Port Dickson

The dirty smudge
of water and jellyfish
along a grey shore

brings to the fore
of the mind the
image of oil spills
and debris.

But
how is it possible for
such dirt to give rise
to the glorious ecosystem
of schools of baby fish
swimming in the shallow
lapping of waves at your
feet?

The beauty of it
is unfounded - like
the baby inside you
that rests unborn.

Under Tall Palms

Under tall palms
the soft kiss of darkness
gives rise to
the type of
loneliness
that smells like
serenity

On Fear, Beloved

Fear.

The calling to
mobilise
the pieces of
our selves
that require
the most

comfort,
adoration,
respect,
tenderness,
fulfilment,
joy.

Both the catalyst
and the impediment
to a realisation
of wholeness.

Fear. Equates
no inaction.
Immob-
           ilised.

Baby, break
through, br-
eak thr-
ough, bre-ak
th-rough
it.

It is only a
calling of
you unto
yourself.

Tsunami of Love

When self-love
comes
expect a Tsunami

not a wave.
It will terrify you,

sweep you up
and
eventually

wash you
to
shore.

The Internet

Someone gave me good advice today. All I could think while she spoke was "of all the infinitesimal situations that comprise life, how could it be possible to extract a sense of what is right to do in any given moment?"  

I listened, and nodded, and cried. Willing myself - so hard - just to be able to retain what she said: 

"Try to find ... the ability to seek out... lessons from past situations... can teach... right for you now..." 

"The diagnosis ... you are confused... use the internet... support yourself." 

"We wait for the feeling to appear... move us into action... seeking... the action can give way to the feeling" 

I know I won't hold onto this. It's not in my nature. The lessons life teaches me surpass articulation and concretisation. Still in this moment there is some solace. A glint. The internet.

Lapses in Bright Intuition

"Get the fuck up
and get out
of my
house!", he
shouted -

without
saying any--
thing at all.

Inaction
mobilised
me into
nothing.

I let myself
wither, make
it to the cusp
of dying, only
to pick myself
up and wither
again.

I am not
made for this.
Perhaps life
would be
simpler if I
settled for

what I should 
have been.
But true faith
is in the
unseeing
of things -

it is im-
possible
to go back now.
Unsee all the
unseeing,
taking the leap
of faith

into a known
nothingness.
Is it faith if
you know
exactly what
it is?

I got up, and
got out. But
not because I
wanted to

bad habits over-
ride intuition
like the quiet
violence of
dreams

silently
rediscovering
the ordinary
in the face
of nothing

describing
a struggle
that is
endless -
ah, that is
ordinary.

That is ordinarily
yourself.

I got the fuck up
and got out -
  but I also never
   left.

Earth's Spirit

Joy's rhythm
taps out of
my finger
tips
and
hips

Warm fuzz
erupts in
the centre-
fo-ld-s
of my belly

What is this
ecstacy -
explosions
of bright blue
and fuchsia
behind my
eyes

Majestic
creatures
on sleighs,
afloat but
moving

faster than
a thousand
light years
compressed
into a second

An eternity
this
  pure
     bliss
blessing
a soul

that moves
and
moves
and
       moves.

There is no
stopping
this spirit

from expanding
its tender,
          petals

to meet
on the
other side
of the
earth

and in
unison
rejoice

in the
soft song
of

true,
   true,
oh so true,

love.