 2007 14:09:14 GMT

Yesterday I found my skin and returned to the Sea. Must remember not to stay on land for too long.

Sat, 25 Aug 2007 14:14:08 GMT

Another year prepares itself to turn.

In our language murmurings pass between us, whispering of these past few years of perpetual mourning. It seems we've paid enough of a blood offering in the form of the deep hues of my uterial shedding and your bandanged hand for ghosts to form themselves & speak. Old lovers & those once called friend make themselves known along with the actual ghosts of grandparents, mentors, companion animals. I kiss them all. There is no endurance remaining to fight absent tears or present rememberings. There is no need to endure in this space. It no longer exists. Cleansed. Absolved.

It is done.

We walk together, hands gripped, in a dry place where the orange of the sky meets the red of the land. An army is behind us and an army ahead as we stand between. We turn to each other and spin, holding on for life, death, and everything between. The armies are swallowed within our spinning as the ghosts of past and shades of future disappear within this giant whirling embrace.

And things begin again.

Mon, 18 Jun 2007 02:17:22 GMT

Your visits are cherished snapshots, vibrant in my mind's eye, far more real than the photos I refuse to let you take.

Thank you, sister, friend, and partner in crime(s)

Today starts detox :P

Wed, 23 May 2007 02:12:35 GMT

As of *right now* I am on an official semi-holiday (and not a moment too soon) during which I will not check my (day job) work email, voice mail, or fax machine. Work files are hidden away in drawers that will not be opened. Nor will I worry about lawyers, probates, extended family politics or bitchy real estate agents.

This semi-holiday will involve laughter, music, sharing, the finding (or creating) of various sorts of trouble, beach time, sleeping at least a little late, and the fun kind of work.

Wed, 07 Mar 2007 14:53:53 GMT

Making peace with another person most always involves making peace with oneself

Thu, 11 Jan 2007 04:23:14 GMT

It's the last night in my latest home. This place, the coast of my earliest memories, prepares itself to change hands. Most of my things are elsewhere now and the rest follows soon.

The ocean reminds me of how I came here, exhausted & drowning, a deathwish on my lips. Now she spits me back out with instructions to follow Love's call. And so I go...

New Moon

Thu, 21 Dec 2006 00:45:55 GMT

Voices murmur in low tones to my heart. The song of ancient, sacred love is subtler than piercing fears that clamor for attention, to be swallowed and then released to the waves with a kiss. Yet its song is persistent and its rocking rhythm carries. Love’s music, mellow, warm, & generous, marks this turning, drawing me to a space where air is easier to breathe.

Tue, 12 Dec 2006 02:26:43 GMT

Tonight the ocean reminded me that my body rests on a living sphere of Love. The sand underneath my back is a cradle and the wind wraps mitten like around my fingers while an old dog licks my nose. Waves carry rhythms to my heart and the world dances while I lie still, for just a moment in space, quiet.

Sun, 03 Dec 2006 23:16:07 GMT

Here is a dream of flowers to line your path north, little one. You learn the damp touch of snow to your lashes sooner than I’d wished yet these seasons are not held within my too thin hands.

My eyes, like the sky, are grey now. Yet there is a soft remembering of blue pouring itself into the furthest waves, soon to color the sea, the sky, my eyes.

Your voice is loud, Beautiful Kind Brilliance, and my arms are longer than they may seem. Our names touch as our fingers do. You are Loved.

Tue, 21 Nov 2006 03:13:14 GMT

It has been quite some time since I was last told to 'fuck off' (interestingly its nearly always the same person who says it).

These things used to spin me into nasty cycles of self-reproach and malaise.

Now finally the realization settles in that such 'Fuck Yous' are really about her and not about the wrongs I may or may not have commited.

Truly...

My gratitude to she who has so generously assisted with this lesson.

It truly is a gift.

May she learn such lessons in kinder ways than she's taught them.

Mon, 20 Nov 2006 19:50:19 GMT

A New Moon touches Leonid showers as my dreams walk the patterns of stars. So things turn yet again...

Why is there such an impulse to place more value on suffering than on joy? Is it truly nobler to carry tragedy on our backs than to laugh? Dance! I'm told. And with this dance lift the pieces of mourning (yes, of course there's much to mourn) and spin them into something joyful.

The space of the Fool is a sacred one. A Fool's prayer: May I feel boldly!

It seems we tone ourselves to subtle ways of existence. Vibrations we send out strum against those who hear and set the scales in which we dream our harmonies. These nights are made for tenderness...

Obituary
The old man (soldier, scoundrel, actor, and drunk) survived by his sons and many grandchildren [a generally disreputable lot of soldiers, scoundrels, actors, and drunks [guess which I am! ;)LOL] loosened his boot. We bury a father yet gain ancestral voices.

And so I move once again... the next place carries the smells of a bay and sounds of music each night.

Mon, 20 Nov 2006 05:21:45 GMT

tonight stars dip and leap, dancing the sky

Fri, 03 Nov 2006 14:22:26 GMT

Gently, gently, you hold my heart in your chest. The sharp edges of fear soften and in wild freedom I fly to you.

Sat, 14 Oct 2006 02:18:23 GMT

The strumming of a harp echoes off the face of a gray eyed sea, who coos into the tiny ear of a blue eyed infant. This song melts through the child’s heart to be cried back again to the tide.

We are ourselves yet of like substance with those tethers that hold us close. Love nurtured vines grow in moments of pause, scattered rhythmically within the always moving waves, to wrap their arms around us, whispering of promises already kept & reminding of the wholeness in which we dance.

Sun, 28 May 2006 23:51:30 GMT

Half-drunk men gasping
Eyes following wave dancers
Dolphins playing tag

Mon, 22 May 2006 03:21:20 GMT

A Being is a drumming of rhythms (breath, lymph, cortisol, etc.) synchronized by the pumping of its blood

Our rhythms are born within the lubb-dubb of the Earth's own heart

As we attune our dance to Gaia's rhythm our own drumming entrains within Hers

To be whole is to taste our existence within Her heartbeat

As we dance in Her rhythm we may be offered a space (what sort of space varies) to exist with others as they listen for their own rhythm within Hers

This is Healing

Fri, 19 May 2006 22:49:19 GMT

We are nothing less than the embodiment of our Selves

Fri, 19 May 2006 03:09:44 GMT

Emotion slows enough to form

Like water whose movements freeze into crystalized ice we take shape for a moment, seemingly contained, yet waves break again as we remember how it feels to feel

In a dream I wear the shape of a woman but my insides are the waves of a sea