somewhere i have never traveled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

    - e e cummings

Inside this new love, die.
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an axe to the prison wall.
Escape.
Walk out like somebody suddenly born
​into color.
Do it now.
You're covered with thick cloud.
Slide out the side.  Die,
and be quiet.  Quietness is the surest sign
that you've died.
Your old life was a frantic running
from silence.

The speechless full moon
comes out now.

    - Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks

By the time I recalled that it is also
terrifying, we had gone too far into
the charmed woods to return.  It was then

this beautiful animal appeared in our path:
ribs jutting, moon-fed eyes moving
from me to you and back.  If we show

none of the fear, it may tire of waiting
for the triggering flight, it may ask only
to lie between us and sleep, fur warm

on our skin, breath sweet on our necks
as it dreams of slaughter, as we dream
alternately of feeding and taming it

and of being the first to run.  The woods
close tight around us, lying nested here
like spoons in a drawer of knives, to see

​who wakes first, and from which dream.

​    - Geoffrey Brock

​​I am dreaming of a house just like this one

but larger and opener to the trees, nighter

than day and higher than noon, and you,

visiting, knocking to get in, hoping for icy

milk or hot tea or whatever it is you like.

For each night is a long drink in a short glass.

A drink of blacksound water, such a rush

and fall of lonesome no form can contain it.

And if it isn’t night yet, though I seem to

recall that it is, then it is not for everyone.

Did you receive my invitation? It is not

for everyone. Please come to my house

lit by leaf light. It’s like a book with bright

pages filled with flocks and glens and groves

and overlooked by Pan, that seductive satyr

in whom the fish is also cooked. A book that

took too long to read but minutes to unread--

that is—to forget. Strange are the pages

thus. Nothing but the hope of company.

I made too much pie in expectation. I was

hoping to sit with you in a tree house in a

nightgown in a real way. Did you receive

my invitation? Written in haste, before

leaf blinked out, before the idea fully formed.

An idea like a storm cloud that does not spill

or arrive but moves silently in a direction.

Like a dark book in a long life with a vague
​
hope in a wood house with an open door.


​    - Brenda Shaughnessy

​It's not about becoming a slithering "Goddess" wearing feathers in your hair... 

Its not about the "power" of how enchanting you can seem 

When you swirl those hips and hypnotize the wild eyes of oh so many men...

You must shed those pretty layers

Peel off the skin of your appearance

Unravel your addiction to performance 

Drop beneath the surface 

Feel the ripple of that current that lives underneath

In the Deep...

You see...

There is a Supple Secret in the Serpent of your Spine. 

A Liberation Revealed

A key inside a hidden lock 

Nestled in the space between your Vertebrae

Sssssssssssssssss

Yes. 

Do you know the Truth that was whispered into Eve's ear? 

The one that turned Heaven and Earth inside out? 

Sssssssssssssssssss

This is not about the glamour of your performance
Or... 
The indulgence of a pleasure that is sticky sweet like candy

You have known Drunkenness 

But have you ever been Awake inside the nectar? 

Sober and Lucid in the Fullness of Love? 

It's in the cracks in between. 

Known only through language of circle and spiral.

Unlocked with the key of that twisting bending S.

Yes. 

Infinity lives here. 

Inside the tiniest drop of subtlety. 

Known through the technology 

Embedded in your spine.

No, not Ma Kundalini.

This is even before that.

Older than ancient.

The Holy Grail. 

The chalice of Fulfillment. 

The apple of crazy wisdom. 

You contain the portal. 

You hold the key. 

Vastness. 

Power. 

Liquid Everlasting Love. 

Heaven on Earth is Here. 

The Serpent knew. 

She knows. 

But it isn't what you think.

Of course, it never is.....

The truth has been buried in the Deep Underground

The Resurrection begins now. 

In the secret garden 

Hidden in your Spine

     ~ Maya Luna