Bloodrush and Nervequiver

Find out more at www.memali.com

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Beautiful episode.

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When we speak we are afraid our words will not be heard or welcomed. But when we are silent, we are still afraid. So it is better to speak.

Audre Lorde

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Announcement!

I'm excited to share that this fall I will begin blogging as the Sexy Witch for American Witch, with a host of talented folks, and that my coaching practice has five open spots! I'm offering free exploratory sessions to clarify what you want to work on and if we'd be a good fit. Email me for details at mem at memali dot com. My bio:

Marie-Elizabeth Mali's witchy superpower is her laser-like sensitivity to what goes on under the surface. She assists her coaching clients to become more self-aware and have freedom and power in every area of life, especially in relationships and sex. She teaches Orgasmic Meditation (OM), a partnered practice that deepens people's connection to their desires and sexuality, and is a OneTaste Coach-In-Training. The OneTaste coaching method applies the principles of OM to every area of life and complements and expands on her prior background as a life coach and health practitioner. Marie-Elizabeth is also a published poet and underwater photographer who has a thing for sharks.

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Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness. How do you know this is the experience you need? Because this is the experience you are having at this moment.

Eckhart Tolle

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Para mi corazón basta tu pecho. Para tu libertad bastan mis alas. Desde mi boca llegara hasta el cielo lo que estaba dormido sobre tu alma.

Pablo Neruda

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Every time you hear the voice and say it, you gain power. Every time you don't say it you abandon yourself. And after abandoning yourself over and over again, you have no idea who you are and you have no power.

Yia Vang

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Our plans miscarry because they have no aim. When you don't know what harbor you're aiming for, no wind is the right wind.

Seneca

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The beginning of love is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves, the resolution not to twist them to fit our own image. If in loving them we do not love what they are, but only their potential likeness to ourselves, then we do not love them: we only love the reflection of ourselves we find in them”

Thomas Merton

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Power is just power. It's coming through you but it's not yours. Power organically burns out identity. The thing you think is you will actually destroy you.

Nicole Daedone

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Love after Love by Derek Walcott

Another favorite poem. Enjoy.

Love after Love  The time will come  when, with elation  you will greet yourself arriving  at your own door, in your own mirror  and each will smile at the other's welcome,  and say, sit here. Eat.  You will love again the stranger who was your self.  Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart  to itself, to the stranger who has loved you  all your life, whom you ignored  for another, who knows you by heart.  Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,  the photographs, the desperate notes,  peel your own image from the mirror.  Sit. Feast on your life. --Derek Walcott

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Song of a Man Who Has Come Through — D.H. Lawrence

While sitting on my windy balcony the first line went through my mind so it felt like time to re-read and share this poem.

Song of a Man Who Has Come Through Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!  A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.  If only I let it bear me, carry me, if only it carry me!  If only I am sensitive, subtle, oh, delicate, a winged gift!  If only, most lovely of all, I yield myself and am borrowed  By the fine, fine wind that takes its course through the chaos of the world.  Like a fine, an exquisite chisel, a wedge-blade inserted;  If only I am keen and hard like the sheer tip of a wedge  Driven by invisible blows,  The rock will split, we shall come at the wonder, we shall find the Hesperides.  Oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul,  I would be a good fountain, a good well-head,  Would blur no whisper, spoil no expression.  What is the knocking?  What is the knocking at the door in the night?  It is somebody wants to do us harm.  No, no, it is the three strange angels.  Admit them, admit them.

D.H. Lawrence

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"If you are not willing to face that which you believe will destroy you, you will never discover that who you truly are can never be destroyed."—Geneen Roth

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Three Things I Have Never Told Anyone

Does it seem now like I believe in God and he is a comfort to me? I don’t, and he isn’t. And yet this story is a comfort to me.

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“Birds born in a cage think flying is an illness.” ― Alejandro Jodorowsky

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"Still I Rise" by Maya Angelou

Still I Rise

  Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

  Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my living room.

  Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise.

  Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries?

  Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard ‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard.

  You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise.

  Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I’ve got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs?

  Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

  Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

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Guest Blog Post, "Love in the Animal Kingdom," at Adele Kenny's Poetry Blog!

Adele kindly asked me to post a prompt to her lovely poetry blog, The Music In It. I had fun with it and offered four ways in to the ever-elusive love poem.

Find the post here. I hope it helps you generate some poems!

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April 30: "Something More Fragile Than This" by Olena Kalytiak Davis

Something More Fragile Than This Quick, before our bodies turn themselves in, with a reverence reserved for the dead touch me because I want to remember how beautiful I still am. While Spring snows around us, cracking her eggs on our windows, in her meager dress of yellowing-white, because I want to rise into today. So why the urge to render something more fragile than this? Why, always, the soul blowing glass? The soul, once again, filling the lungs with smoke because a memory of regret sweats in the plastic sleeve of a family album. Because there's a snapshot caught between the pages of some thick book: my heavy 20 year old frame setting off the 60lb weight of a dying mother. Because somewhere, there's a negative slide of my heart. Because and because and because I'm sure there's a photo in some drawer that shows me dressed in black. But i want to devote myself to the mystery of this afternoon. I want to honor this falling night, worship the hour vanishing between six and seven. This moment where I'm standing against myself and against you with a taste in my mouth that's yolk. With Bob Marley taking that one long drag on the refrigerator door. With the smell of spring. Olena Kalytiak Davis From And Her Soul Out of Nothing (Univ. of Wisconsin Press, 1997)