bedtime story: a eulogy of the yellow brick road

Limits are boundless, moot ideas with funeral sentences.
but the walls cave in like impending fortresses.
and i can't tell whats real anymore.

I'd like to believe the stars are on our side, breathing relief into our complicated lives.
but i'm sure we wouldn't hear them anyway, we're so close and yet push so far away.
there is no light beyond the barricade.

Since when did we stop listening, to the man behind the curtain.
he never availed us, we just failed to get acquainted.
there's hope he says still, as his voice fades off into our distance..


but it's getting late and we're all ready for death now.

and so it begins.. again times two.

The similarity in the place I was in my life when I started writing in this blog and now when I'm pulled back again are eerily the same. I've come full circle.. but of what? Is it a forward moving circle or have I been running counter-clockwise? I was a senior in BFA, winter, in my last semester and feeling the immense urge for change and passion and drive and creation. Six years later and I'm in my last semester of MFA, dead of winter, feeling immensely anxious for change, for new, for accomplishment, acknowledgment and for love.

This makes me sad. At the same time also hopeful. I feel the weight and burden of that time when I was 22, but more, double, triple.. It's hard on my chest. It's not healthy, my heart tells me, begs me to stop. to chill out. Theres so much to catch up on.. it gives me anxiety. Like I'm losing segments of my life that I'm not ready to forget. I see myself in the same state and capacity as I was when I was 22 at the current age of 30.. the feelings of inadequacy and failure over churn me.

Maybe I just need to write...
bc he's not listening.

my nested womb amongst the stars. this girl's 30 now.

Five whole years later and I find myself drawn back to my little blog refuge. I'm shocked at how much I can see a change in myself while revisiting these pieces of writing. I was a different girl then, struggling so much to feel comfortable in her own skin, to make sense of the conflicting values and morals that I was force fed on a religious patriarchal silver platter and my own that undeniably were developing, but nonetheless extremely impassioned by. But maybe, more likely, I'm just jealous of that old perception of myself and feel a certain level of complacency which has always been my single most largest fear. Little did I know how long and difficult that journey was/is still going to be. Coming back, I realized how much I retreat into the cathartic prose of streaming thoughts whenever I'm struggling in life. Not much has changed there, who am I kidding though, not much changes anywhere.. old struggles just morph into new struggles, they just get smarter at disguising themselves and you get tired of caring so much. Hense, "enlightenment." I have a much more cynical view of the New Age "Spiritual Movement" now a days, but contradictorily am still very much apart of.. writing about it should be interesting. Maybe I've just grown the "adult baggage" that loses its brilliance in the eyes of life.. that we all hear growing up and think "nah, couldn't happen to me.." Maybe I'm just scared of growing up.. Maybe I will find all these answers here.

Although this blog indeed exists in the cloud, floating with trillions of other bits of information, somehow I feel like it has always rested somewhere outside of the www, nestled deep into a crevice of the universe that only I have access to. This is my nook and cranny in space, my ethereal nest in the gemini constellation, it's my alternate reality cabin in the woods. Sprawling snow covered land with a thick aspen forest just on the edge of the river. No phone signal, no neighbors within a 20 mile radius, a 1980's Ford F150, wrap around deck, and winter boots for truggin'. A knitted pair of thigh high socks, herbal tea steaming up my face, a large comfy grandpa chair atop a sprawling wool rug, a wood burning stove leaving small vignettes of frost on the windows and a pen and paper and my thoughts... Of course the dream is never complete without my solking, but he's lost in another dimension at this moment in nontime. Nonetheless, I'm so happy to be back, I already feel better.. more rooted in my being.

Oh, and I'm also 30.. Goood LOrd thats a lot of years. I hope I am worthy.

and naturally, so as for me not to miss her, cadence made herself so plainly obvious she appeared at the top of page 82. pre-meditatively of course.

written 6/3/11
now let me see if it is even in the slightest bit possible to put this into words. even though it is as if the pure joy of ecstasy has no words. a truly undefinable, un-identifiable, euphoric experience that once attempted to confine into matter's method of communication--language--you lose it all. now, the fickle, dual-natured gemini sun in me has been in conflict over this very attempt to put in words what i have been experiencing, one - because how can I possibly and successfully complete such a task, and two - because I would be overwhelmed by a sense of deficiency to wrongly describe and/or transcribe something so powerful into the minds and universe around me. but then again, and option number three - what does it matter? i tried. and the burning sensations of solidification through word would become still. content. i have this ongoing desire in me to not forget. which is the most hilarious irony i know since my mind only remembers that which i did an hour before, maybe four. but definitely nothing more. and so I waiver between these two, three, options of my controlling mind because sometimes this task of writing can become acutely confounding, but to my surprise always rewarding. so here it goes.

freedom. what does this word really mean? i am discovering its layers, one by one, they reveal themselves to me and, one by one, i am relinquishing its veils. freedom is a state of being, not something to achieve. we are already free. this notion of free is even off-scale, for the very word sets yourself in condemnation. it creates a dichotomy, making something UN-free. to be free implies we live in a state of un-free-ness until we become free. this is WRONG. WE ARE FREE NOW. it becomes a matter of lifting the veils we have accumulated over time, over and over and over and over, lifting them one by one further clearing our vision and seeing, feeling this sense of free more and more with each veil risen. the chains and shackles of our surroundings, our society, our very nature and the matter that exists within and around us. it is ingrained. it is impeded deep within the bone. and deeper. this is our battle zone. this is where you hear the warrior cries. high pitched yellow, orange and blood red screeching heralding its own death and the excrutiating pain that gives birth to the blues, pinks and purples of the third eye. and the third eye of his third eye. and so on.

the divine flow. where is this flow coming from and where is it going? i have practiced living within or abiding by the natural flow of divinity since i can remember. this, i remember, was one of my first lessons. however, mastery is far from taste, a nibble for that matter. literally. i have learned that this technique goes hand in hand and never without the loss of ego. only then can you see the play happen before your eyes and only then can you INTERact (not REact) with its movements.

day breaks and the stars shown bright. somethings changing.. india was right.

A new dawn is approaching, I can feel her rays. The serenity of the still ocean has me locked in his gaze. I am dreaming now, but consciously awake. 

The smell of pure soothes my every aching bone, as my body melts into the thick of the purple sky. I am calm now, and my breath alive. I have never experienced such peace in my life.

cleaning house. i feel filthy.

i find great anguish in the lethargy of egoism. when the 'i' is all you know and anything other than 'me' is a burden.

i don't know whether those are palpably exhausted dreams or a slothful aversion to affable engagements. but regardless of their spawn, he cradles them until my bloody grip makes him weep.

and thats when he knows i will let go. and i do. because i never wanted to make a man this meek. but i also never wanted to accompany a man this weak. and he is. so he sleeps. and eats. his soul away.

days, weeks, months become lost in his world of confused heresy, where people have no names and night blurs into days. where neglect is common place and pain is fair. where no one honors sun and moon is raped of all its glory, there is no nature there. there is no higher truth. its a place where all he knows is 'he' and the wild, canine glory of his mind. to me, this is the saddest story of our kind. to me, this is why our earth is dying.

i'm not scarred of alone this time.
i'm ready to say goodbye.


..i hope.

purge

in her breath i do weep.


she tells me of life, of surrender, of goddess divine. she explains in detail the experience of detachment, of refinement, of ambush and decline. she recites devotion and proclaims release. she devours expectation and rejoices inner peace. her ability to love beyond their hate is something i've painstakingly had to learn to embrace. i find sorrow in her lust. i find weak in her strong. my love for her is so thick, it burns.


there is no more room for love in this heart of mine. she has taken up every last space. but i would still give her more if she asked. reaching to every extremity my limbs do possess. i'd die for her i said, i'd die for her. i would kill my own breath.


can love become so vicious that i strangle my very heart that beats and bangs so malignantly beneath my chest? does she know how utterly hard it is to contain the pain that so violently thrashes himself against the walls of my breast? do i dare tell her of this mess.


i want to cry and scream so hard that my chest fucking explodes and bleeds red all over her linen sheets. i want to stab my heart so hard my last breath leaves me for nothing and i choke away my gut-wrenching feat. i want to curl up into fetal position and know what it feels like to have somebody cradle me back. to have my mother cradle my back. to have my mother love me back. to have my mother back. to have my mother back. to have my mother back. to have my mother back. to have my mother back. i want my mother back.


i hate so much that I'm weak. because i try so hard to be strong. but in the end, i will always wish she had never gone. i was too young, i was too young.


I'm sorry mother. i will never love anyone more intensely than i do you. and i know it's because i will never have you like i used to.






the tears are cold and my chest empty. it makes me feel so lonely. a lovers heartache could never match the loss of a daughters mom.

i saw a falcon. then i saw another. but this was only a forshadow of my future.

sometimes i want him to hurt so bad his hours start to bleed into days. a rotting corpse under the burning sun.
i would like to see his face when i walk out the door. better yet, his shame when i don’t return.

because this is what it feels like. he’s making me stale. but this has been happening for quite some time now.
incapable of harnessing any sense of control, he fights the raging battle; tormented at sea by his own unwillful creation. the antithesis of co-anthing, his selfishness encompasses all that he breathes.
and then there’s me. trailing behind his seemingly tattered and weary boat, there i so incautiously reside. choked by the neck, the rope pierces my skin like a thousand rusted needles. up and down, up and down, around, they rip and pull at my tolerance. my sickening endurance.
i gasp for air. but here, breath does not exist. the salty sin burns and boils my lungs. my tounge is numb. my eyes cry blood. and he trails on.
where. am. i.

hearts are burning.

quiet lies and secret tears. wake me up, the sun is dying.

i have seen the earth tremble before me, i have watched the oceans quake. but never before have i witnessed, this sacrificial blaze. between night skies and earthen days, we wear black to bury the ashes we warily reap. and seethe and sow them into the grasses we then solemnly eat.

with vieing eyes, she doth pledge: the fire and water alike will burn holes through the veils you call death.

plight.

i pay homage to my land. the land of the awakened sea. it is a vicious sea, masquerading around what i thought was the intrinsic eye, but instead, the open wound of the swollen womb. her eyes are made of steel and her hands are covered in scars. the color of her skin, fair, but the open pores seep natures bloody dispair. she's not so transparent anymore. but my impending love is still there. holding on to every last hair, she sheds. and i recklessly grasp on to more. ripping out strand by strand in utter desperation for just a moment of her lost stare. she cries golden tears from under her steel lash, but remains still, as i grab those too, a figment of the past. and as she keeps her rigid head turned from the sight of my plight, ceasing all inhabition, she punishably says goodbye.
and that is when my fallen hands became limbs, for they could never betray their kin as she did.


i miss loving her.

shopping second hand is an art form all on its own.

http://secondskinstyle.blogspot.com/

i am fashionably inspired.

shes got amazing clothes, a keen eye, and a great sense of style.. and it's every bit my taste (vintage, vintage, vintage), gotta love it!!



i've got to start posting some of my finds, maybe i'll start wearing them more often! aand we should start having vintage tea parties or vintage wine tastings or vintage whatever so we can all get dolled up and prance around reno (or gardnerville or carson or... paris?) in our AMAZING outfits!! haha.. i'd do it ;)

really though, i love her blog, check it out. and better yet, shes actually selling these amazing finds at her Etsy shop!! GO before I snag em' alllllll!! ;)

grateful dead and a midwest boy, a day for the veterans.

What is it about winter months, long drives, and Bon Iver? Can you smell the evergreen? I still can.

A bee flew into the window. Its yellow and black skin lay still on the shield amidst the wind. It stays in plain sight. The first thing I think: Christ. The second: mother.

My name is Dominique. I am a child of god. Not a king of greatness. I don’t claim holiness, but I aspire for truth.

I saw arils at the store packaged in red. I thought of the mother and her many children, her many a creation. I thought of her intentions and whether or not I was apart of them.

My papa asked about my sister. And tears came to my eyes. I remembered the last thing she said to me. “Here, take it. I sprayed my perfume on it so you’ll remember me.” and I loved her, more than any heart could say “I love you.” And it was at that moment that my voice vanished, my stomach crooned and my crippled heart sank. Then she was gone; and everything became very still. My chest had become the empty void I was trying so hard to constrain. I never would have thought.

He. I remember his hair, his black curly hair. I remember his glasses, his smile, his voice.. his low sultry voice. I remember the way he thoughtfully moved his hair across his eyes, nose, then ears. I remember his uncertainty, his timid reactions and insecure replies. And I remember the look in his eyes; they spoke in ways I never thought were possible, then. They told me things I only understood with him. And then we were holding hands. And then we were sharing lips. And then we were touching skin. And then we were making breakfast for one another, buying secrets for each other, sliding spare keys onto chains for the other. He and I became nothing other than we. And we was magnificent for a while; a short while… until we turned back into I. and it all started slipping away. “We’re in this together,” I said, “we’re a team.” His constant opposing forces broke down my defenses, and that’s when the concept of ‘care’ was obliterated and completely washed away. I watched it as it drifted further and further out with the ebb and flow of shame. And I let it. With outstretched arms, my bloody fire became a quiet charcoaled burn and there was no more fuel to ignite such failure. It died.

And now, the ghost lives on. We still hold hands, share lips, touch skin, make stories, share keys, and dream together. But it’s not the same. The ghost of what it once was watches us as we scream, following us everywhere we go, reminding us of what we once had; keeping us holding on to something that lies six feet under land.

from where i came..

the land that pierced through my heart with the golden spear.

it flooded my being with the grace of the whitest of Light,

willfully raceing through the crown of my head.

ever expanded,

ever surrendured.

the land of many a tear shed, for this is where her yearning womb bled.

where the mountains wed earth and sky, she too watched her body die.

where the pain of submission and ecstacy of union collide,

she too watched as her psyche concieved alive.

that land that brought breath to my being

and a child to her eyes,

remains still.

as a vital moment in time.

old entries.

we all come from the same place. but our experiences are vastly different. it is interesting, the paths we choose, the people we meet, the lives we harbor... and it's all a bit glamorous at times. all trying so hard to be uniquely individualized or ardently noticed. it starts to get all too draining at times. and actively depressing. i don't like feeling like i'm constantly participating in what feels like a competition for selfhood. grand prize: a tumorous ego.


my heart calls upon those that bear the light and ignite the fire. it seeks the strength to understand what this means. and to activate the effort that it entails.
i am but a lone soul. a witness of the light and a threat to the blackened sea. it is my unbreakable endurance, my continual bleed that will forever fight for the highest of these truths. i plead.


i am fighting for peace. my troubled mind has me blind in despair: where is my contentment. where is my humble heart.

bubblegum, fairy tales, and rainbows.

http://biancacasady.com/

god i love her. cocorosie.

tea parties and shooting stars.

feathers and flowered sashes.

a true inspiration.

i need that right now.

love&light, harmony&grace, gratitude, i love you.

peace.

my love, my life. remembering June 3, 2009.

who would've ever known the biggest little has a Zoo.. definitely Reno style... charmingly ghet.

we laughed here, we loved here, we played here. he was in his element; never fully understood until now: nevada, art, black hills, log cabin, fuzzy cuddly nims, furniture, truck, studio, gut. skin, stretch, deer. trophy. hunter. nma.

he's the hot dog in town now. who would've ever thought?.. the lanky kid from souwth dakoota'... nahh, couldn't be.

well deserved.

in love. with you. ever and ever and ever.

the root of all evil.

confusion. struggle. money, money, money. one of the greatest traps we get ourselves stuck in... money and all the fear that comes with it. all i want more in life right now is to leave this little city and explore, dream, and create. but a quick reality check and thousands of dollars of debt later, i feel more stuck than i ever have before. im 25 this year. 25! i don't want to be in reno another year, another season, another, other, other.. i need to break away and breath for once, on my own for once, live for once. ...but how? 

the roots penetrate my frail wings,

as the salty tears cascade into the rain.

what to remember: perception. it's all in my perception. and matter is all an illusion. creation is only a thought away. the secret. my secret. wish it, believe it, own it. and it will come. it will be. my manifestation.

love always.

i am missing him.

a female sea

in twice to you once. i am but the red acrylic mandorla. beat in by the deepening scar. torn apart by the tightened tether. my love for you once wept, but now only soars. beyond breath, beyond water. the ocean is its depth and the universe is its limit. in twice to you once. with love. my life. you are.

another day, another night: Agnus Dei

dark clouds loom over her tender ribs. beaten in by the impending fear. where the soft plump flesh rests, so does that of his rusting spear. quietly sound, vulnerably there. that heart, delicate so, only beats louder as the cries become gasps for air.

blind faith crumbles as the sash falls from her eyes and reluctantly floats to the smoldering depths of his filthy despair.

the scars penetrate his brittle skin, deepening into the unforgiving layers of hell. the black tar moves slowly through his veins, choking off all that breathes; suffocating every threshold of her very embrace. trapped where the light has failed to reach, he sits alone. deep in the crevice of an empty void, a hollow cavity. tarnished, sick, and wet with grief, he sits in the place where his heart once beat.

the earth is changing my life for once. and i can't stop.

New beginnings.. and i am for once ready. very ready.

All things must come to an end for those greater things to begin. 

My Life: beautiful. 

My Love: lost.

My Self: anew.

My Education: over.

My Real Life: about to begin.

Going Raw has changed my life. I am who I used to be, who I've yearned to be, who I have always wanted to be. I am happy. And as sad as it may seem, that is a very difficult thing to have and to hold within this societal confine we live in. Happiness. It's a secret, it's a gem, it's a diamond in the rough. Don't let it go. It's the hardest thing to get back.

**What you thought was love. The love that binds the inner workings of an entangled web. Light, flowing strands, attach the cord to every thing it can, attempting to bind all that lives inside of you, all that breaths, all that is born of your swollen, dying womb. An honest attempt to connect, a naive attempt to grow, to expand: it is the love of the lower nature. It is the love of matter, the love of the screaming darkness, the love of loneliness: always the nature of the vital. A desire. Sticking and wrapping and choking off all circulation, leaving you breathing in contaminated air. Blinding your clearest sight. Believing the sounds you can not hear. And falling into your deepest, darkest despair; dragging your heart, your soul, and your delicate intellect through the pungent feces of the lower vital. And your poor vision keeps you from seeing, your poor will keeps you from trying, your slowing heart keeps you from feeling . Held in contempt, the rage subdued, the numbness pulsating through every moral you thought you had. But instead sold to the devil of despair. Sold to the devil that resides within the deepest desires of your sacred well, left wishing away all memories, hopes, and dreams. Running the well dry, killing your love, your life, your purpose softly.**

This is where I have been, but will never be again; dragging the weight of the world's waste, contaminating everything I sought to do, to try, to acquire, contaminated by the filth that I carry no longer. After years of wasted breath, wasted love, wasted hope, I finally conjured up the strength to let it all go. Simply let go.

And it fell.

It fell so far, so long, I never heard it hit bottom. And I didn't care. I didn't look back. Instead I smiled for the first time in years. I could finally smell the fresh, sweet air, finally breath, finally see. And I ran. One thousand pounds lighter, the feathered wings of my heart dissipated into the light as the landscapes of my past slowly vanished before my eyes. I ran.

Here's to "dojay" and her pregnant womb; and to every single creation/experience/happening she will soon give birth to.

love yourself.

go raw.

peace.

d.rose