Author: Brittany

My Queen,
I surrender the care
Of This body
Into Your hands.
Have all my plans.

I will meet You at the crossroads.
I will wait for Your wisdom.
I will act IN Time.

Deep in my belly
God lives
Through the yoni gate
She is
Luxurious
In Holy Darkness

Inside of my ribs
A soul is
Being forged
By this Life
Living through me.

Inside of my head
A story plays:
A rough—
But very rough
shark skin,
Steel wool,
Hitting the pavement
From a downhill
Riding bike
Rough—approximation
Of reality.

Inside of my head is
An abrasive narrative

Will you forgive me if
I can’t think of many
Things worth saying
Out loud
To You
About me
Or anyone
Or anything else

When God lives
In my unspoken depths
And a soul is taking
Shape inside my chest
And the story playing
Inside my head
Is shit?

Will you forgive me if
I’ve yet to decipher
How other people
Walk around like this
Looking for someone
To talk to
About the weather?
The government?
Or even about the highest
and most holy bliss.

I don’t know what to say
Except that
God dwells in my inner silence
And my heart is broken
Open from the pressure
In the forge
And I’m tired of the story
I’ve been telling
And of my own voice
And of yours.

I’m tired of our stories.

Did you hear the last thing I will say?
God dwells in my pelvis, silent
And my soul is being forged.

I tighten when you place
Your hand
On the back of my heart
While my tears pour over your feet
As if from a jar
And my hair drapes my
Weeping love for you, but
I choose to soften
I choose to open
Even if I am unworthy of your touch
You are so worthy of the response
Of my heart
To your nearness

If the hand of god
Touches me
With your hand
I am willing to be worthy
I am willing to be emptied
Of who I think I am
So I can simply be
An offering

i spread myself out
on the earth
under the sun
the whole blue sky
touches my long supine
body

i sink in
and the sky heeds
my invitation
and reaches down
deeper

i will die
i will ascend

thank the gods
i will return
my share of this earth
to Her sacred breast

no one expects me
to carry this body
into the celestine

grace meets me
in this body
on this earth

grace will bear me on
when this body
descends

I set the table
for a trillion
hungry mouths
and invite the
soil angels
to feed
While i weep
divinely proud
of the gift
my body makes
to the ground.

It’s not physical hunger, per se.
Not real.
Emotional hunger
Mental
Not rational
And illegitimate
Therefore
So “they” would say.

I say:
Hunger from years
and years
of not being enough
and not eating enough
until I ate too much
for which punishment
MUST be severe.

I ate a loaf of bread today
and threw it up
Rather than hate myself
I thought
I’ll clean the toilet now
So I have a sacred place
To vomit later.
And I may.

I baked another loaf
Hand made
Opened the window
And scrubbed the tub
Now I’ll lay
In the bed where I
Made love
For first time
Only yesterday.

I’ll rub my belly
Which hurts now
From throwing up.
I’ll say: I’m sorry belly.
I hurt you.
But I wont pay
Penance with a diet scheme
I think up.
I’ll feel hurt
I’ll be imperfect
And I’ll die “too soon”
For what I’ve done.

But I wont add an insult
To the injury.
My body
Deserves food
Today and every day.

Sinner as I may be
I choose to protect
This body
Inspite of me.
I choose to let Her feed
And eat too much
And gain weight
And be too soft
And be too much
Or not enough
An animal.
A not human.
A free beast.

In the oracular womb
Two doors
On the right:
The Innocence of All Desire.
On the left,
The Overcoming of All Desire.
Choose.

On the right:
Death AND Life
On the Left
Lifeless Death
and Deathless Life.
Choose.

You may have
Whatever experience
You like.

On the right
Scream and fight
Turn all your might
Against Death when
She comes for you
But not UNTIL then.
Not before
Or in any other when
Besides the when in which
She stands upon
Your very door.

If She wins?
Surrender to your Lover then
Be taken and delight.

On the right:
Feed the hungry beast
Where there is feast
And where there is Hunger
Let Her also Be.

On the Left
Dispense with Life-Death-Life
Get off the ride.
Choose the will-less
Choice
Rejoice
In the stripping away
Nothing is yours
Nothing needs saved.
The Corporeal: a game.
The more you lose
The more you gain.

Choose.

Be gone!
Well meaning
Though you may be
You may not
Touch me
With healers hands
That name pain
“The problem”
And hold Love
In contingency.
When you get better
Those hands say:
When…

I choose
My Lover’s hands
The Christed One
The Mammoth trunk
And Lao Tzu
In sapphire blue

I choose
The sacred
Garden cleft
Governed above
By Peak and Snow
Where healing comes
With Lovers’ touch
By outward flow.

I spend time
Rearranging
Dried
Rose petals
Because I sense
That the yellow ones
Are out of place
And they are all
A bit uncomfortable
As they lay.

Time well spent,
I would say.

I am a thing
With skin.
Life touches me
From the outside
And from within.

I allow my Self
To unravel
And unwind.
She pieces me
Together
Once again.

It is THE question
To be here or not to be
To hear this story.

THE story
A trillion iterations
Details
Variations, but
THE story
Nonetheless.

And THE question:
Does the story tell
different in THIS body?
Do I want to hear it again?
As if the story will end
To some other tune but death.

THE story of trying
To avoid dying
To avoid Death
Who is a seductress
Nonetheless
Who wont take
Any final answer
But the
So ravished and
Softly whispered
“Yes”.