In my longing I am one self, arms coiled around in eagle, dipping towards earth, pulling body longer, stretching to places I am yet ready to claim.
In my longing she dances a sacred dance each morning. She is my womb, my love, my passion, my church.
In my longing I open because it is raw, unexpected, dangerous, vagina and jaw finding their path to unclench the unspoken.
In my longing hips circle, a freedom like seagull over ocean. A freedom, laying in warm grass rolling, giggling, sipping.
In my longing the numbers make rapid sense, add up and are always odd.
In my longing a daily whisper of time wakes me and clouds of white ritualize my open eyes. My opening eyes. My opening in this time.
In my longing I pause because I am growing up, the promise and wish of a young child now seeping into this skin about to know 39.
In my longing this pause sucks and is joy, both hands on my shoulders, hands covering tears, hands on belly laughter. Yes, all this. In one pause.
In my longing she tells me that I don’t need to fear the sleep that leaves me at 3am, the work that becomes the exhale, the pleasure from a $2 taco.
I am one self. She is ocean knowing, salty kisses, long legs, mother breasts, shoulders bared, words falling, sensual time, edges of extremes, blue-eyeshadow eyes holding, hips circling in my longing.
Circling. Pressing. Knowing this one self.
Prompt. In my longing…
We played with this one at The Magic Making Mastermind Retreat. I passed around words and phrases to help move the words out.
The other day I heard the phrase ‘a whisper in time’ come from someone’s lips and I asked if I could take ownership of that phrase. Permission was granted.
Everywhere we go, there are words we read or see, thoughts that run through our heads, whispers in time lived; all of these are part of our story. Take a prompt, don’t try to write poetry, that will only get you stuck.
Just write. Let it flow. Borrow phrases, words from other places and pull them into your discoveries of you.
In my longing.