images flicker On / Other fading away
behind aural gesturing
waking me
this new dreaming
populated by redolent wording
and
oddly melodious phrasings
~
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© J.H. White
Author Archives: Jana H White
the carbon
imprint of dreaming
a celluloid morning
soot before breakfast
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“”””””””””””””””””””
~
~
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/xenonbpics/3602393739/”>xenonb.</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>cc</a>
Ineffable
~
it was easy giving up god-ness
once it was explained
~
first you told me
there are no chosen ones
if you understand
there is no end
there was no beginning
we all are equal
in this moment
~
which took me off the hook
~
then you said
get over naming me
it can’t be done
love is a verb
so just stop trying.
Be a verb
instead
~
so I uncluttered my altar
but you say that prayer is still important
and I’m left wondering what this means
~
then the flowers and the bees
shared their intelligence
and told me it’s no secret that
the singularity
of the velocity and structure of light
is more
than I’ve ever
allowed imagining
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sin·gu·lar·i·ty n
a point at which a complex function is undefined because it is neither differentiable nor single-valued while the function is defined in every neighborhood of the point.
Also called singular point
Picture: watermelon carving
Hear me #2
~
scraped rust from my tongue
older than before I was born for nothin
score the initiations of death
my gaming sport
rough and blunt points
for taken the hoes down
I’m not even tired yet
just getting started
gimme gimme
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To call out my anger. To give voice to all sides in this massive and long holding violence so I can see touch be whole at least in myself. I’m not asking for some peaceful distancing. Some mental balancing. Somewhere in there lies compassion…somewhere. I will find this flower
© J.H. White
Duet
~
Four years from the memory of water
I watch
as you bake cookies
Your pensive industry concentrated, I
stand silenced
by the gray distances you favor.
~
In our own ways
we are both tempted by sweetness.
~
I have already learned to adapt
to the rhythms of living in the abstract.
Engagement
not being within the code
of your weather.
~
So when you are busy elsewhere
I look in the cupboard
to find
one cup of sugar
intending to make the earth
sweet.
~
dirt sugar water
seeming the perfect alchemy
baking all afternoon
on an old tin
in the white heat sun oven
off the porch
~
The flower swollen and car exhausted air
seduces me
I gasp in the embrace
~
When it is time
my cookies still
taste like dirt.
But I am less interested
in this wounded conjunction
than the fine film
of sweat
that covers me.
~~
“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
One note
~
I’m becoming
one note
can you hear it?
more hollow than a moan
can you feel my shoulders giving it shape?
~
no one else hears me
they cover the air with spittle and shine
foot walking around and around the center
no one dares touch
except with them as the star
of their own imaginations
~
It’s scary to think which way that goes
~
I’ve lost my skin nowadays
anyone can walk right in
pass right through and walk out the hole
in my heart
more flutter than beating
birds have strong but brittle bones
~
I remember being that child
the one
more than one note
singing
Propaganda
heavy blanketed
slogans of positivism
thrown off
~
“”””””””””””””””””””””””
© J.H.White
Ceremony
~
Down on my knees crawling through the blanket flap cervix
the intimate waves of heat are in transition but I am ready
even though I’m ignorant and forgetful of this raw intricate birthing
Sweat rides my body in rivulets a waterfall’s surrender
I’m tense, but with senses trusting,
I watch the cindering stones as they concentrate
~
with love and arrogance
I circle the entrance to myself
and follow them in
~
The speed of the stones passage to dust
unravels my retread knowing
as their elegant sacrifice eclipses the barriers of skin
and feverish memories collide zig-zag
unable to escape my hollowed mind’s eye
~
I am everyone pouring through my clearing eyes of perceiving
long occluded by the fallout of the human conceit
where even nature forgets her balance
when time has a mind
~
Vapors are rising from holy herbs full of grace
Still, the undead congregate here like moths to our pain
every one, I’m learning, has a place in line
and I am naked and grateful on my knees and finally present
almost touching heaven
in the wasteland.
~
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A little autobiographical note….While living intimately on 14 acres situated in the poorest county of NY State during the last decade of the past century, I had the opportunity to participate in monthly sweat lodge ceremonies. The first was on a cold February Sunday…18 degrees outside. I began this relationship with the sweat lodge ceremony after hearing about a local man of Seneca lineage facilitating the sweats, who was being trained by a MicMac Elder from Canada.
During the course of this relationship, through my personal experiences of the sweat lodge and fasting with the Elder, I explored my own personal healing from trauma and our relationship with Divine Nature. These sweats, and all I learned during this time, were only the beginning of this journey.
I’m grateful for the safety made possible and the care taken by the lodge keepers and most specially to Divinity for answering my questions and challenging me to ask more.
Leave me be
~
I never asked you to love me
it was simpler than that
~
to wake into dreaming
cross lines that aren’t there
feel gravity’s holding
move in your own way
that was all I asked
for you
~
love would have followed
the songlines of flesh
that exist and than smolder
without singular breath
until dormant
Resurrection
~
Made captive by circumstance
in the garden of our sex
let there be a resurrection
of memory’s flesh held in stone,
the Earth herself embodying
the records of this undoing.
~
A longed for freedom
now pulses with a courage
transparent as a string of worn pearls
from the sea of this misguided betrayal
~
For we have always breathed as one
in any way our souls take breath
birthing a life
that blesses all
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International Women’s Day
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The Poetics of Light 