Temple Oracle

for H.D.

I cling to you
my golden ring etched
with the ancient poem

Twisting you on
I become invisible
as a breath, a gasp

Let me be
your precious you said
as I lay down

Your lap my bower
your lips my journey
away from green pastures

Years later I twist
turn the golden ring
in my palm

Unable to throw you
in the fire
on the mount

Unable to put you
back on
my old comfort

My precious
your precious
forever
no more

i remember you
my eyes locked in rapture
as you took the stage

tweed clung to my thigh
like a hungry lover
devouring each sigh

as we gathered
you cleared your throat
and i could not look away

aldous
aldous
i remember
the magic you painted
that I could never have

*

i remember me
three nights later
tears streaming down

tweed clung to my thigh
like a desperate man
afraid to let go

i let go

of it all

*

cold water clung to my thigh
cold water clung to my skin
i drifted down
and for some reason
thought of you

*

aldous
what a strange memory
to end on
of sitting around you

not the memory of his screams
not my mother
not the tears
not the sorrow

no aldous
it was you
with my last breath

*

i was wide eyed in wonder
breathing in life
three hours
three days before the end
three wishes made true

let me dance
let me know
let me elate

and i had

the last two at your feet

*

when water rushes in
it chokes
then presses down

swallow me aldous
swallow me whole
take me down your lanes of dream
to where I danced
but never tasted

swall me aldous
swallow me deep
take me past cacti and mushroom
to where you danced
and in my heart i called home

*

love

in the end
love

not the gnawing anguish
not years of malaise
mixed with stifling depression

in the end
love

and you
and you

This is
my year by the sea
pen in hand
as I work through
the hard places
of my heart

Coming to visit
my friends say
I look happy
for the first time in ages
while with pot of tea raised
I shake inside

Patterns in sand
come and go
as I wander
the beaches
looking for hope
a place to sit
to wait out the storm

Wringing my hands
half-smiling at strangers
I breathe
practicing the gifts
of the time to be spent
here

So fetch me some madelines
and my wool derby hat
fetch me a notebook
some ink and a desk
let me set up residence
in this space by the shore
as the as waves come in
come out
to find me

This is
my year by the sea
pen in hand
as I wok through the hard places
of my heart

(for Demeter)

They call you underworld goddess
eater of pomegranates
red lips stained with curiosity

They call you the raped goddess
bride of dark Hades
crying in his shade for light

But I remember you
young and bouncing
pulling at my furled skirts

But I remember you
joyful with delight
from spring to fall harvest

They call you shadow goddess
queen of the dead
hungry with ashes and wine

But I remember you
Beyond pomagrantes
my love
my child
my daughter
under the sun in my arms

In sacred Dodona
mud under foot
by you
by you
waving oak leaves
as you reached down

Mud under foot
whispers between branches
from you
from you
of the visions you threw
like a fisherman’s net

Whispers between branches
truths of 10,000 years
of you
of you
our beloved Goddess
dancing in dreams

Truths of 10,000 years
every priest before
to you
to you
swaying under prophecy
as twigs snap and writhe

Every priest before
hungry for your blessing
for you
for you
forever your children
in sacred Dodona

oldest oracle
you shone before Delphi
praised Delphi

but you were first
always came first
blessed
sacred
Dodona

we still circle each other

planets of past desires

caught up

in each others gravity

Knuckles
buckle down
making moons
that will never
be full

Digging in
purple with focus

Fill me up
crescent moon
buckled down
knuckles
made of my will

So I look for the Old Gods, the beasts, and the faeries,
I speak of their names and their sigils I mime
their stories, perpetually grand invocations
are secrets preserved in the midst of rhyme

And what did we learn down the yellow brick road?
And what did Alice really find down that hole?

Well…

It’s a shaman’s journey if ever I saw one
and I ought to know cause I’m continually on one

-Storm Faerywolf, from his poem “The Faerie Tale” in The Stars Within The Earth

I was talking with people last week in my new yoga class. I mentioned that I do fire spinning. Later, someone asked where my favorite place to visit was, and I said out of the country it was a hard split between central Cappadocia in Turkey, and Manly Bay in Sydney. They blinked. Later that day, I ran into one of the girls from the group…

“You are totally like a ken doll.”

Stories in my head run through about gender, not having outed myself, and internal thoughts on not having external genitalia- my differently gendered boy a line between ken doll and angel. But instead I asked, “How so?”

“Because you are totally too good to be true.”

I look at my life and it is true. It would not surprise me to see someone make a movie from my life (starring Maggie *and* Jake Gyllenhaal) that folks would read as a fantastical fiction. Child of army intelligence folks, art nerd and punk turns christian faith organization database administrator while shooting porn on weekends. Car crash leads to porn full time, leads to international travel, leads to becoming a sexuality educator and dedicated spirit-worker. Gender transition, heart breaks, heart string…

My former boyfriend Mars used to joke by calling me “Sydney” a la Alias. “Uh huh,” he would say,” You HAVE to be in Berlin next week for a video shoot and performances. I should keep my eye out for assassination reports.”

I have come to realize that I have come to live down the rabbit hole. I am an acclimated citizen of Palimpsest. I have walked along the yellow brick road, having journeyed the OZ. What is odd to others is my day to day.

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”

-Jack Kerouac

I have danced with demons under the pale moon light. I know the smell of bodies wrapped in leather and packed onto the dance floor. The sound of the earth’s rhythm and sylphs singing has rocked me into sleep and frenzy alike. These are… life. My life.

I do not intend to have judgement, but as I look up from down the rabbit hole, I see the Victorian era on the other side and see it as a strange dream. Here, I look across the gap and find I just don’t quite understand the thoughts and processes of the “average” person, the supposed soccer mom and blue collar, white collar worker. I have spent too much time with pink collar workers, have seen authentic self exploration as the day to day of perverts, tantric visionaries, gurus and those very same soccer moms, blue collar, white collar workers on their weekends. My mind does not get it. I don’t understand the close mindedness…

and yet, that perception of close mindedness is itself a judgement. A perception that the mad ones are better. That the faerie tales are more awake, more alive. That the beauty of Oz and Wonderland somehow outweighs the beauty of monster truck rallies and golf courses, jam competitions at state fairs and time at the spa with the girls. Different beauty is all. Mindful of my judgement, I breathe, try.

Try to see the beauty of it all. Of it ALL.

From here, down the rabbit hole, I try a breath at a time. A breath at a time, I try.

Wrapped in invocations
wrapped in rhyme
wrapped in mystery
wrapped in time.

I try.

(response to “The Grudge” by Jeffrey McDaniel)

You kiss me
petals blooming on ravenous lips
the venom of your resentment
stinging me
as we stumble into bed

Passion flows out of us
for what are lust and rage
but dancing cousins
caught up in the same steps
on the ballroom floor

Hands grabbing hair
fangs digging to bone
hope clinging to your sweat
as we dream
if a time before spittle and fear

Let it spill
let us remember tomorrow
Nourished roots erupting
into the towering fronds
of our forgiveness

a strand of hair
knots entwined
drop of venom
spit intertwined

broken glass
mirrored fear
blood and urine
whispers dear

rusted nails
broken trust
mixed together
with scrapes of rust

in a glass bottle
sealed tight
with them ill
and send this blight