Vulture Speak
Not enough anymore to wait for perfect timing, the outcome presses in the mirror, crow’s feet, tired eyes, and we must get back on route, but doubt sticks to the background, circling like those desert raptors outside. What else is vulture trying to convey? He’s been present along our travels for a few years now; a common species, ancient and wise. Something to do with carcasses left on the road, from a way of living in previous paradigms of progress, success, and pleasure. Carcasses of places and games taken too far, for too long. I see people decay as they live, their bodies dragged by consumerism, instant gratification. I see excess, people mesmerized back to the animalistic, driven by blunted senses, from so many additives and experience enhancers. Vultures hover, circling, like they’re waiting for a known outcome, but I do not know how to wait without looping into my own: craving total freedom from a system already in place. I see players seeking advantage, suited up in opportunism; slaves to the next best thing rush by, going nowhere new. Remnants of glories past seem so silly, now that less has proven to be so much more. I wish for our safe passage, an opening that´ll get us to our true land, of red earth, clay, and master weavers; heat and underground cool, protection enriched by soul. Visionaries of new days, foundational, mystical songs, and stone temples carved by the wind. Spirit of vulture, teach us now how to ride the thermals and soar.
Sleepwalkers
They’ve been noticed, now defined outside this room, the same he took the liberty of stripping of anything that didn’t make sense. He points to the sleepwalkers, dead energy that keeps running a program, and I wonder if they have an inkling, the here I go again voice in the back of their head. ¿Or do they live the scene fully, each and every time? It was the smugness in their eyes when they told the story; overcast sky iris, dark circles under eye, waning crescents. Not to fear, the door is closed, shut secure -he assures. Yet they walk on my property. I didn´t mind so much before, but now it´s beginning to be unacceptable, almost unbearable, since Pluto whispers ever so intimately. He shows me forms of energy in reverse: cold electricity, when life discards fragments, cells, and membranes it won’t need to continue. He shows me the mysteries of charisma in reverse: a facade on the dark side of the Sun; a masking of light from darkened characters, gripped by misfortune, while an audience delights, basking in the cool charm of a sleepwalker who pretends to be fully awake and vigorous. I must ask now, ¿is our greatest virtue as humans the mastery of enactment, the art of delivering lines? -I utter And he says yes, we are grand at it, so much, we forgot we made it all up to cover the fact. What fact? The fact of humiliation. And if they do wake for moments, when the gifts of random inspiration penetrate the shell by surprise, those jupitarian rays of elation, the venusian comforts of beauty, I can see the basic child left behind, until the tissue closes off again and is back to the program, back to circling the yard, telling the story, repeating their lines. And then he says it, -time for complete removal.
No Analogues
Written prose, verse, choosing beauty, upholding value, creating my life.
Marred
Short piece, written prose, shadow self; integrating shadow, the other as mirror.
Casino Lady
Short piece of written prose on lady luck, human folly, the illusion of control, coming to terms with luck’s whims, learning to play the game.
Cowboy New Year
Written prose, a perspective of the new year during Capricorn season; honoring time, recognizing limitations, observing rest.
Piro and Roses
Writing prose, remembrance of our past selves, siblings growing up, growing apart, special moments in youth, the fire of hope and youth.
Ancient Stag
Written prose, referring back to our natural selves, seeking safety in the natural world, keeping it real, authenticity, spirits in nature.
Omens on the AM
Synchronicities, finding meaning in the everyday, giving meaning to, reverie, realization, family curses.
Stripping Down
Writing prose, the new role of a middle aged woman, going back to simplicity, realness, back to herself.