To exit the gates of the physical realms into the metaphysical the ether of creation maybe starts with that first pull, need to be filled, birthing what longs to be suckled and nursed.
Once I saw a young couple sitting together on a park bench, the sun was shining and warm and life was buzzing all around them and yet they did not notice. He was laying on the bench with his head on her breast, she gazing down and so gently stroking his face and forehead almost a scene to intimate to watch. Something inside of me knows this place of tenderness. It is not the biological need to copulate kind of love it is the kind a mother feeds her child. To create is erotic, tender and fierce a women's way is though the 5th essence.

Prompt from Stanley Kunitz A Wild Braid
Writers Writing Group 4/5/17 Lafayette LA

Can you listen to color?
Can you touch smell?
Can you taste sound?
This could be a practice out of the prison of knowledge. The way into listening wonder. The story of not speaking for the pain of physical molestation of a young Maya Angelou. Closing down, no vocalizing, only listening.
Reading, reading, and listening until on the day she emerged from the ocean with her healing from listening.
To find speech from pain.
To come from stillness a non-violent wisdom.


Prompt Voices in the Ocean Susan Casey “More presence that form”
Writers Writing Group 12/14/16
Lafayette, La

In this new way of being, I Look for less data then awareness.




A new way of seeing is watching all ways of doing that shakes me into well worn ruts of familiar feelings.

That well worn feeling of the rut of going, a place to busy to feel.
Striving to achieve, to a place of never good enough.

A sudden halt in my left eye sight and patterns. So violent a pain behind and inside feeling the synapses of connection into the beyond space and time.

Trying to speak and stay true to this experience, this vibration.

A Feeling of disharmony, right brain ocean crashing waves, rolling in rhythm and left brain linear march of an army solders with their tic tic of boots clicking in a straight line.

The wave has no words only sensation and the solders have a structure, a form, a way from A to B each in step knowing this well worn pattern.

I am of this knowing that all is contained within the stillness, held right under the waves.

Yet rut of known patterns of marching in step with my very smart lined up solders. First this, then that. Oh never really coloring in the lines, not really trusting what resides out of line. Yet always knowing I’m called into the water.

Stopped in what is in my knowing, no longer able to see. Closing off to all outside stimuli. Can you feel the pine cone shaped gland behind the eyes turning up the volume? Dive deep, turn off the projector of your left eye, go everywhere as you go no where.

Language comes through as waves of emotion, sound emitted through the web of light, transmitting a language that your soul pulses.

Transmit now.

Follow the transmission into the abyss, no one will need to understand, all will be felt, sensed. This new awareness is the data. Shapes that sound make, color never before sensed. A road map found in an ocean wave.
One dot following the other all in a circle of connection each one a part of the other a place of still point.

How does this work?
The ability to do and not do?
To see without seeing?
Electricity without wires plugged in?

Plug into water its shape shifting abilities.
Water invisible in a cloud.
Steam entering into ice to flow again into invisible.
Stay still, breath of water see shapes in the sound of wind.



Prompt Sydney Creaghan “I look less for data then awareness, when I realize that there is no gain in this for me”
12/30/16
Writers Writing Group
Lafayette, LA

So many voices lifted in morning prayer carried over the stillness of water to awaken a lost soul to its purpose.

Language unknown mixing into the blood of remembered DNA. Weaving a call to awaken, to not sleep away the opportunity.

Stumble through, out into cold air, out of the comfortable dark nesting place into a place of wonder. Stillness so crisp so clear you can hear the mingle of voices in the wind.
Did you know its light for a long time before the sun and the spot on the earth that you are on rotate to great each other? That time before true light is magic, when the gift of light and the dark of night rise to kiss each other. This greeting of singing the sun up or the earth around is to good to miss. Don’t fall back into darkness of comfort, rise and great the day.
Have you forgotten your connection to this place?
Are you afraid of your own nature?
What keeps you hold up in comfort?
I am remembering now the eternal ripples, those seki (energy) lines of connection, like a seed that knows it’s way into its blueprint of life. I follow the ripple to find the way to my code of remembering. Traversing, paying attention to the markers, oh to awake before dawn to native American song.
Remember to do what your called to do, not what is easiest to do. Do what makes your heart hurt so much it opens in awe, oh, do that, do that.
Shed your have to and need to, shed your material comforts, risk it all to follow that ripple in time.
Only you can see it, it is yours and only yours. Don’t watch what others are doing. Do your seeds blueprint. Don’t miss the voices mingling on the wind or the geese on wing, or the stillness of a sunrise.
Once I camped at Poverty Point and prayed all night scared of that dark desolate, yet so alive place. Praying to the 1st nation, praying to weave this ripple into my medicine. I must have closed my eyes and drifted when all at once shaking, alert hyper-awake I heard banging on the Moon, listening to a language being spoken that was not of this world.
You know your not of this world that you are star seeded, and you pray for connection then why are you scared when you make connection? How many places are you still asleep? When you get what your praying for are you aware? So much pain to wake to see to, to feel, is it easier to forget and go back to sleep? Yet you are the seed and this is your blueprint to awaken the weaver within a star seed remembering: to feel, to sense your new way of being. Close your eyes and trust, wait for the bang on the moon. Your voice is needed to mingle over the water to join with others, each singing their connection home.

Prompt “Their voices mingle in the wind, remembering now in eternal ripples” Christine Word

Writer’s Writing Group
Breaux Bridge LA