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Once Upon a Time in Vietnam is an unforgettable tale of the anguish and suffering inflicted by the unseen wounds of war. To borrow a metaphor from the vanishing world of vinyl, every poem is an A-side. Tamara Madison is a poet equally at home in the world of flesh and the world of ideas, both worlds apprehended with intelligence, grace and humor. Publication date: January 10, WINNER OF THE PEARL POETRY PRIZE "In Animal Magnetism , Kim Roberts investigates, in language as rich, complex, and nuanced as the body itself, the unlit interiors of physical and emotional anatomy…Borne out of the author's own deep searching following a serious illness, each poem, each line, feels deeply earned…While these poems are beautifully-made and sometimes funny or painful, they are also brimming with information…Here the narrator functions as a trained docent, leading the reader on a private tour of the wonders and curiosities that document the early explorations of medicine and anatomy, in which the inner workings of the human body were first opened to the human eye.

The title of her first book, The Largest Possible Life , encapsulates for me the capacious, striving sensibility of this remarkable poet. Here you'll meet up with a scrawny urban rooster, a dying jazz singer, an old Arab man in a corner store, a small bully on the school playground, a child gymnast in the Olympics, an Ethiopian janitor, a transvestite violinist, an Alaskan moose, Saddam Hussein —and many more characters besides Deeply thoughtful, passionate, ethical, unflinching, funny, sexy, world-traveling Adams 80 pp.

Conceptually, the book is a union of voices: Adams's straight forward and lyrical one, and the voices of women who braved the journey across the Santa Fe Trail. In poem after poem, Adams lets the dead speak to us—and their stories are harrowing. Deadly winter storms. Men crushed by wagons. A woman's breasts carved away by an Indian's knife.

It's an apocalyptic view of the Old West where disease was rampant, the innocent were scalped, and buffalo carcasses rose from the landscape 'like trail markers. Adams's mesmerizing Through the Glorieta Pass weaves a chorus of women's voices into a poetic tapestry through which human longing, determination, and landscape itself speak to us. With authority and integrity, Adams has brought both the beauty and the danger along the Santa Fe Trail to life in her poems.

On this journey westward, transformation was inevitable. The ways of the Apaches and the Mexicans mingled with the lives of the settlers. Out of that medicine bag of history has come poetry that speaks to the heart. A memoir in poetry, it does not make one false step. It is filled with strong sentiment, but never the sentimental. Memory and the imagination weave past and present into a whole cloth.

After Wordsworth, we can easily say of The Farmgirl Poems , the child is mother to the poet here. It is a terrifying and powerful book about the world by a lone American poet who sought out some of its bleakest in every sense of that word and most beautiful places. Often understated, always unflinching, this book and its people are unforgettable.

They offer a tour of American landscape—the trees with bitter crop of the South; the plains of the Midwest; the duels of a cartoonish Wild West. At once a wily romp and a lyric sweep, Rodeo in Reverse considers the possibilities and failures of domestic life on the never-ending quest of rounding up, and defining, the self. Though Malaga had been their home for generations, nine residents including the entire Marks family were committed to the Maine School for the Feeble Minded in Pownal, Maine.

The others struggled to find homes on other islands or on the mainland, where they were often unwelcome. The Malaga school was dismantled and rebuilt as a chapel on another island. Seventeen graves were exhumed from the Malaga cemetery, consolidated into five caskets, and reburied at the Maine School for the Feeble Minded. Just one year after the start of the eviction proceedings, the Malaga community was erased. Of and for the women that live on, she writes with bold reverence for that which thrives despite the odds—female desire, the aging body, the power of refusal.

Doshi reminds us that poetry, at its root, is song—in praise and lament, hopeful and ebbing—calling out for truth and redemption. He paints vivid portraits of good kids, bad kids, families clinging to hope, life after the steel mills, gentrifying barrios, and everything in between. Drawing on the rich traditions of Latinx and Chicago writers like Sandra Cisneros and Gwendolyn Brooks, Olivarez creates a home out of life in the in-between.

Combining wry humor with potent emotional force, Olivarez takes on complex issues of race, ethnicity, gender, class, and immigration using an everyday language that invites the reader in.

Olivarez has a unique voice that makes him a poet to watch. After being orphaned as a young girl, Asghar grapples with coming-of-age as a woman without the guidance of a mother, questions of sexuality and race, and navigating a world that put a target on her back. Using experimental forms and a mix of lyrical and brash language, Asghar confronts her own understanding of identity and place and belonging.

This work centers on urgent themes in our cultural landscape, creating space for unseen victims of discriminatory foreign read: immigration policy: migrants, refugees—the displaced. Helal transfers lived experiences of dislocation and relocation onto the reader by obscuring borders through language.

The poems peel away at the complexity of love, family, individual growth, and sacrifice as the rough son moves through the world. In the face of a merciless disease, each poem fights to turn despair into gratitude. The title poem follows a nineteen-year-old girl in Shanghai who uploaded her suicide onto Instagram. Other poems cross into animated worlds, examine robot culture, and haunt a necropolis for electronic waste.

A fascinating sequence spanning the collection speaks in the voice of the international icon and first Chinese American movie star Anna May Wong, who travels through the history of cinema with a time machine, even past her death and into the future of film, where she finds she has no progeny. With a speculative imagination and a sharpened wit, Mao powerfully confronts the paradoxes of seeing and being seen, the intimacies made possible and ruined by the screen, and the many roles and representations that women of color are made to endure in order to survive a culture that seeks to consume them.

Wells to Sandra Bland and Black Lives Matter, black women freedom fighters have braved violence, scorn, despair, and isolation in order to lodge their protests. Poems leap from war-torn cities in the Middle East, to an Oklahoma Olive Garden, a Brooklyn brownstone; from alcoholism to recovery; from a single woman to a wife.

This collection summons breathtaking chaos, one that seeps into the bones of these odes, the shape of these elegies.

So, Here Are 50 Must-Read 12222 Poetry Collections:

Through love, loss, and the struggles of disordered eating, If My Body Could Speak uses sharp narratives and visceral imagery to get to the heart of a many-layered existence, speaking to many generations at once. These American poems are both elegy and jive, joke and declaration, songs of congregation and self-conception. They connect themes of loneliness, displacement, grief, ancestral trauma, and objectification, while exploring and troubling tropes and stereotypes of Black Americans.

Focused primarily on depictions of Black womanhood alongside personal narratives, the collection tackles interior and exterior politics—of both the body and society, of both the individual and the collective experience.

Laurel Books Poetry and Prose

To the one who has opened my head and my heart To the one who has taught me everything, requiring nothing To the one who is and was my Giver To the one who is my Center To the one who will forever be my Beloved Thank you Courtesy: The Osho Deck. Kirk Richards - "Cherubim and Flaming Sword". God appeals to our vanity meeting us in the depths of our making to the blind, even madness is sanity lured by lies, saved by Truth ever chasing. The beauty of femininity is in its innocent optimism; its ability to bounce back from negative occurrences, filled with hope.

Free of worrying thoughts, it nurtures an intuitive knowing There is an ancient wisdom at the heart of femininity. Capable of anything it aspires to and yet resolved to fulfilling its purpose of carrying light. It is devoted to maintaining hope and love and trust in a world that threatens to tear all asunder. This is the strength in femininity. The power of a poised purpose. What took place on the cross was never some abstract religious occurrence or passing act in a bygone divine drama. It was God coming into flesh to lead us along the path of self-sacrifice.

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It will take nothing less than self-sacrifice to achieve the ideal we aspire to. What took place on the cross was a demonstration by an all merciful, wise and incomparable God. That which is required of us is not something He himself has not endured. And in His connection to the suffering of all beings, He continually bears the weight of such suffering. He would have that suffering exhausted. He would have disobedience and sin purged from His creation. We walk through the threshold of the lamb and plead the blood.

We acknowledge suffering and sin and plead for it to stop as those who feel and know its repercussion and pain. It is a darkness that is tangible. It is a darkness which pours into the weak and innocent, an innocence we are each obliged in love to protect. His word is a path of light which blots out darkness. To that end, we follow as the lamb and endure the worst darkness has to throw at us. We take up the cross and offer ourselves willingly to the holy task of purgation. God has a Son. God lures us from deep slumber subconscious darkness we are the walkers living, moving - cloak of blindness upon us insidious Truth creeping, reaching it's in the seeking of partners undeniable the rebirthing of hathor sired by the God of our longing.

God washes over like a wave engulfing fear misplacing apathy resurgent defiant loveful and lifting all. Gustav Klimt - "Altar of Dionysus" detail. His grace was the light I followed. His grace was the warm assurance of a better way. I wandered around lost for years but He was there, in the background, guiding me, waiting for me to want Him with my all. It is a matter of choice - a matter of desire. Both God's grace and personal longing wed to birth the Kingdom. There is no coercion. Union is born of a mutual desire His and "hers. The degree of His grace - to guide, to wait, to deliberately allow my maturation and realization Glimmering shining that He lives - our diamond truth self-sacrificed for us yet undying hearts craving God have their proof.

His holy church made clean -beyond the heresy of hearsay His love unmediated still no barriers of false authority baptized in His word exorcised of whoredom and apostasy each saved directly by His grace known face to face death to hypocrisy. God's holy wrath through the storm diffused merciful pardon of a guilty world a ransom for many blessed sacrifice wholly used cleansing all by the blood absorbing the full weight of His truth. Father of heaven mother of earth hope of transcendence weds the gem of rebirth joined - one in purpose living gospel serving hearth.

Him faith revealing sweet proof. House of the Rising Son Nyarko - "Hathor". Photography courtesy: Enzo Cei. The master takes a slab of raw unrefined stone and sculpts it into a masterpiece of flawless beauty. To do so he must chip away at the stone to form contours and meaningful shape. If the stone could be heard, surely its wails would be deafening. There is no comfort in this process for the stone. Though, there is no ill intent on the part of the master sculptor.

Both participate in the process of his artistry that the world may reap benefit from the finished work. The stone at times longs for a return to its prior, raw state - left alone to just be It would seem easier. But to fulfill a larger purpose, to convey a more profound meaning and feed the thirst of those seeking such, the stone submits and endures every painful strike of the master's chisel. Then it is soothed, gratefully, by his smoothing and polishing; soothed by his glance of approval and pride. God molds us.

He shapes us into beautiful forms to nourish the world with meaning and sustenance. Just as the stone, we glorify the master sculptor for his magnificent vision and attention The touch of a true master yields truth of incomparable beauty, in service to the will of God. God, by sin, stands wholly disgusted by a failure to abide, with His word entrusted living sacrifice, unto Him goes the spoils a walking oblation, anointed and cleansed by His oil. God's light can never for long be bound pure truth, it breaks through solid ground our boundaries our lies our grotesque conformities all falsehoods ripped by love's enormity.

God is happening. Some would then question, "What do you mean? One would need simply to look and to listen If I say that God is happening, and you cannot see it God's sons to reap the seed He's sown. The Fantasim - "Globe Juggler". God serenades us with a choir of talents lest we fall from His grace thinking His reach failed the challenge grant His love sweet control Meester met de Papegaai - "The Suicide of Lucretia" detail. Gustave Moreau - "Jupiter and Semele".

God's lamb to slaughter led, undying of fear long freed, no pressing dread a fate accepted though anguished, crying a truth, unsaid, prevailing - sacrificed for Zion. God's awareness penetrates as His phallus quickening the waters of earth's arousal fluidic conduction of power conferred given wholly to His will body flooded by His word. Unafraid of grabbing the serpent by the head, a tantrika directs raw sex toward spiritual liberation. Sometimes frightening or overt in her appearance and approach she is deliberate yet beguiling.

What you think of her is of no consequence. She is devoted to Truth. She serves Truth. She walks among us, not in distant mountain caves. She is here The same can be said of the great sage - the mystic master she serves. Representatives of mystic union don't hide away, but serve humanity in the full spectrum of its expression Divine Truth is always accessible, always capable of filling the ears of those who listen.. If my greatest gift is the fruit of my femininity, how can I abuse its use? My devotion points to Truth I cannot both be the throne and sit upon it. My every effort is toward His reign.

We are to nourish rightful kings. We are to birth princes of peace. Let the well being of the world be built upon my body in prostration. God has never not seen. God has never ceased. Why would God not intervene? Why would He not use every means at His disposal to save souls? Why should He abdicate the throne for the sake our own faithlessness? He never ceases. He never suffers limitation. He never falls as idols fall as civilizations crumble under the weight of their hubris. Belief is inadequate. Knowing is upon us. Seek to be found. Stand still in devotion to move mountains of darkness.

Draw the line. No fear. A lover gives the gift of vulnerability. Your heart is in the hands of another. Your life in the hands of God. Divine Truth is like pure water. When one is thirsty, one will drink from the water bearer. A person truly thirsty for God doesn't question untrustingly about what color the cup is or what language the giver uses to say "here is water Only water will do. Whether the bearer calls it water, agua, eau or maji Christ, Krishna, Ausar or Allah, one who thirsts is nourished by pure Truth. The thimble is nourished by a generous ocean.

To be filled one must open the mouth. If what name is used is still most important, you have not reached the depth of your thirst. If you still look begrudgingly at other water drinkers because they use different cups, then you have not reached the depth of your thirst. When you do, the endless ocean will come to you What a precious and sacred embodiment are husbands and wives in mystic union. To look at them and see the living proof of God's love Without coercion, receiver yields self to cling to His word and will.

She obeys simply "because He says so. No doubt, fear or mistrust is present - just the purest yielding. To feel loved, protected and guided so fully that every Word is seen as a precious and purposeful gift. This is the truest freedom. Such adherence to His word saves one from error and undue suffering. Adherence to His Word is freedom from the snares of material excess and distractions of egoic pursuit. A living model - the exalted mystic union of husband and wife reaffirms for us how to receive God's love God, i need you like the air.

William Adolphe Bouguereau - "Biblis". God's eye sees all - He stands ever the watcher sight that pierces pure soul beyond falsehood's armor faithless ledgers drip red precious fate ours to author favored fish swim by grace His word as safe harbour. Alex Grey - "Lateralus". Femininity is by nature receptive. It receives in order to yield.

Veiling is a protective act, covering our openness Veiling and waiting in discipleship for the Beloved preserves our openness for its proper, intended party. As in nature, any hole or crevice which is uncovered is a trap to any foolhardy passerby. We do not lie in waiting for any madcap wanderer. We wait patiently for the one who will overflow our banks - one who loves with deliberate intention, altogether certain of every step He places. When I veil I'm saying, "don't look at me The emphasis in exalted mystic union is not on the submission of the female but on the male who her submission is gifted to.

Her submission is a pointing. She is drawing our attention to His truth, His wisdom, His love, His authority. A veiled woman, one who has embraced her holy submissive nature and chosen wisely, is a litmus test - a living breathing indicator of God's loving presence. We are here. We strive for God. These two realities can seem divergent but exalted mystic union is just that It resolves the apparent dichotomy between being here and being one with God.

Union give's God's consciousness a holy seat - flesh and blood and experience.

Full text of "Baudelaire, his prose and poetry"

Union makes the bliss of both transcendence and immanence tangible. Neither one is negated. Each is reaffirmed by the other. We are the energetic flash of desire and fruition. Masculinity surges as creative impulse. Femininity bears the promise of attainment. In union they are the reiteration of causal desire and its manifestation. The "word" is planted in the womb of potential and given birth through adherence to the law of love.

Truth and devotion spiral, knitting together, in tandem, this web of particle and thought called life. This perfect stage hosts a perfect drama - the ever increasing ecstasy of being His coming wholly changed everything with low made high and high made low life's plan and purpose forfeiting to serve and full devotion show.

His eyes pierce my body no barrier soul revealed legs parted stilled and silenced by His power mind searching memory for points of pleasure tongue tasting self-yielding offerings to bear waiting for His word but finding "now" in His gaze every moment with Master a passion drenched haze. Asking is a submissive act. Listening for a reply is a submissive act. Letting light shine through you to be of best benefit is a submissive act. Yet in this devotional gesture, in this way of life, where one loses the finite self, one gains the Divine immensity of oneness.

One becomes a part of the game of life The wider you open, the more light you will hold.

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  • Let God manhandle you. Let Him have his way with your life, your love, your very being. He is the most deserving of your trust. Exalted mystic union is predicated on a mutual choosing. The female chooses her Beloved based on intuitive recognition once He reveals His intention. There will be no "no" in you, where He is concerned. He elicits a trust so complete and so beautiful that you couldn't ignore it if you tried.

    It is the first taste of liberation. In His presence a moment will come when you just let go, allowing your mind to quiet. A sign of being in the presence of a spiritually realized person is that your mind stills. Like a hummingbird drawing sweet nectar you will float in blissful receptivity and trust. Wait for that moment in faith. He will come. And you will know. A major goal of spiritual work is control of the mind - "cessation of the mind stuff," to quote Patanjali. This yields peace for the seeker. The wife-in-discipleship reaps the fruit of this peace through literally conceding control to her Beloved.

    Some would protest this as a giving up of power and personal choice. But these fail to realize that the two are in reality one so there is no "personal" power and choice. The male and female of exalted mystic union are one entity. Through His headship their union is directed according to Divine Truth. She belongs to Him as His body, as His help meet, as His jewel of fulfillment. It is a caring co-dependency and a total power conferment. She gives up control and gains the peace of being protected, provided for and spiritually guided.

    This does not ascribe such a female with inferiority or ineptitude. Rather, His effort and desire to fulfill this role points to her inherent, though likely latent, value. Unlike those who would come and go with fingers crossed behind their backs, the self-mastered man of love takes full responsibility for His beloved wife. She acknowledges His natural authority, investing Him with sovereignty of their home.

    It is a thing of delicate beauty and durable strength. Their relationship is living breathing poetry Both continually striving to maintain worthiness of that which the other partner so wholeheartedly gives. Shining as the long sought jewel of all striving, love elicits a natural abdication. Here there is no coercion, no duplicity and no force. Just pure, self-transcendent and self-affirming trust. When it revels itself, the natural instinct is one of tethering. As with any guru one wants to run, sensing the Beloved's intention to slay egoic misperception.

    And yet, one knows it is best to bind closer. Inch by inch, link by link of love's chain the spirit soars freer and freer still - safe in the parameters of Divine purpose and fulfillment. In the dark, we tend to call out in our need. Asking the Divine Sustainer if it will provide the material things we've come to consider necessary.

    But what's more necessary, in His eyes, is the condition of our souls - our striving, our attainment of peace and love. Sometimes the question isn't "can you fill this need" but rather "why and how am I in this predicament? We have to be willing to heed the guidance when it comes. To demonstrate that, we pray, chant and meditate in a way that shows our receptivity.

    On the path of exalted mystic union, submission is both an erotic and spiritual act. It yields ecstasy in that it focuses devotion outside of the local self. God and husband provide a constant surge of blissful domination for the wife-in-discipleship. This domination is the natural, lovefull direction and protection inherent in the union of creator and created. He cares for His own. Being one with the creator implies surrendering oneself fully so as not to buck or resist what is truly best. This means allowing gratefully whatever is pleasing to God. Realization is trusting existence.

    This trust is tangibly experienced as a lifelong and Divinely ordained bond. It does not falter. Hence the resurgent idea of one supreme God. In the midst of many there is one supreme. Trust in the Beloved is the cornerstone of a peace-filled life. This is why the talk of following only one guru. Filling your bucket with water from many wells is exhausting and ineffective. The purity of the water from one well is jeopardized by the pollution of another. The same applies for the wife-in-discipleship who is seeking passionate union with the Beloved who is both guru and lover.

    She herself can become polluted by seeking love from many wells. Through surrender to the Truth she maintains faith and ultimately achieves ecstatic self-realization through submission to that One. Her path unifies agape with eros, lovefull spirituality with sexuality. On the path of mystic union the serpent rises and takes to wing. Your life is the lesson and the gateway. The more you recognize and perpetuate Truth in your personal life, the better you will be able to plug into the underlying Truth of existence. Truth is the crux and the way is through love. Love allows trust and the subsequent flowering of Truth.

    It is a blissful mobius strip of Divine Being. No speed bump First as an individual one opens, knowing there is a circuit to tap into. Knowing that she is already tapped into it means she just has to get out her own way. To do this she listens, remaining receptive and then when confronted by an opportunity to choose honesty or dishonesty she chooses honesty. This allows alignment with Divine Truth.

    This is why all the talk of "the light," and so on. Truth does not hide. It doesn't have to. It is not cowering in pain. Nor is it afraid of the judgment or opinion of others. It just is. You just let the light permeate your life. And then you begin to see the light all around you. You'll also be able to more easily see the shadows. The dark of falsehood thrives in isolation. Truth is pervasive. If something is true one place it's true all over. Love is universal. You know you're dealing with the dark when it persists in its isolationism. The way to minimize and neutralize shadow is to be the light.

    Stop lying and come out into the light of day. Paige Bradley - "Expansion". William Blake - "The Ancient of Days". There is no death and yet for me you face it Mind and body controlled crude ego truncated Finding me in dark waters through the storm - helped me brace it How could i not kneel?

    No more room for complacence. Divine mission top secret shhh be quiet to listen it's happening - Love I am your servant You will nurture and protect me. I will obey and respect you for I am only free within your care. I will surrender to your authority in all things as everything you do to and for me is done out of love. You are my Master, my Teacher, my Husband, my Beloved. I vow to love and please you with my body, mind and soul. My every thought, word and deed is tethered to the scale of your righteousness.

    I will reflect your teaching and go forth as your namesake. Let all my actions shine as praise of you for you are worthy. I will never grow cold or distant. I will never shun your desire. I entrust all that I am and all that I have to you alone, forever This is my promise. Womanhood is not fully known in isolation from manhood Womanhood denotes a space to be filled; it is receptive and therefore unfilled and unwed it is not known at its zenith.

    We are one with our Beloved. On the path of exalted mystic union, womanhood devoid of self-mastered manhood is adolescent at best - recalcitrant and destructive at worst. Only then has she opened herself to true ecstasy. Love is the holy kingdom sweet where sex and spirit nobly meet agape gives itself complete as lust's vain serpent courts defeat. His love unlocks her gifts of beauty His manhood drawing out her grace their union sanctified - planned truly jeweled glory of the grand design ascension of this human race.

    Photo courtesy: Matt Brandon Jaipur. God doesn't need our submission. He is complete within Himself. He accepts our submission because it protects us from the snares of egoic action. A woman surrendered to God is safe from external forces of disunion and chaos. A woman surrendered to God is safe from the deleterious effects of her own vain choices. Submission is akin to getting out of the way. We step aside so that Divine Truth Prostration does nothing for the Guru. But think of it as a demonstration of your love for Him - your openness to His will and His wisdom.

    The Guru acknowledges your gesture as a sign of humility Only an empty vessel can be filled Shaken from its nest dazed bird consumed by hatred 'til terrestrial lesson learned - knowing how to fly is latent. Pain and death the pure soul's shield against the rogue fiend vanity reminders in this dominion world that beyond the self it's oneness which keeps harmony. His eyes - deep wells of holy wisdom of my self i make oblation to this passion's sacred dance. When the sun awakes how can I slumber?

    Lovers set the earth to quake - legion our number. Alan Kirkland Roath "Stripper". Words and symbols are a way to understand to lead the mind through showing Yet the truth of union bears a certain sweetness best tasted in its knowing. Glory to the master of love to that one to whom she feels compelled to kneel before - His throne above her soul to bare - no lie to tell. I cant give life to death Only He can The boy is not mine to raise The demon not mine to save I release it and let peace in leaving the loveless to choose between His light or the grave.

    Over external form we squabble - wars waged perplexed by the truth of oneness - expressed myriad ways Sage and prophet point to union as soul's pivotal stage transcending prism's colors - duality the gate. Why worship one inch of the net when I am that in entirety? When beyond even my form His awareness moves subtly? Every inch with its portion of time and of space all the gods kneel before Truth in every mirror - His face. Fresh morning dew anoints the grass they've made love in the night- our souls awashed With devotion true we catch a glimpse as they pass in the mirror of sight- veil of mystery tossed.

    Kicking and screaming do some wean from the breast mother culture and tradition their lap of regress the innocent seeker walks the bold path of oneness victim no more of a growth surely stunted. I see His love glaring from the eyes of strangers the whole world conspiring to ravish my senses with bliss even in roughness - brief dances with danger I feel His will for my prunning - sweet sobering kiss.

    He leads the earth to understanding Peace set upon her proper throne - merged as one 'neath many stars Truth reigns supreme - gift of this wise King Love paves the path she walks to home. This holy house a crystal brilliance harbors no longer on the fringe and courting death Defying vanity love gently hearkens and renders impotent the serpent's threat. His every word she scans perchance to find amorous clue by night she sits awake and waiting companion to the moon both cricket's chirp and firefly's glow arouse suspicious swoon by her heart and by His flute she knows fate plans sweet rendezvous.

    Wind over water the fire rains Father yokes Mother the wild and tamed. A sublime congruence of beauteous wisdom - pure awe alights the sacred doctrines of all with eyes to see and heart to know we see Truth gleam A love that's perfected gives just as God free of condition - with no thought of self with no stain of fear, Peace rests by His rod assuming her place where the virgins once knelt. Possession is not the evil, selfish ownership which excludes is the evil.

    Love is the remedy. Sovereignty assumes responsibility for that which it possesses… a righteous custodianship. But rulership infected with isolation-consciousness nurtures the seed of its own demise. Exalted mystic union assuages the dichotomy of possession and propagation. God-dess pulsates - holy spanda - self resplendent yet reaching out. Simultaneously still yet desirous and in motion. God-dess reaches out beyond itself propelled by desire for blissful experience of itself in variegated form.

    The heart of God-dess quivers and shoots out. Let us merge with that quiver Neither is love a solitary venture.