An Excercise: A Day of Practices into a Few Words

I revel in revealing, of turning the senses inward to scan, to wake up, to articulate and differentiate. Yes writing, like asana, provides the opportunity to access our Wisdom selves by looking meticulously, finding nuance, learning to adjust and edit, to root, to fly.

As a mover and a witness I am dancing once again on the breath. Once again, again and again coming home in that way. Layering japa mantra with breath, layering asana with breath. A question which continually draws me to the moment is who is moving and who is being moved. Is the breath moving the motion, inside the asana, and the spaces in-between, or is the movement carrying the breath?

The sacred art of the yoga has me captivated. The art of moving in space, with rhythm, finding alignment in bones and energy: dance. Literature is sometimes the very ocean of milk that I ride into the possibilities of myth and story to elucidate, sustaining the yearning of heart’s love affair with all the names of the Divine. And now it seems, I have discovered a voice, and the chanting, singing, expression of mantra is my liberation! The wellspring of all this rich material overflows into my own words as expression, the writing. Om Aim Saraswatiyea Svaha! Forming the beautiful dancing with the wisdom body, word and asana reveal their gems.

Water Story

There once was a child of God placed on the dirt to make a journey. Waters of her inner and outer being kept her true to the mission of loving God affording another perspective on forming.

The creating weaves the world of sand, dirt, rock to universe above and below the water, and to dream realms and other spirit places. The imagined and the real walking one foot and then the other have taught her to keep the perspective light.

Where Xilbalba is the ruler of the underground, the water runs as river below the limestone earth of the jungle. Opening to the rivers are small ponds, which are actually sink holes where the thin limestone crust collapsed. Called cenotes, they are sacred portals to the underworld.

 

Named the One Who Lives Reflected in the Water, this one murmurs to the reeds and fishes stories of aliens who would destroy their sweet home. She also tells them of the ones who are coming who are reborn out of the earth to bless their watery abode.

The reflecting pond uses light to alter perception in very effective ways. As a mirror we see as above so below. Who is looking here? How many eyes can see? Sweet cool water. This is the pond of immersion following temescal. The fluid that accompanies birth, sweet, cold and too, an entry way. The flow of the river moves through this channel where she is perched. Coming from dark under earth into watery dappled light only true beauty is exposed.

Once upon all time and no time is the setting of this story; a story of light and shadow and places in between. Of the searching for those special places of here, not there, this not that, tuned into a frequency of a moment. That is where we are here in the Ejido Jacinto Pat, Dos Ojos Mayan Community sacred pond.

 

 

Same Same

The DeviL the EviL

He who reversed is Live(D)

A simple matter of perspective

 

The Devil, number 15

Reduces to 6

The number of the Lovers…

 

Bound, unbound

Another set of opposites

Apparently two

Which always reduces to ONE

Same same

 

Eyes closed, eyes open

Opposites?

Only choices

With eyes to see

Will one know?

 

A door closed yet unlocked

By whose hand will it open?

Kali Ma

I invoke Kali Ma. Bring it down, bring it all down, Ma. Destroy the patriarchy who over and over again exhibits their abhorrence and disrespect for the Mother, for the mothers, for women and girls, for justice, for equality. Destroy the liars, destroy the cheats, cut off their heads and hands and let them bleed. I will dance in that blood.

In these waning days of an age, the illusion is so strong my eyes can only see the fiction, fantasy, farcical in its unreality. The US government leads the charge in the realm of the absurd. I invoke Kali Ma, Durga Ma: lead the celestial army, cut the haters down, destroy those who sit on their pedestals of privileged wealth, arrogant in the beliefs they have our welfare at heart. Shiva, dance on the ignorance of those who believe the liars. Goddess, I despise the stupidity of the shmoes who think corporate backed individuals have their middle class ass’s best interest at heart. Are you kidding?

Fierce One that I am, instinctual, a mama bear who will rip asunder anyone who tries to hurt beloveds. And who are they, my beloveds? Known and unknown to me, they are artists and activists; they are the hungry and dispossessed, women abused, children, elders, those who forget their voice. Could I rip the face off of the idiot who qualifies “legitimate” rape? Could I kick the balls off of the masquerader who would deny funding for the hungry but forces a photo opportunity in a soup kitchen? Could I shoot an arrow through the heart of a system that funds war but not education? Could I tear the guts out of those who subsidize oil, and chemicals, yet denies healthy food? Could I say, “The Devil made me do it?”

Wearing Durga’s calmly beautiful face, loving, peaceful, the fierce of my heart’s desire for fairness, for justice, for living and loving in peace, enough-ness for all the people in this world, I rage against the machine. Peace is my thing, peaceful warrior. I leave Kali her reign.

Crack of Ages

The Song of God has been sung. The battle now engaged. Lord Krishna is our charioteer. We can not lose. If we live, we live in victory. If we die we live in heaven.

This is the Mahabharata, the war at the crack of ages. Dharma versus a-dharma in order to destroy the race of kings. This is today, a collective of warriors taking on government and corporate corruption, oligarchies and illuminati. Ancient stories from our collective matrimony reflect the epic proportions of dysfunction in contemporary society.

In dharma we seek freedom from oppression. We seek freedom to eat good food, breath clean air, live in our homes, to sit under a tree. We are called to do our bit. Walk with dedication.

Calling all yogis, all lovers of justice and truth, defenders of the anawim. Either stand on your feet marching in action, or get down on your knees in prayer and devotion. Both are critical to our success. It is the rishis in the forests, the sages and wise ones who the warriors protect, for it is these saints who pray for the world, lifting the vibration upward.

Hatha yogis, to warrior poses, to the heroes and the creatures, archetypes to embody, shape shifting. Astras are magical weapons infuse by the power of mantra, of the WORD. Chant your asses off! Victorious Breath, get airborne with the Sons of Vayu, get mythic inside of Garuda, Vasuki, Ananta.

Line up with your true calling and line up with your bliss, then we can not lose.

 

http://revolution-news.com/the-world-in-protest-part-1/

Arcs and Portal Places

the arc

space in between

            under and

                        around

how do we draw lines,

find shading from the inside out

            textured

                        rhythmed?

sacred art, moving from the spine      

            the pelvis spills to

                        archetype of this shape or that

asana to breath

breath to mantra

suspension is threshold

arc arching is portal place.

the seer sees

she knows, she knows.

Moon Ride

My vigil began in the gloaming time, where the final strands of day lingered and the moon shine kicked on. Sea and sky always reflect each other in my window view. The deep velvet of dark midnight blue capped with silver foam wave on wave holds all the mysteries one could imagine of the sea. Only a few shades lighter with soft and wafty clouds, night sky holds the Orbed One; only the brightest diamond flecks visible next to La Bella Luna. Add the constancy of the sea, el Mar Caribe, in motion with the shimmer of light reflected in gazillions of water-mirrored surfaces.

Guru moon for the last few evenings, lulling me so deeply into contemplation of her that words could not escape to paper and pen. These thoughts only grasp as trying to hold air…

Even before the potent fullness of this full moon day, passing through Leo she eased much open clear to the center of my eternal being. A journey of re-framing now that the most recent layer was swept away. Owl wing brushed to awake-ness a woman fully landed in her wisdom.

How do I bring this newly discovered wisdom to the beginning of a love story? Going for the nugget, a clarity, the ride was soft, unfolding through the heaviness of my unconscious calling me in and down. Love and sex in the 10^th house, of being born again new to the ways of healthy, intimate relationships, through my soul. Three and a half years as brahmacharya, a renunciate dedicated to healing and dissolving the old things, no, ancient things, that no longer serve.

Guru moon, herald of my past, of my feral self Artemis, the Huntress transforming to Athena who is also Saraswati. Purity of the lunar light reflected in the water invited the free fall to intuition and hidden things, to surrender. Non-grasping, the knowledge keeps slipping in, the story and possibilities unfolding in ways that seemed impossible.

Soon, we chant to the Moon, this day of Festival of Prayer, and Day of Miracles! February 25, 2013, the first full moon of the Black Water Snake year. Why not walk this walk as the path of myth and legend? How does the story go?

Water

This beautiful documentary, Shades of Blue, reveals both the wonder and issues related to water in this part of the world. Underground rivers and caves with their openings in the earth called cenotes, as well as the Mesoamerican Reef along the Mexican Caribbean are being dramatically affected by poorly managed growth. Nothing new on the planet, however in a country that often suffers from drought, on a globe whose drinkable water is diminishing, the health of the sweet underground aquifer is a critical resource to manage.

http://vimeo.com/57584254

Concealment

Going to the body                                                                     

The bodega of a lifetime of detritus

A place where the bumps and bruises, nicks and bangs

Are hiding

Body knows                                                                             

Body never forgets

Physical, emotional, mental

It is all packed away in the various

Shelves and corners

Of bones and sinew                                                                    

Organs and cells

Have you met your hips yet?

Compensatory information filed when

Conscious mind moves on

Going to the body                                                                     

Making the invitation

Perhaps the specificity of a task

Holds the key

Prana awakens                                                                         

As we move and breathe

As we make time

Create safe space

Only if we listen, only if we can observe

Perhaps it’s the gesture                                                                

Perhaps it’s the fold

Perhaps it’s a mover moving

Perhaps it’s a mover moved

All we have to do is ask                                                             

Invite all that unconscious

Material that is concealed

Into the light of

Our own compassionate eyes

Do we reveal the head                                                               

While the tail is concealed?

Or do we reveal the tail?

Who can see both sides of the quarter

At the same time?