“Goethe breathes with all his lungs as the earth breathes with all its atmosphere. The man who reaches the glory of breathing, breathes cosmically.”

Strength.

I was there, when you closed out the world

each intention, each breath, focused towards her descending

your eyes

were shut

but your heart was,

for the first time,

expanding

expanding, expending, extending

the tools provided within,

to show obsolute to that which is thought without.

It is true about breathing, breathing brings glory and holds us up to a new world

i was there when the breath brought her body a new kind of color, a new kind of red.

Like peeling the blood orange

at first only that which is foreseen is revealed,

a deep cosmic red.

yet each bite,

each unique peeling come undone exposes a new ray of tangy buds breathing upon my tongue.

Your breath peeled away in layers,

showing skin to the air which gave relief to the pain of your bones.

The breath you first presented us with, all stopped our breaths.

Your unique tone, your unique movement, all from a simple breath in,

a new tang on our tongues.

This world is not unlike the one when I began,

only difference is

I breathe with the collective knowing, and each breath extends the known to the next.

like oranges,

like blood,

like breath,

we are all the same

with a different tang

running through our veins

all held in the glory of our breath.

Layers

are opening

as my mouth is circled around your nipple

and you gaze into me.

 

We have only just finished a long endeavor, as

together we surrender to the exhaustion,

as our bones turn to liquid our brains come in sync with the knowing that this moment,

This moment marks the very beginning of a new journey.

 

As the layers that make you up

open and allow me to move through,

the layers in around my eyes,

slowly prepare,

allowing me to open to the light:

Through your speaking layers.

 

First I remember the sounds you made,

Those primal ones that still shake my veins awake

still open my hearts gate

flooding me with adoration for your strength.

 

we were both swollen and exhausted

with joy,

our bones, cleaned of the experience

as our minds embraced and curled in around each others bodies.

 

That language

only we have ever spoken

together.

 

 

my mind is like the galaxy.

deep and dark, mysterious. thoughts floating around for eons, lost astroids.

the ah-ha! moments hit me like a meteor hits the earth – suddenly, with expansion of wonder and exploration of unknown methods

forever leaving an indent in my being, in my earth.

 

I repeated it aloud over and over again in the warm bath water

Yoni, yOni, yoNi, yonI….

each time required a new expansion of breath.

Outward.

creativity,                  meeting the slowly wafting waves, originated by My lungs.

by My hand, the book is raised to meet my Eye, reading the meaning: yoni, ‘Entrance to the Universe’

pondering this.

 

Exploration

the creative touch brings breaths, brings moans, brings warm wet places to the surface of our union, from the depths of my internal universe. then,

the granted entry into my universe, my yoni.  private, unique, my pear, picked to perfection, to consume, to renew, to build, to drip the juice of life.  this is one entrance to the universe, my universe.

and when this universe is entered, my yoni likes to speak, to be loud, to laugh, to moan, to scream, to expand and expel the tension that grew and grew all fucking day.

hello, creative expression.

 

Expansion

your growth, nourishment, brings expansion of my belly.  into a globular, hanging universe made just for you. tripping over my breath to keep up with you, staying focused, feeding you, feeding me. then,

descending. waves of intensity wash me to shore, swallow me and lay me back down on the sand again, repeat. repeat. repeat. trying to replenish my lungs enough to keep up with your

grand ascending.  this is one entrance to the universe, our universe.

and when this universe is entered, my yoni likes to be heard, to listen, to teach, to moan, to cry, to contract and to expel the tension that grew and grew all fucking 41 weeks.

hello, creative expression.

 

Breathing, breathing, inward, outward.

my body is a portal, a sacred portal of universes rich with coming and going.

mysterious and deep,

my yoni is like the galaxy,

ripe with the unknown,

with wonder.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Debris

Lately, I am a volcano. I listen, I stand, patiently. Yet I am bubbling and boiling deep inside, waiting to be heard.

volcano

vagina

 

volcanic eruption

vaginal expulsion

 

explosion-

of darkness?

of debris?

but what is debris but bits of substance left over, scattered?-

evidence that something has broken free, fragments of wreckage?

but today I value broken.

I find solace in letting loose something that no longer has a place,

I find acceptance of needing to break, to become anew.

 

I toil, holding onto the thread

the thread that weaves newness every time I have the chance – to swim in the earthliness of the dark.

I am careful to always pick it back up if within the darkness I lose hold.

 

I spew ravage, I spew chaos and fire and out of control feelings so I

can

build beauty back

up each time.

 

it is so refreshing to think of the volcano.  One must go deeper, past the depression, compression, to that lowest point where only the truest form of joy can be found, found among the firey depths of the volcano.

You must get to the deepest point of heat and darkness to know, to gain the momentum needed to explode out with full force

– grab your thread on the way!

Once you have reached the highest point possible, the only way to go is out – so you expand, far more vast then you thought, and you make a mess of things, but this is good.

This reminds more then yourself – it reminds the other- of the trueness that comes from hitting the deepest point, of the “destruction” that comes after the most rumbling, rocking, deep point we’ve all, ever known.

You hit the bottom and flow back up, the mess is not the debris, the debris is the result of realness oozing out despite the aftermath, despite the “consequences”,  this is truth.  but only you know this.

Together we pick up the debris,

blooming beauty

and this is where community starts, in the cleaning of the spewed wreckage, handling the debris, weaving the destruction.  This is joy.