Like the Blazing Sun

Dancing_Candle_FlameLike the blazing sun I burn,

Like the Blazing Sun.


And the flames lick my belly like the cat licks her young and I purr like the mountain lion on its morning run.

And I will not stand for your existence when you look at me with twisted eyes of pain.

I will walk into the heart of you with a gaze like thunder, until the threads that hold your centre tear and break apart.

I will walk into the pitch black of night with only my dedication as the blade that will cut those cords of ignorance free.

I will plummet, free fall, and jump into the dark abyss with only the light of my passion guiding the way.

I insist, persist, demand the taste of the tasteless touch of your tongue.

It may be cloudy in the sky of this One, but she knows no end, and cannot settle without seeing, indeed Being, her Sun.


Like the blazing sun I burn,

Like the Blazing Sun.


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Dancing with Pain

Photo by Brooke Shaden:

A grain of sand taps softly from within, asking for my gaze

She calls for release from her grain-like nature, wishing nothing more than to merge with the ocean from which she came

Held within the safe Space of my Being, she rises

Her torment melts in the loving hands of my surrender, her edges crumble

Her form dissolves into the Heart of this Space.


A particle cast to shadow now brought into light, a grain of pain feeds from the Source from which it came

But wait, she beckons, she calls me forth, into the Heart of her

Her release requires my everything, to know her as my very Self

No silent witnessing, no holding her in love

Only my full falling into her, will break her from the core.


She calls for entry

She invites a depth of surrender that breaks us both into the unseen depth from which we rose

The dance begins, an inner communion which unites us at the core

And in the heat of that dance, a fire is born,

That burns and binds her to my very Self.


Together we rise

Together we breathe

One breath

You will be mine, she says

I will be yours, I say

Take me, she says

You are mine, I say

And in the full depth of our intimacy

The tears begin to flow

I know her pain as my own

I am her pain

No you or me

Or here or there

Only the Burn of our Merge.



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Entering the Wound

It is not easy to stand with the open wound, when the whole system has been trained like an army, to flee at first sighting.

She stands, as gaping black hole, with only the unknown at her centre; and the closer you get, the more she opens, yearning for your entry.

Although she requires your complete surrender, and yes, your total entry, it is ok to approach her with the greatest of care.

She unravels depths that call for the greatest of love, and though she is bare like the desert, she offers tightly held secrets to those who dare to enter ….

1082100416There is no escape. She must be entered.

She beckons.

She throws down ropes made of thorns,

blood and bones and children crying – she is the lost and forgotten – the sin of your rejection.

And have you not heard that You Are Everything?

There is no darkness too dark nor wound too bloody for your embrace.

All must enter for Love to be the case.

So don’t look away, for mirages will play and will taunt you night and day.

Don’t freeze, numb out, and reach for the next enticing




Round and round you go, like the hamster in her wheel, you spin your wheels and veer of track.

Re-wind. She beckons.

She throws down tears and tears to wash away the pain, so catch them. Catch them in your eyes and cry them out like widows wail.

YOU are the Bosom for her Healing. She needs milk from your breast. No-one else but you can soothe those cracks.

Cavernous creaks abound. Jagged edges of confusion, reaching out for your loving touch they cry your name.

Enter Me!

I am the lost and forgotten! The open wound in your heart. The buried places in your Soul where ugliness abounds because you have deemed me so.

With your gaze my edges soften and with your touch my screams turn to whimpers.

Release me with your entry.

Release me.

Release me.

Release …


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Divine Duality

I stand at the threshold of a new relationship with the world ~ where clear-seeing is not divorced from fantasy. As the lamp in the cavern of my heart begins to glow, and vast new landscapes unfurl before my eyes, I feel a warmth, an un-ending opening, in which reality and story merge.

This is divine duality.

Real and unreal, form and formless are no longer concepts ~ polarities arising within The Real ~ they are The Real itSelf.

Because She cannot be denied ~ this life-blood of existence ~ the creator, the destroyer, the great web weaver. She beats on silent drums in the sky, and exhales cool breezes that turn the pages of our stories.

I see now clearly that no thought is real, and yet not one need be shot down. Like butterflies through my Being they build great castles through the mountain of my mind, castles made of clay that can be moulded and fashioned, castles made of sand that can be blown down or left to topple …

The cosmos breathes. It plays.

Its relative reality can be realised, embodied. It functions as both stepping stone and bridge and yet destination in and of itself. Tantra knows this. It expounds this. Every awakened Heart sings this song. No stone, no leaf, no ladybird can be excluded from this. Indeed, shamanic, pagan, and occult paths lead through this forest of living knowledge.

It is wild, an untamed assault on the senses that threatens clarity every step of the way, for where identity and desire co-exist there is the potential to fall prey to her many traps and tricks. She wants you for herself, she wants you absorbed without reason, she tantalises your senses from all directions. But oh to surrender to her is to win the great battle ~ resist or believe her and you’ll drown in confusion.

The web may be sticky, and your fight will entangle you more, but to fall straight through this make-believe dance ~ to confirm its ephemeral reality through your dropping ~ is where true enjoyment meets illusion. Transcendence is a road that leads straight to clear-seeing ~ for She is not real ~ but why not meet with her depths, for her beauty is that which makes death harder and sweeter.


To love her with abandon, to throw stars into the sky for her, to paint life stories on her temple walls; but to see with a glint in your eye, that both artist and painting are transient, and that death is what animates life.


To be a connoisseur of the senses without becoming their slave. To enjoy pleasure while bending it with your gaze ~ the gaze that penetrates it to its empty core, unfolding it like a blooming flower, and then watching it wilt and die ~ its pollen scattered, with no trace left, except a warm aftertaste of joy, and the deep recognition that there is peace in the emptiness, peace in death.

To give oneself completely to the fullness, to realise its every nuance, detail and thread. To journey endlessly into its folds and creases, to know that there is resolve in this, that no stone can be left unturned, and yet to give oneself over to the wearing away of every weave, and to know that in this living there is an unpicking that dissolves everything that is touched.

BirdsHer transience is eternal. Endlessly she crashes against the shore of Truth before disappearing back into the ocean of awareness. She is the undefinable wave. The wave that may be caught only fleetingly. And yet, in her illusive nature, lie secrets waiting to be discovered and mysteries that cannot be explained.

Her solidity can be known. It can be dug and tunnelled and shaped. It can be raked and sown and harvested. Don’t die before planting. Drop seeds of delight and watch them sprout. Grow with them, dance with them, then throw them to her flames. Don’t transcend without descending. Bring life into being. Bloom, laugh, cry. Chase every whim and dream, only to watch it falter and fall, deeply, into her bottomless pit.

She waits for your tongue. The tongue that will taste her, envelop her in its ecstasy and merge with her in bliss. Your potential is her purpose, your dissolve her destination. She coaxes you from all directions, and when you dare, in your spiritual arrogance, to think you can escape her, she pricks you hard and burns you harder.

Her grace is fierce. Her fire is fatal. You cannot escape her dance. You cannot run from her flames. But you can hide ~ into the dark recesses of your psyche you can take shade from her blinding light.

Or, in your allegiance with division, you can gaze silently at her, observing her, enjoying her. From the heights of clarity, you can engage her, even dance with her, but your dance will be half-hearted, your embrace will be the kind that leaves onlookers dissatisfied, wanting more. An insidious stiffness will run through your veins, your blood will flow but will never over-flow. Your breath will never reach its destination, always falling short, filling but never fulfilling.


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Real Woman


The Real Woman is rooted in Earth, in existence
Unafraid of mess, and willing to dirty her hands,
she digs in the mud, soil flying over her shoulders,
searching for the hidden treasure she lost and left

She will do whatever it takes to unite with every forgotten part of herself
Clarity and chaos are but different sides of the same coin
As her pristine strands of hair blow and tangle in the unforgiving wind, she chuckles,
for there is not one movement in nature that can shake the clarity of her Heart

She’s the Death and the dying, the Life and the living
She’s every land slide, flood and cyclone,
the unrelenting earth quake in your heart,
and the tsunami of your tears
She’s Life knocking down your door when you’re in hiding,
and no matter how you try, you can’t resist her Siren call

Her fierce embrace is the strength of her love
and every door that she opens gives birth to her immensity in you,
while every door that she slams is her command
to let die what must die for her to live through you

And if you surrender, if you give way to her burning blinding light,
she will show you the core of that light, which is black as night
But do not turn away, do not run into the light,
for her darkness is bright, and will burst all your corners
and burn through your fight

Now put down your armour, for this is a battle you cannot win,
and do what you came here to do, your work is waiting for you
Smash the mirror and wash that crap off your face, for your vanity is a disgrace
Your attention is precious and not to be squandered and spent,
your Soul demands your focus and your focus demands your strength

There is nothing to protect, it’s a fallacy
It’s a lie, and yes you can rage and cry because you’ve been living that lie
Anything less than your untamed spirit is not meant to survive

The woman that thrives today is false, like a porcelain doll
Glassy eyed, she smashes with ease
Let her fall off the mantle piece
The sleeping beauty that knows not that she sleeps

Let your clay mask drop on the floor
Put your hands in the mud and see what lies raw
That which you buried and forgot
The key they told you not to use
The one you told yourself to lose

You thought you could control her,
but every imposition made holes where there were none
Now she is bleeding, heavy under your hand,
but it’s your heart that is weeping

Open your hands and dance the wild dance that ladies dare not dance
Prostrate to the sun and the moon and wail for every wasted minute
Look your carelessness in the face
Be the balmy eyes that heal and seal old wounds
Do not shy away from your dis-grace

Grow your nails and pick out every splinter and stub
Open your eyes and cry till the tears run clear
She cares not for shallow ideals
Imploding limitation is the name of her game,
eroding false concepts, and dissolving pain

And her radiance shines through the lines and creases of her wisdom
Weather beaten but never down trodden, her vital force prevails
Sun shining and moon beaming, her smile lights up the forgotten places in your Soul,
To bring back into wholeness, that which you cast into a hole

Now everything is returned to nature, to its natural state
Where beauty meets with ugliness, and destiny with fate

True woman, Real woman, Clear woman,



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