Goddess pt. II

When, from the morass of obscurity, she makes herself known – and you will know: apple-plump with beauty, soft and radiant – greet her in masculine presence, invite her in and return to business.

If then she remains, when all is let go of, she is yours and you may take her. Take in first, her femininity, absorb it in the crucible of your presence, foster it in the crucible of your strength.

Do not be afraid to meet your end at her hand if she offers to you this most precious of gifts. Therein is a new beginning. Your meeting is a dance of energetic polarity and an alchemy of two lovers to the ultimate benefit of you both.

Love first yourself, then fill her with that love.

With loyalty in your heart, know fruitful abundance in the love of your woman. Nothing else will have your cauldron be so overflowing.

Return, at times, to solitude. Attending to the business that men must at times attend to. Let her always know you will be returning. Forever returning to the beginning with her. Knowing her anew each time. Seeing her afresh each day. See her with your eye and not your mind. For only the eye can understand the depth of the reservoir she drinks her power from. She is the goddess come to kill you.

Die gracefully.

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Photography by Shae Detar

 

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Preparations (Ophelia).

You shuffle about your life, wistfully, absently filling once empty spaces with your vision – yet never deliberately, or with the toothpick of intent. As I do, you comment here and there to people who have no ears to receive you, realize the fruitlessness of this endeavor and return to silence. Subtlety with regards to the delivery of truth is not a fineness either of us can attest to.

From afar I can feel you, too… Going about your business as I go about mine, gloriously ignorant to the crossing of roads ahead. I know not what form you’ll take or what gifts you’ll bring, only that I am for you and that there is work to do in preparation.

A daughter. Ophelia. Bright. A spark. More powerful than is good for her in her formative years, although we will be well equipped to make the appropriate preparations for a child of such energy.

Yet upon close observation the future escapes through cracks between the fingers of the present, returning my attention to the hand I’m given. So I file these thoughts away to a cabinet at the back of my mind marked “return to” with my other uncashed cheques and await that prosperous seed to take fruit in your appearing before me complete with curls and chocolate-dark irises.

… I hope you drive fear into the hearts of men greater than I. I hope you come ready to humiliate me with your feminine glory. You will find me unafraid for under the bright light of philosophy I have corrected my fear.

Back to my silence. Back to watching it turn.

I surrender myself to timing.

 

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Artwork by Shae Detar

 

 

Tall.

Winter mist on misty windows.
Trees poking out of the ground,
numerously surround us.
They stand tall,
like adults do.
Swaying too,
like emotions or the opinions of the men,
that plant and cut them.

Should I stand taller?
Deep in my roots,
solid in foundation,
yet pliable above ground?

In a silent field we sat.
Leaves singing our names,
and foliage crunching under us as we lay,
while we use each other as cushions.
This is ground, I think, we must tread carefully,
lest things end precariously.
Yet still you stare at me,
– you are not one for being careful.
And so I, too,
stare back at you,
– the warrior is never fearful.

I saw rock pools in your eyes,
in a wooden bathing house,
standing nude before you,
physically and otherwise.

I caught, too,
a failed disguise
for something rare these days.
Something real.
And I have known women in my life,
in more than a hundred ways,
but this is my favorite.
This.

What gifts,
have you come to bring to me, angel?
Just peels of laughter
and prettiness?
Or something you apportion less regularly?
Something special, just for me?
In exchange for something special,
just for you?

You have come to me to be at home.
This, I know.
Relax my love.
I will die,
willingly.
You have come to kill me,
finally.
So let us walk home together,
fearlessly,
and find the truth in each other,
beautifully.
For we will live forever.
Let’s walk this path together.
The God and Goddess await us.

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Photograph by Vivian Maier

 

 

 

 

 

All will come.

I was ran by desire. “Teacher,” I said “I want this.”

“Sit in power, all will come.” He replied.

“No I will go this way.” I insist. I go. I fall.

“Teacher, I fell.” I report back.

“Yes, I know.” He says.

Again I implore: “Teacher I don’t want to go that way, that is the opposite of where I want to go!”

“Sit in power, all will come.”

He does not understand, I think. So I go. I Fall.

“Teacher I fell again.” I complain.

“Yes, I know.” He says.

“Sit in power, all will come.”

So finally I sit. I relax. I breathe. I construct a vessel for power to fill. I listen.

And finally, all I desire is coming.

“Teacher, here it all is.” I whisper.

“Yes, I know.” He softly says.

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Artwork by Hansol Choi

The Eye of The Beholder.

What you give your attention to, expands. Drama, love, peace – make a choice. You are the creator.

Similarly, if you hold your eye on the beauty of a woman, you will be witness to her ever expanding beauty.

It is your responsibility to make your world beautiful by holding your eye on only beauty, not the world, or your woman’s, responsibility to be beautiful for you. Correct yourself lest you see only an enemy and be ruled by the ubiquitous despot – the ego.

In each woman; mother, daughter, child; there is the seed of the goddess. She may plant this seed in fertile soil, step into vulnerability (her power) and tend to this garden herself and channel the divine goddess deliberately. Or, you (the God) may foster it in her through channeling your own divine masculine energy.

Therefore, if you see only girls, or are unimpressed by the women in your life, it is you that is the problem, not the women. You are bringing to these people only a little boy, keen to be looked after and tended to like your mother did for you. You are looking for a woman to take care of you to avoid stepping into your own power, and therefore reflected back at you you see only women who are yet to step into theirs.

A man watches intently the woman in all female forms,  knowing all he must do is listen, watch her spin around, admire the beauty and that this is all that is required for the seed of divine femininity to sprout into a mighty oak under which you might find shade. Allow her to cool you, be her sun.

This is your path, gentlemen.

Now walk.

 

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Illustration by Robert Fawcett (1903-1967)

(Featured photograph by Vanina Kalovsky)

Sharpening.

Silently, I sit…. Admiring her softness.

I have a stone upon which I sharpen my sword – a woman – whom through serving I build my tolerance for sacrifice and thereby step further into my strength. Service to her and to all women is my daily practice. And I have become fond of repeating the basics until perfect.

I was served by a woman as a child, and I now serve this woman and all women as a man. So turns the cycle of birth, death, and birth.

Woman, I now need nothing from you. Not your romance. Not your sex. I have everything I need internally. And all that is mine, externally, is coming to me. All you must do is be what you are and you will be loved deeply, and unconditionally. You will be listened to, and seen. You will be cherished for all that you are.

So do not clean after me. Do not cook for me. Do not exert yourself for I am not a kept man.

Accept me, consume me, and I will be a God for you that we might perpetuate this eternal dance of energetic polarity into each night and spill it over into each morning.

And when you wake I will be here. Unmoved. Unmovable. The warrior.

Your man.

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Photograph by Andrea Tomas Prato

 

Summoned.

From the seat of peace, and in the fields of isolation, one’s path is chiseled out of stone, slowly revealing the sculpture hiding within – and it points you in the direction you must go until you are lost once more and you return to the seat, and stand in the fields and wait. Wind whistling in ear.

The signals whispered to us by life are subtle inferences, unintelligible over the dull roar of the party life or arguments with loved ones. So quiet yourself and listen (drama serves you not). The answers have been coming all along, your attention was simply fixed elsewhere. And when you listen you will see. And when you see you will act. And when you act you will be victorious. For the signals never lie, and action taken in truth is sublimely effective.

When you listen to these inferences you will be calm and you will be still for you will know with certainty that you are well situated and this will serve you. This will relax you. And when you are relaxed you will be witness to more and more flowing towards you. And then you may rule over your kingdom from the dignity of your throne and not from the chaos of the battlefield. Do not leave your seat for all that is yours is coming. Let what is not yours remain elsewhere, and disregard egoic desires around obtaining these things, for they will only limit you.

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Artwork by Bharat Sikka

You are being summoned. Both beautiful endings and opportune beginnings are upon you.

Calmly, in stillness: See. Know. Act. Become.