How many times do I have to die to be reborn? How many times must I dissolve?
Skulls in the garden instead of faces. Mermaids scream quietly instead of sing, dying in the desert sun. Faeries flicker in and out, unsure of baring the weight of this world, and afraid of being chained to the ground like the rest of us. Violet skies threaten grey invasion robbing colors from our eyes so … Continue reading Scorpio Moon
Don’t mind me, I’m just surrendering being broken calling back all the fragments of me throughout space and time, all the pieces that got lost somewhere, stuck in shock, orphans in stasis, hungry for a mother in perpetual wonder of where they belong. I felt their search for millenia and even made it part of … Continue reading The Seeker
In the wreckage of my heart can I open anyway? In the disaster land of the aftermath of choices can I open anyway? In the rubble of decimated villages ravaged tribes pillaged body can I open anyway? Lying on the ground bleeding from takers conquering can I open anyway? Can I open to be torn … Continue reading To Be Torn Open
Here is a Prayer, Intention, and a note of Appreciation. I am grateful for the tumbler of Temperance, who’s violence smooths out sharp edges to deliver me more and more gentle. I am grateful for Sensitivity, and for all who have the courage to embrace their Feeling Selves and listen to their hearts. And to … Continue reading For Those Expanding
The little deaths Winter brings; To ride them out 'til it's warm again, this is the task. The water is raging under this house on stilts. The rain is chipping away at all the vulnerable and thirsty things. Am I safe inside this box, kept warm by power that isn’t mine? Am I really secure … Continue reading Winter’s Little Death
I. The sun peeks through hazy sky and she looks beautiful in grey and gold. She is like that sun persisting through the blanket of clouds that threaten a distant storm but haven't gathered enough water yet, not today. She is not striving to rule the sky, and she can't see it yet, but she … Continue reading The Sleepy Sun and Her Starry Friend
We try so hard to individuate, differentiate, emancipate. “Please don’t let me become like you,” we say. And she cuts her hair, like I did at twelve and sixteen, and so many more times to keep myself alone in my tower, and to scare away all the princes. Sometimes one is simply more comfortable with … Continue reading The Night Queen in Daylight
I. My body is a microcosm of the earth, raging against invasion, depletion, destruction. Scars are blocking my guts, like damming up the Amazon River when 70% of our medicines come from the jungle it feeds. Some things just need to flow or the world suffers. Tribes have survived deep inside the forest, keeping the … Continue reading Life Giver (Pacha Mamma Gives Birth)
Vultures pick the wounds clean. Clarity comes through whispering trees. I am still, and listening. Copyright © 2018, Sheyorah Aossi Art: Stillness by Joyce Huntington.