guest post by cloud gatherer hold me down


beneath this cloudless sky there is nowhere to hide. the epitome of naked. motives are questioned. their magnitude in relation to hearts. i trace the constellations in and beyond my own flight path and wear the contradictions like a second skin. i can teach you to read these maps; to listen to the gentle thundering beneath your bones and the way the hallowed ground sings and screams that love is the opposite of gravity. and i'll dance in your palm when the moon is on fire warning of battles to come, where worlds are tasted on blood stained teeth and the road of our spines all cracked and worn leads back to where it all started. but let me ask you, if i were to say "sacrifice is love made holy", with what would you reply? and would i even understand? reading the pattern of your words, peeling them back until red turns gold and drips and i start to wonder for how long have you been wielding lightning bolts from your palms? and what of these invisible walls? are we not gods? come closer...

the morning is tinged with blue. im exhaling warm clouds and coming to the realisation that this body isnt big enough for me to scratch the names of all i love. i'm moving onto the walls. the already written pages. making new maps. searching for the life behind eyes. even those whose smiles cannot disguise their disenchantment. i worship the god in you. all of you. in me. in the books and the trees and earth and i eat all the rainbows. the strings of words one pearl at a time. until what? until i reach the hearts and mouths from whence they came. and then? nothing and everything. only the knowledge that my desire continues to expand until i can no longer touch the edges. and you. carved in stone made flesh forever standing in the centre of the storm. so do it just because. because of the flower in my hair. the silver wing around my neck. because the blue changes shade dependent on her mood. because the wind blows through the house and rattles all the windows. because we are all corners and curves. not one or the other. but both. or none. do it mouth to mouth and break the skin. do it because im cannibalistic in my desire for offerings of blood and guts. deeper than transparent things like raindrops and tears. because there are only so many times you will see the moon full. do it only completely when you feel it pressed hard against your edges. a haunting or possession tightly held by ghostly hands. do it because to not is to lose it. because i want to see my fingerprints everywhere...

sitting by midnight lakes reflecting stars below and above it becomes impossible to tell which way is up. once during a long lost night i heard the wind, at least i think it was the wind, whisper my name. and not even this name, but rather my real name. i am a journey. a story. a circle. an ouroboros. harmony of asymmetry. so old i am unable to tell you where i begin. contemplating cosmogony provokes the longing to remember all of our explosions. reciting stories locked in scars and chests where only angels dare to tread. both archer and prey. i pray. i know not to whom, but i say thank you. alot. grateful for having nothing and everything to learn. and LIFE. in which to leave my map. my mark. my trail of meandering dirty footprints. i was here.

words by cloud gatherer hold me down

art work "second skin" by julie massy


Please call me by my true name
Thich Nhat Hanh

Don't say that I will depart tomorrow --
even today I am still arriving.

Look deeply: every second I am arriving
to be a bud on a Spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
to fear and to hope.

The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death
of all that is alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing
on the surface of the river.
And I am the bird
that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily
in the clear water of a pond.
And I am the grass-snake
that silently feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.
And I am the arms merchant,
selling deadly weapons to Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl,
refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean
after being raped by a sea pirate.
And I am the pirate,
my heart not yet capable
of seeing and loving.

I am a member of the politburo,
with plenty of power in my hands.
And I am the man who has to pay
his "debt of blood" to my people
dying slowly in a forced-labor camp.

My joy is like Spring, so warm
it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.
My pain is like a river of tears,
so vast it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and my laughter at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart
can be left open,
the door of compassion.

Photo by the beautiful
Madelyn Mulvaney


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