Famished


Ciron-the-centaurI am so dull at the specter of rapacious male lust that is overfull and never sated.

Colossus centaur in his superhero fantasy, piggish and greedy for huge breasts and a river of pussy.

It’s just food to him…her body. Just…a meal to gratify his insatiate greed…unless he loves her.

He can turn into a freak devil that does the same thing with hollow power…unless he loves her.

Even if she wanted to she couldn’t fill his black hole of need. A surfeit of money, accolade, ambition, and respect is a snack, but he is not yet a muscle-bound giant so the bloody feast must rage on.

He doesn’t know anything divergent, no other way to prevail, so it’s not something to be rabid about. As a male, every single institution has indoctrinated him to dominate and be a consumer who overfills his barbarian, carnivorous soul. He wasn’t born this way, it’s calculated so he can be of maximum use in the machine with very large teeth.

As a woman, every single institution from her birth has taught her that it’s a handicraft to feed his hungry lost soul, that he cannot feed himself, that he needs to be fed by everything she is, can do or possess because he is barren. Is he really barren of love?

The truth is…he has it all because woman indulged him and gave him her vitality. She didn’t have to! She still does long to give him all of her allegiances and not be loved in return. Why? It’s her undoing. It’s calculated so she can be of maximum use in the machine with very large teeth.

He thinks it’s control from her because he feels dependent and hungry, controlled by his edacious body or the cruel vacuum of his mother’s love. And it’s not just the food he needs, its flavor. He’ll even go to another planet to consume what they have, trying to find a novel flavor. Why does she feel sorry for his empty belly that covers an unrequited heart? He has a heart. We know it.

I’m one of the trifling women that knows you have excitability that lasts beyond a hook-up. The thing about me though…is I don’t particularly care. If you don’t want me, I’ll start to forget about you. Out of sight out of mind!

Men are cursed nomads, wandering the earth without love in them or loving anyone outside of themselves until they really…do…let themselves receive the gift of loving a woman that is not his mother! and need to be with her. It’s totally up to him. All a woman does is exist as she is. She has no control over his choice…at all.

A woman is always complete in herself, fed, not famished, all by herself. But a man is not. His insatiable lust and thirst that calls forth our pity really, will never be quenched until he lets himself be with her completely. A woman needs to have compassion on his need and fall into his arms if he is unrelenting. And yes, she is feeding him, once again.

A man is truly healed and made happy by truly loving a woman, not so much by her loving him because she loves all the time! That is her gift to herself. Because she exists…he found her and he learns to love. That is the greatest gift a man can have and then he’s no longer famished.

Lisa T. 1/4/2019

 

 

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The Womb


dark forest

I’ve known you but a thousand years my love

Your face so rare and calm…

I’ve known you deep inside the walls that push against my scorn.

 

Trenchant waters, tar-like mattes of ribbon sheer and broad,

Stripes form bridges…

Moats to cross…

Transfixed, I hear you call.

 

I know that voice so clear and deep, it beckons me to come,

“Reside with me my love.” “All right.”

The waters surge at dawn.

 

The Night is bright with moonlit sky

I wish it’d go away, to corners webbed and clockwork loose

To trip dimensions throng.

 

Plunge me into silence still embraced by tepid wrong.

Wrong and right eclipse my lungs…

Can’t breathe—

No morals throng.

 

Fear gloats its rabid face…”STOP!” I feign to tell it stunned.

My love lies deep within my heart, unhinged by doom-it runs!

 

Criss-cross sticks form one long bridge

Across the chasm’s face

Tred lightly dear, sing your way through the ache dismissed as day.

 

I’ve known you but a thousand years, this too shall pass away.

Eternity is ours my love.

The womb shall have its way.

 

9/26/09. Kin #66, White 1 Worldbridger (My Tzolkin Analog)

I remember writing this. I was at the end of a marriage and going through the wringer, deeply wanting to find a soulmate or my twin flame. My soul was burning. It was nine years ago and a whole life has happened since. Seems like yesterday.

Blue Night


My heart, in the burning heat of the Sun…stops.

I move on to a peaceful placid place where there is no Sun…Where I can bear my foolish, flickering existence without your blinding light.

I must retreat into my Night.

I am nothing in the face of the Sun and you must continue to burn.

I dare not ask anymore for a cool wind to touch me.

How can I ask for the Sun to cease its mission? And why should I? The Earth needs you.

But I am not all, My life here is not all. I am nothing and more…

My light is as the stars.

They can bear me…and hold me. The stars understand me but the Sun and the Stars share the same Sky.

It is One sky…in Union with The Earth.

You, the Sun.

I, the Stars by Night. One lights the Day, the other The Night.

Let’s be friends and share what we know of existence on this Earth.

For there is no time from whence we came. We are eternal, forever glowing and moving in our way.

Our path is towards eternity.

Our destiny is Life.

May 5, 1988, Red 5 Earth

(I was tuned unconsciously to The Tzolkin. I knew nothing of it in 1988. I lived in California then and had been to Israel in April.  I wrote this after my divorce from Eddie, my 1st husband)

 

Stretched


Wanting more, doing with less,

My mind is stretched past the sun into an abysmal, contorted, apperception too fractured and repetitive to mean what it used to mean.

Meaning is obfuscated because every day I’m in this…protoplasm of lust, whose hands and heartbeats with loving passion, not appetite.

And where am I to go in this quiescent swamp to be fed, nourished, and watered when my mouth can barely open with lips so cracked from the sun that they are silent with the sound that says nothing.

No one really knows me. Only my fingers stretch on the keys to refract a sliver of my pneuma that is groping to be relevant in a world that just needs to…

Ball up, contract, relax and breathe instead of stretching to be noticed by people who don’t even notice the miracle of their own respiring.

shaman-hands-over-sun

Blessings


(I wrote this seven years ago but forgot about it.)

 

The memories of the past tumble down the hill like rocks and wash over me…

like so many waves that crash on the shore

only to go out to sea to be mixed in with the foam, the seaweed, the plethora of gorgeous salt life that heals and evolves all life.

The salt tears only last one minute to transmit my signal.

The heat, the pulsing in my muscles, the steady beat of my heart in the workout show that the source of being in my blood, my body, and my breath, given to me by this Perfect Earth will erase, heal, and forever dispel the smaller pieces of Earth that are to only be absorbed into all that is.

Bless the body.

Bless the blood.

Bless the heartbeat.

Bless the plants and trees and flowers and small creatures that give us pure, big, joy.

Goddess protect the children from harm through all Mothers and Fathers that honor you…and dispel The Sleep Walking Takers like so many rocks falling into the sea where they too can be transformed by the waves, the salt, and the seaweed given to all as a good gift.

Bless Mother Earth that has given us every good, perfect thing as we travel this elusive journey of pain and death and wake up to Perfection.

©Lisa Townsend, 12/2/11

The sea

 

Snow Crystals


(Thanks everyone for all the likes on this. I love writing prose and will continue.)💜

I lose my gaze in a myriad of crystal snowflakes
wending their way to the earth.

I wonder if they could be the scads of tears, prayers, thoughts,
and meanderings of humans all over the Earth
who didn’t quite ascend their minds to the pure, white-hot, burning light of well-being to be absorbed by the sun.

The snows will always return until humans are magnetic and hot…

The snows return to earth under
the sacred gaze of bright cardinals robed in red and
chickadees who speechlessly honor and guard their sacred prayer.

Their temple is truly the bare tree,
The faithful, the crystals, kneeling to bow to the cold wind easing to a snail pace…
the evergreen, the stalwart, pounding, sacred heart of the earth who doesn’t even know what forgiveness is. It’s unnecessary.

Blessings to all the Earth’s living to be born again in the winter white.

©1/2/11 Lisa Townsend

winter image

I Make My Bed


I make my bed as though someone other than me might want to lay on it to relax…

Doubtful.

Fans, fanatics, stalkers, jealous husbands, jealous siblings, errant preachers, starry-eyed parents, and students all seeking some higher bedding more like a cloud…nothing low to ground where I am.

Doubtful.
It’s so…fake.

“THIS is who you are”. “THIS is who you are”…”This is who you are” rings the cacophony.

I am not going to spend my last breath, defying all of you because you are surface dwellers; American Idol, Desperate Housewives watchers. Fantasy. I hate TV.

I’m glad my son can cry and be tired. It means he’s human. That’s all there is.

I’m glad I can kick my ex out of the house for insulting my talent. It means I’m human.
All I have is myself and time…

Let me divorce all that is not calm and in balance.
Ring out the true madness that jumps up…to lightness.
Jumps up…to levity
Jumps up…to where gravity is turned upside down.
My feet are my head. Who cares? Must we always walk?

I want to live in a dimension where upon meeting someone I like, I kiss them with ridiculous abandon.

©Lisa Townsend-2011


	

If We’re Not Thinking in Dreams…


They know by studying the brain that we are not “thinking” while we sleep.

If I’m not thinking, then where are the people, places, voices, words, events, and feelings coming from? It’s not exactly like watching a movie; it’s more like an opaque, frenetic cloud that’s really alive.

I’m free in my dreams to sit back or join in, to interact or be quiet without judgment. Waking life is a dream for me. All day, while I’m “awake”, I’m trying to go back to my dream state to remember how I felt, who I saw, and what happened. It feels like there is a whole other life full of etheric information for me there. Waking life feels like just a resonance in a type of magnetic can; the kind you string together.

Where did I go? I know it was a good place because it affects my day, depending on where I went that night.

I’m not saying I don’t like it here, or earth, but the other side does beckon somehow. I’m a bit glad of that for when my body is worn to a frazzle at one-hundred years old, my work is done, and I’ve had the best damn orgasm I can possibly have with someone I love, it will be easy to drift off and say, “My work here is done.  I’m out.”  My senses and my body still want to drink in all that earth has to offer.

Earth is fabulous, no matter how hard it can get here.

earth magnetic portals - hidden

 

Sweet Earth


The smell of the grass, the trees, the fresh air in my lungs, the blood coursing through my body; that is sweet.

The physical presence of the soil beneath my feet and the sunlight in my eyes, that is true earthly sweet love and nurturing.

Humans aren’t there most of the time for each other anymore-especially when things are going well. Our culture has taken peoples time and minds from earthly awareness so that we are lucky to see each other for one hour a month if that.  I’m not going to make myself sick just so people will come running to me, keep me company, and nurture me while I lie there. How is that companionship? I thought people who loved you wanted to share good times with you, not just bad?

The earth and my body are there for me constantly and give to me all the time, even when I’m confident and feeling really happy. The Earth doesn’t abandon me when I’m happy or treat me like a barking dog because I’m a woman that speaks up! I honor and think of the earth all the time in return.

I’m in love with the Earth. That is my sustenance, healing, and love. I guess it will remain so until I’m done here.

fall leaves

Wanting to Be Right


Why do we want to be right all the time?

Why do I want to be right most of the time?

Why do I glee over saying, “See, I was right!”

Because we doubt ourselves too much so we are reassuring ourselves by saying it.

Because others who doubt themselves doubt us and say it!

Because others project their experience of being shunned for being or doing something that was wrong, onto us.

Because “if you make a mistake, you are forgiven”, isn’t widely practiced.

So, now I try to catch myself and say, “Lisa, do what you feel, study what you feel, write what you feel and use the best skill you’ve got.  That’s all you can do.”  I’ve got a lot of skill and I’ve paid the piper so I have no reason to doubt myself.  Whether anyone will listen and understand, I don’t know.

And now, when someone criticizes me harshly when I meant absolutely no harm and never do, I know that they have not forgiven themselves for being wrong or someone else has not forgiven them for being wrong or vice versa.

It closes the heart.

Wow, the feeling of being around someone with a closed heart and lots of conditions, or an open heart and few conditions, is night and day.