Sacred Space

My sacred space.

It’s where I go to be still,

to writhe in excitement,

to focus,

to let my mind wander,

to study the ancient ways,

to experiment and create something new,

new to me anyway,

to practice,

to become a master,

to grasp,

to let go,

to enter the darkness,

to be illuminated,

to be lost,

to be found,

to travel amidst the cosmos,

to be rooted firmly to Earth,

to do battle,

to seek peace,

to give praise,

to receive grace,

to learn,

to unlearn,

to grow,

to be humbled,

to transform,

to become who I’ve always been.

This is my sacred space.

-Dava

Advertisements

Ode to Xochiquetzal

Ode to Xochiquetzal

Keeper of the flora and fauna,
Tonantzin, Our Venerable Mother, Black Madonna.
Carry her words on the wings of a quetzal bird,
so that the voice of our Beloved will be heard.
Take her melody low and high,
on the wings of a butterfly.
Every second of every hour,
spread her Wisdom as a bee does pollen, gracing every flower.
The lyrics to the song my heart sings,
fly them to Great Mystery on angel wings.
That I may be blessed with her beauty and sensuality,
gifted with the craft of weaving,and the power to create my own reality.
Teach me non judgement, strip away duality.
Fill me with your essence,
O beautiful Xochiquetzal!

P.S. Check out this piece of jewelery that I saved from my grandmother’s estate sale when she passed away. It called to me and I have kept it with me for ten years, not knowing what it was until now. Pay close attention to the image of Xochiquetzal and tell me what you see!

Breaking the Mold

11/10/2010

I pretend to be unaware of the feelings of despair.

I shrug off and ignore the sounds and vibrations they make as they chip away at my armor.

Is it really armor? No. It’s a build up.

Years of hurt, abandonment, and betrayal – caked up and shaped in the form of me.

It’s a mold, mummifying and encasing me with my fears, blocking me off from the world.

A display of my loneliness for all to see.

I’ve been immobilized, debilitated by its hold.

It’s been amassing for so long that I feel powerless under its control.

Just when I thought it was all over, that I had been confined into submission, a break through…

Through a small crack I can see everything that I’ve ever wanted to do and be,

and my body wretches and stretches with longing.

The force of the jolt was enough to start the revolt.

I raged against the machine,

this thing that had stunted the growth of my being,

and I broke away from the cast,

made of all those travesties of my past.

Piece by piece, it all came crashing down, smashing to the ground and spreading out wide, fleeing from me.

The slave had become the master.

Feeling free, I start to move faster,

but then I flinch in pain and look down to see bloody foot prints on the floor.

My feet had been sliced open by the shards, the jagged pieces of what was no more.

Momentary pain, because I knew that would be the last time those memories ever hurt me.

Walking away from the carnage, I pause, thinking that I should set eyes on it just one last time.

I was stepping out into newness, uncertainty, and those broken pieces were so familiar.

I shook my head in protest, and a few more pieces fell out and down to join the rest.

I cracked a smile, the first in a while,

and walked out into the world.

Naked and exposed, yes, but not the least bit fearful or embarrassed.

(This poem is featured in my debuting novel: http://www.amazon.com/Nobody-Puts-Crack-Corner-ebook/dp/B006NQBL2Q/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1324312074&sr=8-2)