Fighting Kapha Dosha

Delayed understanding always is
a little bittersweet,
is it not?

I was never inherently athletic;
i can walk a mile
faster (much)
than I can run it.

Even in my prime.

"Oh but how stately your run!"

That's not a compliment, my Love.

"I like being able to catch you."

Me and my feet of mud.

"But now you know;
you know how to address it.
Because you asked the right question.
All you have to do is take the steps;
and healing will begin.
You don't even need to FIGHT.
Your way of life
will heal your heart,
your body,
your spirit -
rendering all of you
into the most illuminated
variation of your truth possible
in this timeline."

So, breakfast 2 hours after the morning exercise?

"Yes."

More than an hour of exercise?

"Make it challenging for you.
You KNOW you'll lose interest and focus if it's not.
Start small.

Eventually,
get a cheap kayak.

While you do that,
remember you love to hike mountains.

Tadpole will more than compensate
for the 20 lb packs you used to carry.

You both DESERVE the joy of movement,
Beloved One.

So,

Get up.
Move.
I believe in you."

Thanks.

Like a Certain Fox Boy & His Oni Girlfriend, But Different

In all his ways,
his kindness and his glamour show . .  .

So long ago,
broken and abandoned children -
he and I,
different, yet the same

Objects,
according to our admirers -

Living beings,
with souls, passions,
fears and fragilities

Error-making monsters who dare to hope for love.

I see you,
my only love,
I see you.

The scars that squirm benearth your skin,
the humans who coerced you
into deeds so foul no bath nor shower
will purify the stain
upon your soul.

"And I see you,
Treasured Goddess;
for we are the same.

The cigarette burns,
the cuts of blunt blades proliferate,
your face barely recalls how to execute a smile . . .

And I recall who made those scars.
I've made them pay.
No one harms my Divinity, my Empress.

NO ONE may touch the Queen of my world."

Nor may any treat you harshley,
Great Fox;
for you are my Delight.

Let me protect your tender heart.

"If you'll let me protect yours, Beloved."

Of course.

Children's Games

I waited, Sir.
I waited.

"But did you check the date?"

I did.
But I forgot which calendar you use.

Gregorian?
Magoma?
Chinese Lunisolar?
Vedic?

Is it the same as mine?

"They say the veil is thin this time of year."

They do.
THough they don't even perceive it
unless they've been told its possible
by folklore.
I guess that's normal, though.

For me,
there never is one.

The oni children play in the yard
while the night market goes on;
their father hustling with his noodle stand,
and their older siblings serving customers.
Little mischief makers
throw apples at my window
to see if I notice;

then giggling wildly
as they run away.

"They aren't about to eat you, my Love."

I know.
Nor are their parents.

It's the humans that terrify me.

The Victor's Homecoming

You stand above me,
just home from a bloody fight
(probably about a thousand years ago -
how DO you do that?);
sword hastily cleaned,
but needing it better done . . .

Wounds here, there,
and everywhere
dance across your stately form
scars and open cuts . . .
seeing this destroys me

Every.  Single.  Time.

You'd gone hunting evildoers -
those who now do what you have long outgrown;
which you've long repented of delighting in,
having learnt the horror of it yourself.

You bring the consequences of their choices
to their own doorstep,
where they can begin to learn the lessons
you did,
so many thousands of years ago.

"My Treasure,"
you ask, as I clean and disinfect the sores,
exhaustion wisping out the edges of your
battle-hollowed voice,
"Why do you weep?"

Oh, my own Beloved One!
You left to protect the unprotected,
who did not know their own power.
Your return to me finds you
bruised and bloodied!
How could I not weep, Delight?
How could I not be horrified!?!

"You should have seen the other guys."

Your wry half-smile lights the worlds,
a beacon to my pain-mired soul.

Ah well, let's get the bandages,
I say in my foolish selfishness.

"My body doesn't work that way.
I'll be fine in a few more moments,"
you tell me, as you stroke my hair,
bending close to the top of my head.

I know, I tell you,
looking up into your liquid yellow eyes,
but this is how I give shape
to my love for you,
Great Fox Who Walks the Star Roads.

Your eyes mostly close,
a sweet expression on your face,
possessive -
and you press your lips to
my third eye, with every reverence;
to the tip of my nose, with mild amusement;
to my lips, with a depth of passion unmatched.

You pull away to look down at me,

"I may well Walk the Stars, Delight,
and there are many who say of Me,
'this is my Spouse,'
for this or that considered reason.

But only you
did I form in a womb.

And only you . . .

only you
(in all these sacred pieces)
have been my one Life-Bond
for all eternity,
and many more besides.

Fear nothing,
for you hold my heart and spirit.
You see me for exactly who I am.
Which is more than I dare to hope.

Thank you.

For knowing I am not an object of worship,
but a being needing compassion,
needing truth,
needing to reminded he is only,
at core,
a humble being at play
in all the worlds.

Thank you."

And,
face uplifted,
stretching up on tiptoe,
as tall as I can make myself -
I offer you my kiss.

The Beacon, the Dance, & the Game

The world vibrates
it sounds like trumpets,
or so the monotheists say ,
quaking in their boots;

having forgotten that nature 
levels up all the time
with

or without

their terrifying husband of a god

they mutter amongst themselves 
about the 'end of days,'
and maybe it is,

from their perspective.

The rest of us smile
and begin the Dance

one foot to the left,
the song rises from a billion, billion throats 

one foot to the right,
both arms gracefully rising above our heads

the bells on my ankles,
the drum in his hands
the singing bowl brought to life
by the contemplative sitting at the edge
of the sacred dance ground

their eyes 3/4 closed,
the only other sound they make
a quiet, but resounding

AUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
(7.83 Hertz, the sound of the Schumann Resonance of Earth)

the Bird People fluff their feathers
and lightly step,
while lifting off in time;

each joins the Sacred Dance 
in their own ways.  7.83 Hertz - the sound of the Schumann Resonance of Earth)

the Bird People fluff their feathers

and lightly step while lifting off in time,

joining the sacred dance in their own ways,

the bower bird dancing his blues

and welcoming the new shape of things

as he would greet his precious bride

Owl and Tobi,

Golden Eagle and Egret,

Hummingbird and Bird of Paradise

take the task to show the beauty

glowing through the cracks

of all the hells

the humans wrought

there, the Blue-Footed Booby dances
jubilant his awkward dance,

his feet never wavering from their rhythm,

for the first time in his life

entrusted with the sacred sky

he adds his blue to the colors forming there

The Mammal Peoples gather

and find their place in the harmonics

of balanced, joyful uplift.

Bear stands upright,

Jaguar bows, and

Platypus giggles his solemnities toward the Void,

his tail slapping earth in time

to a distant, rhythmic drumming

Dog howls along,

while graceful, all the Ungulents sway.

The Beacon lit,

in every Now -

We go,

we come,

we fly,

we thrive.

The resonances

transform the worlds

. . . and there ain’t nothing you can do to stop it,

and so we sing

full joy

full peace

an overflow of self-acceptance

that enables acceptance of the Other,

without condition

and brings us all

to Health,

to Love,

to Dynamic Stasis -

the ever-changing balance;

The Greatest Game of All.

Singing Bowl

I ring out;
a sacred singing bowl
that reharmonized
the frequencies
of the mutliverses;
my Song restores the Balance

Worlds Swirl

worlds swirl around me
why,

i wonder,
why

do the kami-types show themselves
to me,
so readily?

do the Good Neighbors easily associate
with me,
threatening nothing;

being casual acquaintances
& friends?

why do these rarified beings appear
to respect me?
why?

my life,
if my studies were correct,
is unheard of
in fairylore.

unheard of in myth, too,
if I'm anything close to right.

time & space flow around my feet most days,
a refreshing stream with layers,
layers
above, below,
right here in the center
all varying depths, clarities, temperatures, speeds

voices of the past,
the future
the emphatic, ever present NOW
clamor in my sense perceptions

prayers murmured
across time

humans,
gods,
spirits,
animals,
plants
and the people of the stones
every being gloriously alive & present

one foot
under Grandfather Moon
placed deliberately on Earth

STEP STEP STEP HOP
TRACE THE SPIRAL
FOLLOW YOUR NOSE
CLARIFY THE GOAL
REFINE THE QUERY

STEP STEP STEP HOP
TRACE THE SACRED DIPPER
GO HOME TO WORLDS LIT BY ALKAID
WALTZ IN THE RECEPTION HALL OF THE GREAT KING
STEAL A KISS FROM THE ROYAL TUTOR
RUN DOWN THE ENDLESS MARBLED HALLS
STEAL A SHIP AS THE WORLD BURNS

Oh Love! My Love!  Did YOU do this?

STEP STEP STEP HOP
FIND THAT WORLD
MAINTAIN THE BALANCE
FEAR NOTHING
BE THE HELPER
                          ALWAYS

and there above the great dippers
shines the road home
seared into my soul
the song we danced, Oh Great Beloved

"Come, Sweetheart,"
my Beloved whispers,
"Come to Me!  Come home again!"

As he notes my steps gone awry,
"Not your LEFT foot!  THE OTHER LEFT!"

And my Papa smiles

Re-weaving Pop Culture Awakenings

He explains things
in pop culture references

humans would call this
a form of echolalia

but that's not relevant
he is communicating

effectively
and i,

i pay ATTENTION
because he is my Great Beloved

Or rather,  wait -
he inspires the pop culture referents

so that I
in all my individual human bodies

can more easily
recall

the past,
the now,
the future

and how it all ties together
in the Destinies of this density

and the many strands of thread
we must Re-weave into the great

Tapestry that is all
of time and space

teasing out the threads,
warp & weft

slinging the shuttle back and forth
clipping the errant threads

that refuse to serve the balance,
the design

my back hurts with the memory
and the precognition

But oh,
Beloved One

Your secrets will be the death of me.
(When have they not been?)

But Does He Love ME?

"Every part of You is
my Treasure,
my Love,"

he says -

running a video
in my head
of a sweet fox boy

looking for Shinies
in a cold, fast running
mountain stream

as he discovers a glinting quartz,
his eyes shine in reply
as he bunches himself up

and pounces

in that flamboyant flying leap
the fox folk do so well
~water flying everywhere~

droplets throwing rainbows
in the sun, a chaos of pure joy

"My own!"

he crows, victorious.

"Of course, Delight. 
Of course, I love you."

Lady Dou Mu's Mullings

the Great Dipper stands overhead
for a season

*right up there ^^
see?*

and Home calls to me
i hear the songs

in spirit
that we used to sing in voice

the maying time
they call it here

but it was my parent's anniversary
the joining of the

Emperor & the Empress
brought new life

(me first,
and then my siblings)

The Wiccans think
it means something else entirely

I mean,
I guess they did the deed.

and yeah,
they were fruitful.

But no one is a god;
least of all the powerful

don't tempt the Strong & Different
with your worship,

it's cruel

it's stupid

we KNOW you are bigger than that
we KNOW you are our equals

and only those who would abuse you
would ever allow your worship of them

only evil itself
would dare INSIST