Cool, evening air, updated technology, a beginner again! Finally, an adult in my home town, left alone to discern the shape and color of its hollows, lines. And yet, lost again, with my own genetic doppelgänger, with my Parent cloak donned. What a year for such matters, two thousand and twelve, a year worth writing the letters, pausing with space between words, letting the mouth rest momentarily in oral asanas.
It was only yesterday, warm and startling for mid-march in cny, and after a five mile date, that I stumbled upon a most impromptu healing ceremony. I had decided to stop in to a local metaphysical shop where soon I was rolling along at the speed of sonar with a beautiful healer/ channel goddess, when up to the shop pulls a police officer. In full, it must be heavy wearing those weapons/responsibility for justice swagger, the officer entered the shop bringing conversation to a halt. Remarking on the usual cause for police presence the shop keep giggled a bit, as she bravely probed his cause of arrival.
What insued was, in the kind of thing nations and diplomats strategically plan for months, nothing short of an intergalactic counsel. Despite our outward appearances, and much to the thread of prior conversation, we entered a wave, a channel that pulsed with a vibration so clean and open I would have thought I was back in the bay, summer of 2006. Only these were strangers. One, understandably, the massage therapist turned channel, but the other...two time Iraqi tour vet, police officer!
I was mostly too shocked, and skeptical to engage directly,and so I wandered the shop touching stones in silent awe. I soaked it in though, three real whole people beyond, no, WITHIN the fear structure, (aka mainstream world of business, etc), and still radiating the real, the now. As rhe clock told fit I left with two stones, one a sort of psychic soul thumbprint reader(!) and two words written on a postit, the name of a being to contact, perhaps for an upcoming journey.
For now, I rest.

Love Letters, con't.

Dear Lover,
Somehow the Us has become an ocean...where once there was only you and I; momentary glances from distant sides of neighboring counties, now has opened Infinity. Have we really invited, allowed this presence to take form through us?!! It reminds me of when I studied the Tibetan Book a bit, where the only way to transcend the karmic wheel through death was to look directly into the brightest possible source at the time where everything you knew to be real outside had been stripped away. So when, in these moments I become frozen in fear near you, and my words come out inside over and quaking, I know it is not a lack of confidence or ability, but my willingness to stand at the edge and feel my way into a possibility of convergence upon a single point.
The effects of this undertaking are as Mr Stephen Hawkings did write, with squiggled diagramming and rippling waves of undulating energy maneuvering spatially. So I will often focus on the face you make when your thoughts consume you, your laughter from another room, or those sometimes all too rare moments when I find the skin on my neck flooded with the touch of your hand. I mix this with daily tasks and new skills, friends and parenting. Do I hallucinate or discover at the suspended correlations between Our tempered intensity and reward?
I have faith in the crescendo-ing of trust, in me, in you. Mostly. Gravitational singularity and extensive training become pertinent.
To add the subtly shaken whipped topping of this phenomenon, we as individuals have complete power to chose in any second  the level of exposure to this "god in the living room experience." I stay today because this site of learning speaks an inter dimensional dialect and the lines between our respective graphs make music.
In joyfear and....,

Me

Today

With midnight creeping towards, I wat h for a moment, fantasies of us, filled and exhausted by the hot day's working. We move together into a somehow better than alone sleep cradle. They slide idly through the roll; a slow moving double scroll over-lit from behind. I think again about Plato's "Allegory of the Cave," as an earmark that refreshes the course of a path into the sun. I feel deepening roots, non-assumption, that curve around our conversation with simple exercise.
There continues a settling, my innards slow back into normal operating procedure, and five years of experimental chaos melt. Numbers and states become offerings, the most fulfilling come, just me and lightening, into the sweet field Desire has abandoned.
Somehow, I have the patience to listen, sifting, until the pertinent information contains shape. nOw I sit, wriggling inside the beyond pressure of hallucinogenic fear.  More than half of the day's chores have been entertained, my chest resumes breath work, and I am no longer the creator of the seasons, trees, etc. Mostly. This time I swallow sugary pellets with remedies that sift guilt from me like leaves of tea through hot water. I can see a path opening. Excited, I think it is possible to hold on with a grip that might become a moment's satisfaction.



http://www.historyguide.org/intellect/allegory.html

unKoan

Quiet assimilation in the early hours. I pick up the journal that was once my bridge between spirit and home, and the words have lost meaning. The moon thickens daily, passes still among layers of clouds that hide an astrophile's quest. On the verge of explosion, i breathe, renewing the contracts again, again. I stop for a moment to wonder what will happen with this new sharing, possibilities of creation flood my mind. I hope that i can continue to play with authenticity, releasing the habit of molding myself to reach a certain destination. Sometimes i feel outnumbered by those deep carved synaptic hiways. I blink, seasons change, and we are now on a whole other level. The daily tasks hold me fast with a kind of sticky pleasure and i offer my wandering mind to their mundane ritual.  I am flooded with tears receiving the gifts of mothering: someone else's words beside a pink print of Aleia's right hand, tea parties, her hugs as my words fuse with emotion. Death bleeds from me, an acrid tinge into blooming sweetness.

tulips

Today the earth sorts people, cultures, like archaeology moves dirt and relics with a sifter. In our delirious training toward eternal life, we crack and pour among the stretching and prayer of this mother-body, hoping for a sign. Our gathering signals the flowers as the songs of birds speak into the ear of spring. Again the moon courts seclusion and the grey sky bows, akimbo, to the spreading smile of me.
This sacred conglomerate of flesh and calcium delivers me into the arms of everything. I writhe in paradox and take pleasure in becoming the worm who, when pinched directly, has the chance to go in two directions simultaneously. My mind plays along the edges of waters whose depth holds the enigma of a man whose game caught the eye of the world; violence. The shore is prickly beneath my bare winter feet. My daughter sits calmly waking. We turn on the TV and catch images of a palace burning, hear the story of death specifically demarcated between other and self at a national level. She expresses sadness with a straight face.

robins

good morning spring, again. from the ancient art of dreaming i just arisen, might take to baking cakes. how pleasure does unfold, thin lines of me moving out among the places that have agreed to another day.

the spongy me delights in discovery while the waterwashed stones of my underbelly assemble until the outline of the seer becomes nearly more than a shadow. i make my dali list in a logical fashion, and a glimpse of the sun sends my heart romping into worlds i long assumed dead.

if there could be a deeper explanation of possibility, if we could permeate together the heart of this mystery that in silence and song, belong to responsible abandon, there might only remain the sweetest memory of light. with two hands the exploration continues, i close my eyes, then open.

my tethers to this earth have come from far to play. i think about a river of words rushing through the space between mountains and a shelved dictionary. today i want to be an anonymous observer in the middle of everywhere. i turn in my "responsible for responding" pass to wander unencumbered. perhaps RuMi invaded me between the soothsayers and irony of my dreaming. this orgasmic breathwork is line and shade as i organize plans for the new orchard.

it must be the growing up that allows me to sit quietly folding laundry as i wait for thunder.

n

nightingale

i am floating on the back of motherhood, waving like a reed underwater in these undulating currents. i chart the moon into darkness, falling upon the valleys of transit with exhaustion and a collaborative ecstasy. inquisitions move through me by the thousands. huge ships filled with endless party-goers they pass, chanting riots in the phantom sun; could it be that after her voice walked into our morning grey, i will be filled with the fast beating of heart any time i hear her sing again? what does this have to do with me /you? my mind wanders into making new combinations of letters into meaning.

i find myself braiding, each thin strand mesmerizes as it lifts, catching the light before falling into the thickening sheen. i think i'm preparing for a quiet ceremony. while i have learned the quantum benefits of letting loose in the garden of appreciating, i stand close enough to the acrid smell of tragedy that it gathers like smoke behind my tongue. we talk about death and the peace of beginning to feel again bleeds across my big screen.

the lights of the car behind me signal to pull over and make friends with the law, i decide to just be the sleepy regular human that i am feeling. this decision leads me to a river of authenticity. i skinny dip with a smile.

i drink jasmine tea well beyond midnight, folding deeper into this most intimate sanctuary. my fingers cool quickly as blood slows into sleep. will i dream again in shadow boxes? maybe.

nmw

Love letters III

Does this pouring over of fertileness beget my femininity? And if so, do i dare to share the experience of the masculine half within, rising in awe and honor, until circles of white heat pour from my own heart?

There is no nudity here, or even evidence of sex appeal. While biology inevitably and with grace spirals out from each breath, this meeting is upon the back of spirit. A continuous climax of space, an awareness of unity between such opposites.

~~

How alluring, the majical cry of as we defy this futile blessing of playing at autonomy, that some essence greater than our own arises. And with what shape can we perceive to be both creator and witness?

Recently i have delighted in a release of the desire to understand or even be understood by you. Forgoing the common courtesy of bending into a shape quite not mine that you may feel respected and seen has left me naked in a way that often presses against my comfort like ice. Yet in this willingness our communion has become, amongst the tiniest galaxy, post-phenomenological.

~

This new space, owned by neither and felt by both, multiplies unfounded. I pound pavement that the sun and my lungs and legs can agree on some form of earthly congruency. Sweaty and smiling i design the ways that i might again feel the heat of my body coming back from yours.

~NmW

love letters II

beloved radiance~

perhaps i shall begin at the very beginning. though the exact commission of your start here is unknown, i do have a few guesses, which might just stay my secrets until forever. i can recall, with a sense of vivid pleasure, the night that you made your presence undeniably known to me. we were busy creating, amidst the salt-laden air of the coast, stars beaming endless messages to the prominent caps of waves. the night's warmth moved on a breeze that might have begun beneath untouched waterfalls, coves of iridescence and dolphins fishing-from wherever it did rise to greet the evening it had gathered such grace that by the time up the front porch and in through the wide dark windows it did move, i rose immediately, leaving the warmth of lights and laughter for the wide sky.

every detail of that house has been driven into my mind~its screaming mostly teal exterior, the resin-covered plywood floor of the living-room. it was this space that i crossed to find my way to the wide wooden door, push down on the thin curving brassed handle and out onto the porch. that door did stick in a certain spot, and upon release slam finally, announcing each visitor at any hour. the many coats of differing colored paint did almost pad the ancient wood of that back deck, framed in ohia from high on the mountain. though the sun did often cut the afternoon with its slate-deep heat, the wandering ocean mists never did let those layers of paint dry enough not to catch the slightest bit beneath naked feet.

three steps down, wide again, as the sky where the ocean finally rose into its infinity, steps where musicians sat to cry into the setting sunlight, steps where i did vow on my first visit, to someday live in this castle on the sea. (the sun set that day as well, burning heat into the crisp endless waves) and out onto the most delicious grass i have to this day ever set foot upon. in fact, it was one of my deepest joys in the days of our staying in kealia, to find myself, most often in the evening in that grass somehow.

such welcome and how, leaving the bound wood of that house for the supple, pillowy green. instantly, to dance i took, unwinding circles to the palms and ocean-front. it was this ocean opening that months before on your father's birthday, i did greet the souls of thousands of fierce shadowy warriors, who had decided to bless us with their road passing.

though i had ultimately felt my body's beginnings to accommodate the growing of you, it was not until here in the presence of such stars and strength that the undeniable reality of your coming punched me directly in the ajna. recoiling against the sheer strength of the being that had in moments before descended the spiraling heavens and into me, i caught the first glimpse of you. equal in strength to your abrupt entry to my body, was my response to you, a pushing back against forces unseen and unknown with the fresh eyes of my long sleeping warrioress.

so began the delicious dance of us, most sweet one. you grew, and grew. my organs moved, stomach shifting, shifting until it rested somewhere next to my heart and your brain uncurled, long strands of our bloodlines woven fresh in you. one day i awoke to you swimming spirals, just as i had seen the pods of spinners do so many times. how exquisite to carry your body unfolding, to move in meditation through the waxing and waning of so many days.

through the art of dreaming you shared your soul with me...masculine, feminine, trickster, healer. the twin moons of your birth became soon a mated pair of Hawaiian white owls, and a sacred gathering was arranged for your coming. as the end of your body's gestation wound into a nearly finished home, my pores began to open, your light streaming through my skin. never in this body, have i worn a part so proudly as the belly that filled with a private ocean cradled you.

forever changed i am, into someone infinitely more myself.

in gratitude,

me

love letters I

dearest lover,

as a sign of my affections, i have as of late, given up capital letters. that as yourself and all others who chance these words may be stared upon with such newness as loving does give me. in the most quiet parts of my days, i comb carefully and with laughing eyes the endless inspiration that emerges from our dancing. these subtle and infrequent wanderings stretch and weave somehow until a most tantalizing fabric of waterfalls and lions covers my skin. believe me when i say that it is rare for me to feel more in ease with my body cloaked than naked.

tonight the stars stare balefully back upon me and the almost awakened world lays in the dazed stillness of numbed limbs and tumbled dreams. my body shudders against the steelcold breathing of a tireless wind. i ride with a deft speed, through a country whose people have grown coarse with cold and a collusion of colorlessness. perhaps after we have finally known and lost each other, i will get to racing cars again.

the depths of this well have finally been sketched, for even in such a hostile city i find the warmth of ecstasy moving ever upward through me until, in the most unauthorized of fashions, my heart is screaming a silent joy. it cannot help to be surrounded by the unnamed promises of this suffering state, for even in the eyes of this music i find a melting down of the hardened edges.

while i delight in exploring the deep turning that is you, it is my own silence that feeds this shifting constant, me. and while i long mostly to devour you, my own shadow across the various parts of your nakedness does intrigue me nearly to distraction. and oh, such sweet beauty have i ever glimpsed as when your armour has fallen and there for a moment, you are.

on a quest to know wholeness in the presence of great doubt,

me

ode contraire

Tonight, give me fantasy.

Peeling

the onion of this moment,

digressing into space that holds only

worship of unguided pleasure.

Leave, as clothing at the door,

the perceptions of this day.

Empty

the pockets of this heart

into a second-hand chalice;

fast beating as lines of an old world-almost

gone world.

Immersion,

suspense in the bell jar;

the many ways

a womb catches light.

Could not we open another bottle,

breath life again into this first?

Bless all those willing to go beyond

penetrate the ridicule that we have offered ourselves

as ourselves.

I waiver in the space between play and revolt.

What if anything do i have to move against?

Self.

Call upon Buddhist teachings,

the fundamentalists;

my avant-garde education.

I abandon non-attachment

for a moment now.

Skin is thick,

though with a certain beauty

the pressure of gravity presses

upon me until teeth move

deeper into skull.

Behold the antiserum,

ancient-pressed femininity;

the softest breath, essence of divine light embodied-

will take only two centuries of denial

before meeting manhood inside:

If you think

my transparency beholds innocence,

stop thinking.

If you aim to conquer,

evacuate.

The first time we lay beside one another

i touched space,

body's deepest vulnerability

mentioning, your full trust was needed

to reach the heart of me.

I imagine

that in my eyes you see me,

but really your turning away

is only from an untamed mirror.

As in death,

both nothing and all

i know the fate of any loving that which

might pass through my gate.

Moon Pie

How sweet the short offering of almost spring...a moon full that the sacred fire of Aries does dance within, low hung thick green shoots groggy in the cold night air. From where does the blistered heart of winter give into a breeze that might greet new lovers through opened window? All this snow and grey-tight through thoughts that only sank lower as clinging to any offering i did amble. How many thin colored cords to weave hope into a long lived pagan party of light and warmth? Perhaps just a moment to begin; early seeds among the hot rows of the greenhouse~a prayer for the eyes that see such newness who walks ever beside and within me, to the angels always laughing, and the water's cool silver breath beckoning.

~N

Sunday Dreamin

Awhile back, when i was a glowing and slightly pregnant young woman, someone asked me with a casual grace i've yet to know in another, "hey nicole, what's your dream?" We stood waiting, in the yard of the Point House, for the best of our crew to assemble on late morning kayak adventure. Beyond the shore stretched Kealakekua Bay, a gleaming teal paradise and pathway to the many Intergalactic that come and go regularly from the Big Island mecca.



Like most spring into summers, those days held dreams sweet and living like celebration at harvest time. The words of my answer came forth with ease, tumbling from my lips as i squinted out from my perch toward the sun-dusted man who would hold open worlds at the birthing of my daughter months later.



"My dream is of a place were people can come to be born and die," i told this man whose spirit held hands with both wisdom and innocence. "A place where the sacredness of land is honored with gardens and food, the sacredness of spirit honored with ceremony, and all beings are held in an eternal radiance of power and play that we so embody in our essence.

Instantly, there came forth in my friend a master of such ceremony. And procuring a rather rounded stone that had danced for some time in the sea, he offered a circle in which we both stood to hold and honor the energy of our dreams.



Holding the warm stone in my hand, i set out to explore further the edges of this vision which had of late come to me. "A place where the energies of cultures from all around the world gather, as peoples from what we know as nations come to celebrate and honor the moving of spirit through such a sacred gate". "Of course there will be dancing and music, preparing feast and drink, sharing of wisdom and experience. I see this as a place of honoring the choice to be alive on such a planet, at such a time".



Paulo Cohelo writes of the "beginners luck" that accompanies one on the path to their personal destiny. As my gaze rose from the stone rolling silently through my hands that morning, the air filled with sea and the gentle and strong face before me spread wide with awe and wonder, was i graced with such luck.



How long we stood, eyes meeting and sweet awe bouncing to and fro between us, i know not. And as we were again joined by the other two of our group, as our circle had once instantly risen, it now fell once again into the breathing of the earth as we transformed into four. Once again on earth time, our tour of the bay filled hours of diving and playing beneath the place where water and air meet. It was to be the beginning to many days of remembering of an old way.



Just Friday past, as my eclectic and desirable restaurant bustled with the exchange of food and money, i found myself again face to face with a man of gentle wisdom. How curious we each were to meet here in the midst of our own private lives, and without forewarning. I somehow managed to spend generally all my time not running food and drinks, speaking with him and on various and generic subjects such as Balinese Alchemist Princesses and BA's in English and Writing.

As his bill lay waiting on the table, i was again asked, "Nicole, what is the vision, the grand plan, i mean there must be a place, obviously..." Though my answer was shaded in tones of a dream almost lost on the ever winding path we each know to be life, this soul whose name i learned not, remained suspicious of the depth he had felt and yet not heard in my answer. And what luck can the suspicion of a "strange" man in a restaurant for tell, perhaps i might learn soon of.

Quite slow and mellow have been the preparations of our coming return to the Big Island. And yet, amidst the many other preparations and ongoings, a magnanimous stirring becomes. For only so long does the sweet hot fire of Pele lie beneath the earth of such paradise before eruption surely ignites all in its presence? What majic and growing await us three as we embark in reunion to the isle of birthing, it will be my pleasure to share*

Aho

nicolitaminominapolis

aLL Things French

It was a ridiculously tiring day in a hot dry Sante Fe that i found both my sweet soul daughter and myself at the mystical whims of a great shamaness. I was currently in the midst of the early throes of my first Saturn return-essentially my life being instantly turned up and over in order to re-align my dreams desires and actions with my hot and juicy life purpose. I'll be honest, it was pure chaos.

The trip had begun on an even hotter day in Sedona, Az with frantic car loading of an assortment of sacred items, wine and general goddessness. Up and out through the slice of paradise, Oak Creek Canyon after a quick and awkward good-bye to the man who had been my lover, confidant and co-collaborator for the past five years. The eight hour drive through a fierce and ancient desert was past with wine and prayer, until finally the lights of the unknown could be seen on the horizon.

Our first night in Sante Fe was promising, nestled into the domain of an earthy philanthropist and healer. I could have been on the east banks of Venus after a four hundred year hiatus, was the mixture of familiarity and strangeness amongst the walls and gardens.

Setting out from the protection of Sante Fe's upper crust neighborhood the next morning i was hopeful to say the least. The sun shown warm, there were quaint and delicious smelling cafes abound through the tight adobe lined streets. Aleia and i had began the morning by wandering the river, throwing stones and looking for bugs whilst i had attempted to comprehend that i would be leaving the nuclear family life i had tried desperately to create with the man i loved.

It was too soon after a hurried mocha and hushed phone calls that i found Aleia and i alone in the center of Sante Fe's famous gallery district, an upscale jogging stroller and general sense of newness our only companions. We dined on designer burritos, Aleia played among gleaming bronze statues and i waited to hear from the consort who was our ride and general guide until my phone, of course, ran out of batteries.

How grateful was i to see the swift grey jetta pull abruptly to the sidewalk in front of us a little before noon. And now, off to the shopping spree! Not without my humanness, not to mention femininity, we had decided to enlist the bohemian assistance of Sante Fe's best second hand clothing store for a bit of retail therapy. I was still rockin a joint bank account.

Soon Aleia and i again found ourselves alone amongst so many foreign streets and stores. We had set out on foot this time, perusing shops and intersections until exhausted we wandered into a sleepy time furniture store. Thankfully, the sweet young family who operated the main controls had chosen a fine line of children's beds and playtoys. Aleia slid down from top bunks on red slides and flew wooden helicopters on low lying play tables. I called friends and breathed deep until no longer i could hold back the streaming tears of my fate unfolding.

Whence the Merliness had again managed to find the two of us, Aleia and i were in no shape but to be home, and in the comforts of things that no longer existed. Sensing the depth of our unwinding, we were driven out, after many lengthy phone calls, to the wilds of Tesuque. A village shaped by the peoples of the pueblo many lifetimes before cable television, and built upon by an assortment of wild west characters and movie stars who cared to have a quiet moment with the earth and stars, Tesuque could not have been more perfect had it been delivered from the hands of an angel.

The phenomenally radiant woman, whose heart had said yes to our coming, met us close to the bottom of the winding washed out desert road she called home. After brief words exchanged she was off again to pick up the brilliant and quite autistic son who also ruled her roost.

At the top of the hill, as the arroyo stretched out for hundreds of miles finally colliding with the blue-tipped mountains, perched the home that was to be ours for the next seventy-two hours. A sprawling expanse of wings and rooms, artist coves and kitchen stood sentry on a mound of sacred earth that was to prove a portal for inter and intra personal discovery.

Complete with sweat lodge, hot tub, gardens and trampoline, both Aleia and i were satisfied immediately. The exquisite and continuously reborn french model and visionary mother who resided as stewardess was only the 'we love you tremendously' to our tour de Sante fE. What lie inside the walls of that home can only be described as a masterpiece of provincial design.

Apart from the young struggling master, this was a home of the goddess. Men were permitted to enter in prayer, for life and love of the sacred feminine. Mornings were quiet and slow, walks abound, and the evenings after wine and prayer were capped by visits with powerful and curious beings from beyond earth. The stars spoke from above while hearts sung visions in the safety of acceptance.

How to spread gratitude for such an existence, except by acknowledgement of moments where humans come together in raw breathing of ceremony, both high and low, under w i d e open skies and the healing of sacred birthing and majic mineral springs.

to the echos of Paris across the Atlantic, sweet white french wines, and spouses that help me attain great wealth-bless.
n

Soulqueen Wanderings

Occasionally, there is a space of deep majic so profound during times of great change, that the coursing's of fear and pain fade simply into stillness. Perhaps the disruption of all things familiar, the unraveling of a course charted by the mere capacity of a mind, allows the perfection of a great mystery to appear.

I was changing linens on table eight at my fun funky little Syracuse Restaurant the other day, when suddenly a great mix of emotion came flooding through me. Gratitude, surprise, grief, joy, passion-all wound around a memory of one majical night in the desert almost a year ago.

At dusk, Keith and i, dressed to the nines, were leaving our house for a date in one of Sedona's most renowned canyons. Kaye had come up from downstairs to watch Beans. As i turned at the back door to say goodnight, my eye caught the boxes and bags around the room, mine and Aleia's things all packed for our morning departure.

As i drove the speedy little Mazda rental away from town and out into the desert night, we were both quiet. Finally after months, maybe years of living with our daughter having open-heart surgery, trying to make a home together and dealing with our respective fears and ghosts-there had come a stillness between us. Not with the intimacy or kindness that i would have hoped for, not without drama and pain, not perfectly-as my sweet, crafty mind would have liked me to believe, and yet still here we were, two radiant beings soaring on the cooling night air.

I think that i remember every moment of that evening with an overflowing heart. Walking under the stone archway, along the garden path to the doorway. Our hands held loosely together, Keith leading the way to the restaurant. Our table was reserved for us in the center of the restaurant, for an "occasion of celebration." Walls of glass darkened with only the contours of the carved red rock contrasted the warm tones of our dining room. We choose a white wine from a vineyard of an acquaintance in Hawaii, a California grape. As the evening became mixed with wine and courses of delicately prepared foods we laughed and shared stories, held hands and sat close in sweet silences.

For the first in a long time of days there was nothing hidden between us-and we were free again to be and share our love together. Perhaps there were moments in which Keith's mind moved to the relationship he had already began with another woman, just as mine would land briefly and with astonishment on the knowing that in the morning i would be driving out across the desert with our three year old daughter into a new life.

We finished our dinner slowly, and i think that as we left the table that night we were the only people left in the world. We could have gotten a room at the hotel there that night, made love and laid in one another's arms until the sun rose, and for some reason Spirit was calling us in a different direction.

Outside in the orchard beyond the restaurant, the cool air pushed down the canyon and against the still warm rocks arching above us. We ran and spun, the spirits dancing with us. Apparently we both preferred the lawn of an upscale Sedona resort as our bathroom, and after not too long we came to a tipi lit by the moon above us.

I had asked Keith to be a part of a divorce, or separation ceremony as i had become clear that our relationship was moving away from what i considered to be a marriage and this would be our last chance for the now of our togetherness. I whispered peace to all relations as i entered the tipi. We sat in plastic lawn chairs rolling tobacco as a deep and serious air moved. between us. How different from the excited frenzy of our wedding day only nine months before.

I don't remember the words that passed between us as we lit our cigarettes and began to share our prayers. As usual for us a mixture of poetry, song, rap and rhythm was spoken from deep within our hearts and into the dark air around us. We sat in a space void of time and place until after the sounds faded into beingness and the slowcall of the world could be heard once again.

Even the drive home that night was fantastic, windows open, skin bare, moonlight, and a friend of the soul beside me. Only after we reached town-old brokedown car to get home somehow, parenthood, other lovers, moving day-did the call of directions different share gentle reminders of the near future's plans.

Blessed blessed blessed-is the path of life.

rEnegade-a dedication

Blessed students of the light-queens, kings, soldiers, faeries, enthusiasts, pessimists, singers, listeners, moaners, mourners, spirits of the trees and stones, sweet black earth-ALL; welcome here. With dreams and desires, afternoons in underware, delicate desserts, and thorny fields of cacti-bring forth your life. Round rock, womb, chalice, bloom, crescent, blood, crimson mud. Aka open, pass with gifts, bring honor, trade bliss, blaspheme, echos, first kiss*