Self First Is When

poem

Brave is when your boyfriend informs you he wants to separate. You make $18.00 an hour and are raising his children, with one on the way. 

Courage is when you pull back all, move into his house, turn over your money to him, try various careers that did not work out and surrender your Pruis because he wished to purchase a brand new mini van. 

Stepping into power is when you must travel forward with nothing. You must locate a dependable vehicle, rent a house in a safe neighborhood, buy beds and things. Then save money for maternity leave so you can still feed your children and pay your bills. This is all accomplished on a budget that leaves you meager between paychecks. 

Humbling is when you understand you did this to yourself, solely to discover that you love yourself more today than ever before.

Drop the Story to Feel

Ponderings

Sometimes I wonder how I am going to make it through the day. I awake from a disturbing dream, one from the depths of lovelessness and I am afraid, feeling distorted and alone. What do I do with this energy? I ask for guidance, tap into Mia’s and Judy’s recordings to help clear. Despite that, the negative feelings continue. I also breathe deep as Dr Sue Morter shows to clear, claim emotions and become the master of self, but how do I step into the negative when I want no part of the negative story? 

If I were to give this loveless place a voice, what would the lovelessness say to me? “I need you, I love you, accept me to be the love that I am.” Because of my rejection, a part of my body has become very contracted, emanating an energy of hate, loneliness, fear, abandonment, depression, negative self image, victimization and judgment. What would that look like to open into loveless territory and be brave to embrace something that feels unembraceable? Maybe to lighten the load, I could open up the moon roof to the sun, plant some grass, nurture the green with some water where flowers bloom. This story I can handle. 

I understand that lovelessness is a teacher to love deeply. But I am afraid to love deeply when I have to step into the loveless story to activate love awake. The story seems to disperse my energy into a bubble of fear. But if I drop the story, then maybe my energy can come together where fear becomes the power, the concentrated breath of focus. I suppose dropping the story is like taking control of the mind, the drama and allowing the body to feel, emanate into a healing embrace. Maybe from this practice, we all could become the master of shadowy emotions, claiming all that love offers.

A Moment

poem

I whispered into his open mouth, but the words turned before they arrived at his tongue and there I remained as if I spoke nothing at all. 

So my naked shoulders tilted back as my arms turned my hands in proposals, seeking to communicate with his stubbly neck, and then the tweed jacket which fit him perfectly, but did not fit so exquisitely anywhere else. 

Gently my eyes flew upwards, noticing his deep brown were dancing with my breath and then my hair for the violin occupied his ears.

To Be a Tree

poem

I was placed in the center of all things and from there my roots grew long and wide into the earth. As my roots grew, so too did my branches grow up long and wide, into the sky. There the sun blessed every moment as the soil blessed every moment and so I stood learning how to be a tree. 

Learning how to be a tree did not come with instructions that one would read from a newspaper, a magazine, or a book. Learning how to be a tree came from the sun who taught me to grow, and the soil who taught me how to nourish myself. The wind taught me how to ebb and flow with life and the fungus upon my roots taught me how to communicate with the mothers of the forest. 

To be a tree, I had to allow life to organize just as I needed to be, co-creating, adapting with a system that sustains many possibilities.

Divinity Sustains With Divinity

poem

There is nothing outside of the Earth that the Earth needs to sustain its existence

Divinity sustains itself with Divinity

The intelligence of the Earth is Divine

Divinity needs only itself to exist. 

We are all Divine Intelligence

Can you imagine

If you stepped into your Divine Will,

The only thing you would need was your own existence

Found in the expression of a tomato, a worm, the apple tree and your neighbor

All sustaining the one Divinity

The Forest, The Man

Draft

By Cristy Parker

I can feel the somber crunch beneath my feet as every step is an announcement that I am in the forest. To walk quietly would have to be a conscious act. Awareness does not come easy. My head spins with many distractions and every thought reiterates a thinking existence. I would much rather settle into the green, brown, orange floating on tree limbs. The leaves offer me a symphony, tones of comfort and grounded-ness. I melt into the present, allowing it all in at once. 

What is it about the forest that pulls me into such stillness? The forest does nothing to get my attention but allows itself to be seen. I only have to be still. However, the city is different. Jack hammers force their presence upon me, idling cars smell like a headache and tall grey buildings seem to hold a higher position. It’s the living that seems invisible. Like the man wearing three jackets with toes peek-a-booing threw holes in amber shoes. I remember wondering if his toes collected stories, spying becoming the expertise of the neighborhood.

The smell of pine runs past my nose as if chasing the breeze and I can feel my soles sink into the soft, fallen pine needles. I wonder what it would be like to sleep beneath the green upon a bed of brown pine mulch. I wonder if the man I saw in the city would consider it a worthy place for comfort, bedding down to claim a mattress. The old pine needles that have fallen from the trees give space for new needles, and as the old needles decompose, they give nutrients to the roots and living organisms in the soil. In nature, all that is living, even when discarded, is nurturing to all that is around them.

I can see the man in my mind’s eye pushing the shopping cart with all of his belongings; a plaid wool blanket and two large black garbage bags. However, it was his face that stood out the most; sun-kissed, with eyes as soulful as a saint. His beard, naturally greyed over his sunken checks. I remember he spotted me staring, gave me a toothless smile so genuine my heart melted from the donation, even now.

The wind tickle’s my face and I gaze at the sun high above me just in time to see the sun shoot down golden rays, and like lips parting a smile, the beams move through the openness of the tree’s, lighting up the forest floor, resourcefully giving without notice. 

Brecht And The Human Race

poem

Is the human race missing out on their living system component?

You know the one, the matter energy connection that allows ecosystems to self-sustain. 

Can you imagine a queen bee, telling the hive that she is taking ten cents from their wages.

She would be forever managing behaviors; money matters.

However, the queen doesn’t; 

Worker bees imagine themselves, driven by their own inner guidance.

Queen bee is a human name, a name the bee did not imagine herself. 


No wonder Pavel fled into the mystery, leaving his mother to be implicit

His life was imagined for him; hostile

He was searching for his living system component, the matter energy connection; he mattered. 

The explicitness of machine’s roared in his ears, as men on all sides demanded their ten cents

Force begets force, forever detailing the natural

Pavel knew life would be nothing more, and he imagined differently; a life for himself


We are in a paradox of knowing and belief

Authority over self and authority over someone else’s body

Organic and Machine

A machine is a closed-system; a non-intelligent system that can not change on its own

Matter is an open-system; an intelligent system that ebbs and flows in self-sustainment

When the human race believes the machine; we fight and die against a non-intelligent system

When the human race knows life as our own creation 

We become like the bee, eternal intelligence

A machine is what we add to it; the human race is not a machine

So, change is already our creation; nothing to fight for said the bee 

Cristy Parker

She Slipped Like Water

poem

She slips through my fingers

Like water

I just wanted to experience her giggles 

Floating like soap bubbles 

Popping with glee

Her hair 

A mesh of both wetness and dryness

Absorbing my attention

Black luminous strands that captured the moon

She smells of salt 

And sea grass

A hint of ocean fresh fabric softener

She refuses containment

Kicking with sandy feet at the oceans edge

Back into the ocean

I had to let her go

The Whole Scene Looked to Me

advocating

Maybe a paradox is a crossroads, where one encounters an intersection made of fixed identities; no matter if the identity is imagined for you or self imagined, fixed identities control consciousness. So in this sense, if I understand my own defenses of how I structure my identity into strictness. I could evolve from the paradox into higher awareness. From this perspective, I could utilize my talents fully in performing identity. 

Identity becomes more of a tool when I am not controlled by my own fixed identity. Identity turns into uniqueness, wanting to identify with another’s uniqueness; our place together within the intersection. As I consciously choose to connect to uniqueness, the other person will see me as nonthreatening. So, within this matter to energy connection, the other can change how they identify to the conflict, and both of us can move towards facilitating change. 

Instead of defending ourselves, we can begin to share what is important, intersecting ideas, feelings and talents with each other; we evolve into something greater, together. In this sense, everybody’s perspective has meaning and worth. We can move beyond conflict, change the past held within, step into the present together, and grow into higher conscious awareness upon the planet. Our vibrations rise into the future and relationships are no longer stagnant but performing. 

The cumbersomeness of a fixed identity, either imagined for you or imagined from you, is very stifling to the ebb and flow of one’s being-ness; never growing from the fixedness and strictness. However, by allowing the fixed identities to fall away, our uniqueness shines and our talents work together for the greater good of us all.