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"Who could be so lucky? Who comes to a lake for water and sees the reflection of the moon." Rumi

Monthly Archives: June 2012


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Lights, Camera, Puppets!

I awoke behind the scenes
Of what seems to be impossible.
Theater curtains
Come to a stop midway.
It isn’t time yet, is it?

I know nothing,
Yet I know the plot will unfold-
It thickens not, not yet.

In the drama that is life
There are characters who only memorize lines
Thus
-Cameras roll.
-Mics hang.
-Ropes pull.

The director knows my name –
Witnessed my peak.
He knows me.

He wants me to be in the play.
Acting? It isn’t my forte.
A spectator, ah, perhaps more fitting
For now because now isn’t for me

Symmetrically between
Left and right,
Front and back,
I sit.
The corn has popped,
I eat.
My feet hang over the back of a chair in front.

The dialogue is weak.
A slow monotonous death supersedes
The first five takes of life,
Physically, anyway.

But I’m now asleep.
My body, that is.
And I shall play.
A major part of history will be unveiled
Through the lens of dreams,
Not stages.
Phases of broken legs
And luck for the good
Will be but momentary.

I dream.

I am.

I know nothing yet.
But I know that much.

Photo credit: Freakingnews.com


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I’ve been absent lately

… but the Divine has been most present, now more than ever, or at least I am more receptive to it (me).

As some of you may know, I am currently traveling a path of truth, seeking that which can only set me free. And how fantastic it feels, you know, that breath of freedom!

I’m dancing with the wind
and flirting with the sea-
charging from the moon
and bathing with the sun-
speaking to the flowers
and healing through the Earth.

Sunday – May 18, 2012:
It marks the beginning of what I knew would eventually come.

~*~ Relationhips are forming ~*~
~*~ The stars are aligning ~*~
~*~ My light is shinning ~*~

Inexplicable events have been taking place in my life this past week, yet I have never understood anything as clearly as I am this moment. The unfolding of ’mystical’ synchronizations within new associations was at first, to say the least, overwhelming. I kept telling my self, “OK, now I have many things to process“, but in all actuality, the process is happening on its own, unveiling secrets, energies, visions, etc. that, magically, are making a smooth transition in this path.

~*~ Gaining access to the divine ~*~
~*~ Enjoying the transformation ~*~
~*~ Shining my light ~*~

I have found someone who has become my closest sidekick. The formation of such relationship was written since our past lives. We have a mission to finish, I’m sure. He asked me (in summary) —>>> What are your goals? What are you trying to achieve during this journey you have embarked upon, and how do you plan on doing so? <<<—

I didn’t know how to answer. Apparently, my journey to enlightenment needs some structure. No. Not structure. But I can’t walk around headless, thinking that everything I may stumble upon will lead to such heights. So in essence, I need to answer those questions honestly, in isolation (meditation). I know what I want to achieve. Now I need to gain the techniques and wisdom to reach my goal.

And what better confirmation than through my dreams? My first step is to start a dream journal. The power behind my dreams is not to be ignored. The messages I have been receiving are key to divination. My next steps are being carefully designed for my individual path to ONENESS.

I can’t help but to allow my heart and soul to smile!

Love & Light,
Moon ♥


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It lingers…

This insatiable appetite.

Stop, says the mind.

I can’t.

I need.

Texture, warmth, coolness.

Salty, sweet, pungent.

Every bite penetrates

The buds of taste

And creates orgasms.

Closing my eyes

I enjoy, I live.

I savor with a smile.

I swallow with satisfaction.

It travels through a vortex

As it feeds my blood.

Nutrient-obsessed-

It comforts my belly

Like jelly on bread.

I. Cant. Stop.

I hunger.

I crave.

I sigh from relief.

Another round, maybe?


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Women are mature, men are not… right?

Artist: Wenzel Hollar

I had lunch with a friend today. One of our conversations struck a chord. And I think we both agreed.

The topic: “Women mature earlier than men.” We agreed to disagree with the idea that it takes men longer to “grow up” than it does women. (Except physically).

Where does the stereotype even come from? Psychologists? Culture? Religion?

I think it’s a concept that has plagued our minds, limiting our potential to behave as naturally as possible. In nature, some male behavior will differ from those of a female. But the continuous reminder that it will take a man some years before reaching the maturity level of a woman is in itself a setback. How conditioned have we become?

Women want to automatically date men who are years their senior because they have a preconceived notion about men their own age. (I have been guilty of this). And in turn, men subconsciously behave the way they are ultimately expected to behave as it has become socially acceptable. (I have encountered such individuals). This stereotype has become an excuse for immaturity. It has created mental limitations, hindering us from realizing that as individuals, we grow/mature independently.

Notwithstanding the constant pollution from pop culture, news media and ignorance that surrounds us, we need to make an effort to filter that information. Let us not be judgmental toward others, and stop making excuses for our behavior.

The day we cease in putting titles to whom, what and why we are, will be the day we’ll all be open to accepting one anothers’ flaws whilst embracing our qualities.


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My Closest Comfort

Sleep is my closest comfort.

A comforter, white like snow-

Stuffed in a dark satin duvet,

Drapes over my forsaken skin.

My head, propped in the middle

Of my favorite pillow,

Is cased in satin, with a lavender mist.

Sigh… It soothes my soul.

Tranquility at my fingertips.

As the A.C. turns, tightly I hold on,

Squeezing as I’m held in a snug position

By no one…by no one but my comforter.

 

Sleep is my closest comfort.

My energy is replenished

And my blemishes unseen-

My tomorrow foreseen in dreams,

Witnessing my sorrows.

Guessing games come to a halt,

Hunger becomes repressed,

Loneliness nonexistent

With desires fully expressed.

Events were yesterday’s worries;

But tonight as my comforter caresses

My limbs and core, I fall into deep sleep.

Artist: Nikolai Kuznetsov

Sleep is my closest comfort,

Where the solar of my plexus is safe

 As I embrace my own shoulders

And interlace my fingers tightly.

To be held… I yearn to be held.

At night only the silky fabric of satin

Twines together with my legs.

My bed feels my weight as I sigh,

As I scream into my pillow,

Flooding it with cries

Before my lids shut.

 

Sleep is my closest comfort.

Remaining silently throughout-

Watching, hearing, enjoying me

As I travel in between each crevice

And every corner of my mind.

My sleep is precious,

Offering me a lifetime of dreams

In a fraction of a day.

All my thoughts are welcomed,

And troubles put on pause –

My flaws are no more

for a higher self is born.

 

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