Fire to Water

In my shadow I find an experience of myself that is a gateway to wholeness. I do not hide from myself in the ‘light’.

My soul calls out many times and is answered by big love. Big love is fearless, in the face of my self deprecating stories big love denies the illusion.

When I stand defending my castle as the damsel in distress, I am also the dragon guarding it, I am also the castle, as I am the warrior that faces the dragon.

I am the fortress in which I hide, I am the damsel I parade, I am the dragon that breathes fire and I am the soul that calls out for more.

I spent most of my time in a castle of my own creation, expanding my dragon, building stronger walls, in fear of the dragon, in fear of the castle, in fear of being free, in fear of triumph.

But then I realized, there is no damsel. The castle is unnecessary, the dragon just a pet to be seen, the warrior a story. Big love inside of me answered, big love in my life answered calling me out of the castle to come play.

It took charring skin many times until I saw I was the one who held the fire to myself, while those around me were calling out for me to run my hand under the water, I would yell back wanting to burn.

I would say, ‘don’t you see? someone is holding my hand in the flame!’
They would say, ‘don’t you see? you are the flame.’

Until I could receive my own power, until I could see the whole being of me, I refused to own my greatness.

I am owning my greatness. My fire is turning to water, and the fire that comes to cleanse does not burn.

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waterfall

I don’t have to burn anymore, I can just be.

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Day 73 of Loving Men

Harvest love

There is a choice on how I choose to see men in general. There are many options in society, many different views, ultimately it is my choice on how I see men. I take full ownership in my choice.
It is my choice what I choose to harvest.

I choose to harvest love. It is the only thing that nurtures and the only thing that unites.

When I come to the field of social expression I can choose what I water and what I harvest. This is not an easy task, harvesting of any sort is laborious.

If the labor is the same, doesn’t it make sense to choose the harvest that is rich and healthy rather than the harvest that is rotted and foul?

As I look across the field I choose to harvest love of men. What I seek I will find in abundance.

How do you choose to see men?

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Yours truly in this months issue of GQ.

This month’s GQ is out with an article on the Men’s Rights Movement. I am also among the quoted and photographed. I’m no longer a part of the movement. I left the movement a few months ago because I dropped all labels and am complete with all movements.

I left the movement, not the people.

I am still very much a stand for men’s rights as a part of human rights.

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Do not be discouraged by hit pieces. They still bring the communication forward. The focus is in bringing the discussion of men’s human rights to a wider audience and each piece does that. Each piece regardless of how displayed brings questions. Brings another possibility for people to choose from. Ultimately it is bringing knowledge to more people so that they can decipher what is true for them.

There are those in the article that are made the focus, however, the real focus is men being brought into the universal discussion of human rights and men receiving human rights.

As it stands, in the US we -and rightfully so- do not have FGM [female genital mutilation] which is wonderful. However, baby boys do not have that option. It is dismissed under the name ‘circumcision’.

We, the US, funds every year MGM [male genital mutilation] while we fight FGM. All genital mutilation must cease. For all genders.

WHO- World Health Organization pushes male genital mutilation under the misguidance that it reduces HIV spread by 60%: http://www.who.int/hiv/topics/malecircumcision/en/

However this has repeatedly been debunked by doctors: http://intactamerica.org/learnmore

This is just one of the many men’s rights topics that will bring more curious ears thanks to the article in GQ.

So, no matter what, please take try and see it as a win in the discussion moving forward.

Many things have been at first displayed in a certain light before they were received as factual. There is nothing more factual than men deserving human rights.

Everyone, regardless of label or gender deserves to feel safe, loved and have their human rights honored.

We rise, we rise together.

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Melissa La Flamme: The grit of authenticity: Inhabiting Revolution

YES! I’m touched by this, these excerpts profoundly:

“Your essential soul’s powers — what you were born with before you lost track of them and they, you — are to be found there, in that excavation into your dark depths, awaiting you to carry them home, like mama leopard carries kitties. ”

“Congruent. Authenticity happens in the guts and bowels of your life. Being authentic is the grunt-work of the soul, of any deeply human, spiritual path. Being half here, half there, half-hearted, faking it to look good, strategizing to make things easier for your self — that’s the common way of the unconscious clotted middle, driven by our egoic, addicted culture. It’s a way that lacks wholeheartedness. Lacks real courage to let the heart break. Shatter. Broken whole and holy open to finally know compassion for self, others, earth. To live and love — on-fire, fully alive, juiced and ready to serve.

Being authentic and soul-centered costs you your ticket to ride from the collective mainstream to the illusion of safe and secure. And opens the door to your bloody and glistening, broken whole heart — reveals to you the honey of this wildly delicious, messy life. Leaves you and those you touch, feeling radically free. Without choice now. Solid and light. Authenticity strips away all that is NOT real. All that is not made from love, to love. All that is of enriched soul and in-spired Spirit remains. There is no living a soul-centered life without being authentic — without mustering the courage to do the excavating in the dark: the Shadow work.

Again, C. G. Jung: “People will do anything, no matter how absurd, to avoid facing their own souls.”

What will you do?”

I choose.

I have the power of choice, I get to choose how I show up regardless of another’s words. I get to choose who I am in the face of hate.

I’ve faltered, and I will again, I am human. And I will choose again in my stand for love and innocence. Seeing it before me and within me.

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Trickster

Khandroma sky dances through rainbow pouring
Mischief weather play she leaves all imploring
Why rain, then shine, then hail, then sun by the hour?
Will her whim shift to other ways of reminding nature’s power?

Dakini drips from her skin if you can catch her mid-flight
Khandro are known for their push then assist of Hero’s plight
Wisdom sharp as blade, honesty unyielding kissed with tiny tip of wrath
Intuitive force blends playfulness, elusive frivolity, places mirage path

Ego frustration from those annoyed with prank clarification
Instead of seeing her call for awaken many wail for her damnation
But she is unfazed as her will stands strong to behold
To call out the core of those dancing lost in chaos fold

What is often left unseen in the Tricksters guiles
Is her carefree dedication, willingness to go miles
To catapult human experience through testing
With each jest it is she who is truly investing

The fool is keenest joker run amok
One who reminds it’s OK at times to not give a fuck
She balances all that is held most serious
Mirrors it back as an act quite delirious

For what is more important to hold onto than play?
Benign treachery breaks linear predictable day
Those who wish to catch her as Lover
Must find Shakpa rope to catch her mid-hover

Slippery being shape shifts by wish throughout day
From Panther to Lioness, Leopard to Raven, Wolf then back to Fae
So when next you hear the Owl’s implore
Calling down whilst purveying knowledge to forest floor
Or passed in hall by pretty eyes crossing door
It could be you’re in presence of folk from Lore
The Trickster

magician

Magician

Shoulders heavy with matter
Skies bold with deliverance
Breast first into the fire

Face still in focus
Visions
Sweet cupcake delicious
Writhing in passion
Racing through wild mutated grass
Screaming for release
Demanding voice
Met with resistance to hierarchy
Who is seen first?
Who can ride together into here

Heart drags across ground
Carcass pulling itself dropping putrid organs
Some burst
Others devoured by the sand
Red painted nails pick up each with bucket
Humming Ancient hymn
She sits by petite trickling waterfall
Toes tickled as minnows meet
In her palm she devours each piece,
All but one which she places in her silk pocket,
Delicately slurping remains off each finger
Bliss moans from her

When she is done she grabs dropped body
It takes time, rigor mortis is a bitch to carry
Finally, she disturbs school to pull corpse into clear water
Waist deep she holds dead under water until it sinks
From her bleeding pocket she extracts and holds between palms
Eyes glaze with soul touched machina
And it begins.

The earth shakes as a crack is torn through reality
Ripping a dimension into the now
Her toes stay grounded into lake floor
Pushing energy through soles to stay
The heart begins to glow in her hand
Shifts into pristine orb with a clarity that parts the Heavens and commands recompence
A voice can be heard in the swift descend
Lightening tunnel portals light being as it falls
Wings tearing singe
Howl piercing it’s new world
Vibrant agony
Entity of human meets it’s body below the water

It’s opens it’s eyes confused
Looking up the world seems very soft through liquid screen
Swiftly orb is shoved into underwater being
With a force that shocks
Body leaps from water holding onto hand which delivered onto it

She grabs shifting Carcass as it holds onto her hand
Kisses torn mouth
Wretching organs refreshed back into appropriate body
Like a mother bird feeding it’s young

It gasps, coughs
Heaves and cries out
Flesh sewing itself
Body complete
It shivers naked in the warm water
Lost in awe watching minnow

She picks up her bucket,
it swings gently by her side,
Hums her Ancient hymn
Tears clink gently against each other
Jeweled from eye to cheek
Strolls barefoot across mutated grass
Until the Alchemy of her magic is called for again