Woman Red Rock Mountain

My personal facebook page draws in wonderful posts from various groups and friends. Today, a Native American healing group invited all to prayers, beginning with the words “Red Rocks.” A comment by one respondent reminded me of my own experiences in Sedona, Arizona. As you come up the highway from Phoenix (a two-hour ride), there is a large, winding curve… and there they are, ah! Breath leaves you as you try to comprehend the beauty stretching around and beyond the curve, watching as each movement of sunlight transforms the sedimentary striations of color beyond dreaming – the glitter of goldstone, reds, pinks, oranges… all so very luminous.  

The poem below came to me after my travels, at a time when I must have dreamt or had a vision of the red rock mountains laying across the land, taking the shape of a woman laying on her side. I’ve never been back to Sedona, but she lives in my dreams, in my heart, forever… 

 

Woman Red Rock Mountain

 

I hear you call to me
beloved in me
my woman red rock mountain.

This poem cannot do justice
to the world I feel within you
to the woman that you are in me 
woman red rock mountain
my beloved mountain my love

I hear you call to me
I taste your tears in my tears
I dance the memories of our unity
when you wrapped your striations around me,
your red rock surrounding

my heart, my soul, my longing,
all my womanly ways…
and I’ve not been the same ever since.

You opened your spirit to me,
invited me into your shadows. I laid across
your mountain soul and listened
as you sang, wordless
caresses comforting me in the fires

of the ancient ones, black streaks flowing
from the smoke of your desires
down to the sedimentary lovers below. 

I hear you calling me. I hear you moan and wail
for me, your tears streaming down my face
your gentle body slowly moving against
the blackless sky, stars so bright they haunt you
while you dance your love to me.

 I hear you. I see you. 
I am coming home to you, to your shadows and desire,
to your wordless caress,
to woman red rock mountain,
beloved in me.  

I am coming home to you and it matters not
for wood and walls, for words
written for the masses.
I am coming home,
to spend my days reveling in your colors

that dance below the blackless sky 
as the sun turns from east to west, a changing mosiac
for my delight, every hour of the day.

To embrace one mote of
your desire is to breathe life itself; I have
no need of purpose. I am

liberated in your repose, enamored in your delight;
I am ecstatic in your unfoldment
as I unfold in you.

I am coming home to you and it matters not
for wood and walls, for words
written for the masses. Breathing as one with you,
my poetry echoes the wisdom of the ancients
that rises through your vibration.

I will write new songs in the soot of your fires.
I will shout from your soul, I will sing from your shadows;
praise for the gifts you gave to me
long ago in the bridal cave,
my veil of stars cascading from the sky. 

I am in the heart of a mountain,
woman red rock mountain,
and I hear you calling me,  
your red rock desire surrounding  
my heart, my soul, my longing, all my womanly ways

wrapped in your striations, your wordless caress,
my woman red rock mountain
beloved in me. 

 

 

Lady Diane Randall  
(C) 2013 

 

 

 

 

 

IN TIMES LIKE THESE

I wrote this a while ago (7 years…?); how is it so appropo today?

Sometimes, I need to write a new poem. On days when I’ve cried, contemplated, or just gotten so tired of myself: this is prime time for poetry-writing (albeit, tears on the keyboard; not quite the same effect as tear-streaked ink on parchment!). However, in recent years especially, I’ve remembered a similar, even better poem lies in a blue folder, waiting to be posted.

IN TIMES LIKE THESE

I started missing my dancing days
real bad watching
slick chicks slither and grind
perfect bodies against
bright oiled sun
lathered boys waiting by the phone
lips parted impatient hello
and how about those times
when they all came running? Couldn’t
stop them from striding
up to my back wrap strong arms
around my skin
my long hair pressed tightly to chest
saying oh yes, I’ll be there
see you then for sure
and maybe just maybe
one would be real
stay longer than a day
a week a year
or nine
and I started to cry
remembering
that it all used to be
so easy, so fine

I wanted to scream:
oh, no! oh, no! oh, no no no! I’m not the one

who can make it happen now
I’m on a slow ride
nowhere to go no friend to disgrace
when the man she wanted
ran to my hallowed place

remembering
how I started to dream
of one who could love me
in times like these not so easy
not so fine falling up getting down

in times like these can’t quite seem
to slither or grind
except in the corners of my mind
with a slow come-hither
smile to my Beloved

(c) 2013 Lady Diane Randall

Reposting Comment from Talking Violin’s Post: “Celebrities: ‘That ain’t gonna happen!”

I highly recommend Talking Violin. It’s hard to describe the appeal but his voice (all of his posts, I believe, are verbal with accompanying photos) is definitely in the realm of “storyteller.” Sometimes, I’m not sure if he’s joking or reporting seriously. In either case, I enjoy his blog thoroughly!

The following is reposted from my comment to Talking Violin about his audio post concerning a Brazilian law that does not allow “unauthorized biographies” of celebrities. (Disclaimer: Includes additional material since I felt it inappropriate to crowd his whole “Comments” section with my super-sized verbosity.)

“I’ve listened to several of your posts this morning. You make everything sound intriguing… This story is definitely unusual to U.S. mores (or lack thereof) but there are other countries I know of where “tell-all” books are not allowed, whether legally or culturally. When you think about it, we are all telling our own little stories about ourselves, leaving some items out either for later disclosure or keeping them hidden forever. We tell ourselves the stories, too, then one day, “poof!” just like celebrities, it comes out.

“For me, the funny part (cosmic joke!) is that my writing is very revealing; I can’t hold back. Poetry may give me an edge by use of metaphor or allegory, but… no one is fooled. However, since I love writing so much, and I love sharing my writing (including a manuscript about to be dusted off and revised), I just “pretend” to myself that it’s all normal, that no one will really say anything anyway. Something to think about when sharing with family, friends, strangers… still, the writing dictates to me, and I cannot turn away from the page. It’s a bit disconcerting when contemplating a new relationship (as I am currently doing): How to introduce my strangeness, my foibles, mood swings, epiphanies? Guess I’ll just tell him (if we get that far) to read my blog!

“Of course, so far, celebrity has not been an issue for me! But I do feel a sense of empathy. Just because a person has a moment – a day – a year – of irrationality, that doesn’t mean he/she IS that story, either. We are not our stories. We are divine beings having interesting, amazing, intriguing experiences with bodies, emotions, pain, love, opinions – all of it. And our “personalities,” just like our bodies, our life circumstances, our loves – change, evolving constantly. People cling to identities and project the future based on that identity, as if they are exempt from change, age, or dis-ease (or recovery from dis-ease); from unhealthy lifestyle to athlete, or the reverse!

“Here is one very small example of unexpected change: My eye color has changed from blue to hazel-green. I could purchase colored lenses. But I won’t! Would you?”

Well… would you?

Happy Halloween! Happy Samhain!

I have always loved this ancient holy-day, this day of remembering our connection with all four elements of earth, our heartbeat that resonates with the heartbeat of the earth. It is also a sacred day of opening our spirit to connect with the 5th dimension of ethereal beings, ancestors, guardians, guides, and celestial entities. Finally, it is a time of going within, the new year – the summer days are behind us, the long dark winter is coming. Time to tend the homefires of the heart.

Also – it’s a time of fun! It’s a time to express alternate parts of ourselves, to tell the ancient stories, to share with friends and family (or soul families). Thus, I’ve changed my picture to myself as “Lady Diane” – well, of course!

In honor of what I consider to be a sacred and special day, herewith a poem inspired by a dream a friend of mine had. Interestingly, I wrote in a sort of Edgar Allen Poe style, and the subject fits quite nicely with Poe’s works as well. And Poe was dark, but his spirit flew like a comet – lighting up the sky with his words for eternity!

KEEPER OF RAVENS

The night wind banged the shutters,
woke him cold from his tender sleep
and, uneasy from the chill, he stumbled
unaware down the shadowed hall.

Just before he touched the lamp,
he heard a tiny scraping sound
and – perhaps – the flutter of wings.
The darker reality, yet to be revealed

and then, oh saving light! that flowed
throughout the familiar room.
He rubbed his eyes and the sight
that overwhelmed was that of sacred ravens,

hundreds of them! in glass and metal boxes,
watching as he moved about
and of an unknown force began
to lift the bars, and let the caged birds out.

Confusion filled his dreaming; speechless,
he fell while the winged creatures
swarmed and deafening silence pounded
in his ears, his heart, his blood.

Hours later, it was daylight – he rose
taller, stronger, from the floor.
His eyes took to the window and carried
him through a vision from which he returned

many lifetimes later:

no more mere ordinary man,
but Sorcerer, Keeper of Ravens.

(c) 2005-2013 Lady Diane Randall

Viva La Muerte – The Poet Returns!

This poem is inspired by the movie, “The Matador’s Mistress.”

Viva La Muerte

Will you love me today
Tomorrow 
Forever? Will you love me
More than life?
I see the shadows in your eyes when we make love
I feel the darkness of death so close to your breath
And I wonder, who will I be when
You are you no more? 
Will I be your mistress 
When you are more than wine and bread
More than the blood-stained sword of death?

When you look up from our bed
What do you see? It is not a ceiling
Or a sky; not a heaven bound with angels
It is the darkness, La Grande Muerte,
Filled with the craving of the gods 
For you
Their stars live for you my beloved
They wait for you, for the tears in your eyes
To take you to the place where all is night
Where all is peace
And your dream of release arrives…

When I eat of your bread
And drink of your wine – Will you 
Love me more than that? 

 

 

(c) Lady Diane Randall 2011-2013

Energy Gifts are of Earth Forever

Dearest Brenda,

Thank you for a beautiful post. Since my experience of ms “shifted” into a major placement in my life, my whole attitude as a lightworker/spiritual healer has had to change. This year, I feel the shift gaining momentum, and my unconscious patterns are rapidly coming to awareness for healing. I have the help of a wonderful therapist, and reading posts like yours reminds me I am one with All, and I am loved. One thing is clear: the ms has brought me to where I truly need to be: more aware of the need for healing my inner self.

So, that is the Lion’s Gate for me – like the Strength card in tarot, I am walking with the Lion who knows not of denial, fear, or shadows. I feel humbled by what I’ve been learning about myself, but, since ms itself is a humbling event, that is why I am Here, Now. I cannot live the way I used to live – a life of self-sabotage, interspersed with moments of great clarity and awareness of Love – all the while hiding the unexpressed parts of me from even myself.

With my spiritual therapist’s help, I continue to recognize – and thereby release – denial and control. I read, meditate, and write – and sometimes even dance a little! – but I do so at my own pace: one moment, one breath at a time. Thank you and blessed be!

With my spiritual therapist’s help, I continue to recognize – and thereby release – denial and control. I read, meditate, and write – and sometimes even dance a little! – but I do so at my own pace: one moment, one breath at a time.

Thank you and blessed be!

(C) 2013 Lady Diane Randall

Welcome to Brenda's Blog

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Channeled by Brenda Hoffman for http://www.LifeTapestryCreations.com

Summary of Brenda’s July 27, 2013 free, 15-minute, channeled “Creation Energies” show at http://www.BlogTalkRadio.com/brenda-hoffman: Thenext few days will be a self-directed, emotional global shift. Even though many will not understand their internal need to think and act in love and joy, they will experience a shift to love and joy that will be similar to their need to eat and sleep. Adults aren’t told when to eat and sleep – they just know.

The title of last week’s “Brenda’s Blog” – her free, weekly, channeled blog for  http://www.LifeTapestryCreations.com: “Letting Go of Your Final 3D Safety Net”

Brenda’s “Creation Energies” BlogTalkRadio.com show and “Brenda’s Blog” contain different channeled materials.

Dear Ones,

Thousands of words have been written and spoken about the miracle of the next few days’ “Lion’s Gate” energy burst. Many relay that you will manifest all you wish. That…

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The Lotus Blossom

“Although I may seem fickle, my heart is always faithful; as slowly through the mud, the lotus grows.” Basho

Preceding the following poem, this quote has never left my memory since I first saw it ten years ago. Much later, I used my home desktop publisher to frame it. It matches perfectly with a gorgeous black ink rendering of a mermaid with a fully-open lotus blossom atop her head, which lingers just barely above the silent depths of a pond.

These words from the infamous Japanese poet Matsuo Basho (17th c.) reflect infinite layers of compassion for the Self and the flawed yet determined path of a human experiencing his spirituality. As soon as I read them, I felt redemption for my own personal journey through many relationships, and saw them for what they were: physical representations of seeking the Divine.

That is what we are always doing, in everything we do, think, or say; however flawed, we are all attempting to know our True Selves through the various dances of human beingness. Of course, once we realize this, many of us begin to observe our lives, our thoughts and behaviors, more consciously, with the intention of releasing our self-created dramas and breathing in the freedom of living from the heart: the heart of “The Lotus Blossom.”

“Although I may seem fickle, my heart is always faithful;
as slowly through the mud, the lotus grows.” Basho

 

 The Lotus Blossom

 

In another dream…

I told off the owner, the tailored one;
how chagrined she seemed
how delicate…
she trotted on heels to hide from the crowd.
I yelled to the shadows, look, look what she’s done
they are so young
too young for lace and wings and winsome eyes
too damn young

I kept shouting so sure so clear
Not like other dreams
No weak attempts to stand strong and face
the stranger I’d become
Someone had to say it, shout it
even through the algae covered mud,
mud that hides but then reveals…
oh, so slowly, it reveals
the lotus leaf and bud

After that, the lotus blossom
never touches mud again;
she floats on dreams,
on a mirror that sheens,
on Serenity’s surface
that ripples only when broken
by illusion’s thoughts
believed,
spoken.

(C) 2013 Lady Diane Randall