31 August 2011 > 16/7 > Tower/Chariot
What are you building that is rooted to the goodness of your life?
How much is too much?
What are you ready to do that must be done?
HOuses hold memories. They hold lives and things of importance. They give shelter. “HOme is where the heart is” is a truth that embodies a tenderness to safety and security. If the heart is open a home flourishes and the walls pulse with warmth and goodness. The smell of love comes from the kitchen oven served family style.
When I leave my home tomorrow to fill another home with my life, my stuff, my heart; it will be with the hope that these walls that have housed me for 10 years will hold some special essence that I gave to it. That I leave behind my love and care held to these rooms I have shared. The is here. I am sad.
Home is where heart is
heart sits in a sea of salt
I see the shore line
No sadness like loss
left behind to start anew
Sun will kiss again
my breath is in here
all walls know of my essence
wild wind coming
birth always leads to a death
space is made again
Love didn’t leave the home
it took flight out the windows
it’s a heart shaped cloud
17 may 2011 > 8 justice/adjustment (thoth deck)
What needs ‘adjustment’ in your life?
How do you hold the fairness and balance of your days?
I think it’s totally not fair that others are finding Morels and I’m not.
Of course I’d have to be diligently looking for them and I’m not, and
I’d have to know where is a good spot and I don’t. Well big ol’ DAh on me.
WHO DOES, AND WILL YOU TAKE ME THERE?
Mushroomin’ as some of us like to refer to for the hunt, started for me
when I was in 3rd grade. It was all about the treasure to be found
among the leaves and moss in the woods. Secondly, Cooking them
in butter and garlic and putting them on toast.
My love for a good treasure hunt from that point on made me
a pirate of sorts, without the sex and pillaging. The glory of searching
for the ‘Great Find’. Digging through old discarded crap for that
special sumthin’ sumthin’. Digging in the sand, digging in to life,
‘Suroomin’, was all about how high I got on the psychedelics of
ingesting them. That treasure hunt was in the quest of what my
sensorial beingness could explore, find, experience. Oh.. the stories.
Still getting high on the hunt
That Illusive treasure sunk
in the sands of my soul.
buried in my chest of blood and gold
My map wrinkled, folded, old
ripped, faded, hard to hold
holds the course of me
I have raped and pillaged
the corners of me,
sometimes the heart of me
taking my ship back out to sea
will I ever see, Will I ever see
That island that calls me home
where I can lay my tired bones
to my treasure’s worldly rest
or will I give myself to the eternal
Hunting, seeking, the Holy Grail
Climbing mountains, making sail
For the vessel that hold my truth
Holds me to finding proof
When I have always, all ways known
Where I am is all ways home.