And I came out on the other side

It's been a long journey since I wrote last in this blog any glimpses of my story. I was like a lingering jazz note, changing tone over the years, turning in to silence, just to strike again, in a different frequency.

I wrote here about Asheville, about my divorce, a lifetime ago, yet so near. I was 21 when I got divorced - a strange story left long in the past, have been composted. That year I moved back to NYC - a place I kept returning to, like a tide, always pulled to the shore. NYC was my shore when I was a wandering wave. I crashed on its rocks, once again. After all, there was a dream I've always had - of that city being my home. I had a dream of living in a room with light blue walls, with a friend, a dream of white cat. I don't know why, but I've had that image since before I moved to the states. That city and I, we had fun. No regrets. I trusted its streets. I've let it shape me in to people I didn't even know were inside me. From an unhinged 18 year old girl with no walls, dumpster diving, cleaning apartments, looking for strangeness, living for adventure, not fully realizing she was an artist, too - so raw, like a sunflower sprout, no second skin, at all. From that girl in my first post here, there, back on the shores of New York I was laying my foundation for becoming a woman, expanded, in lush, with a crown, that I still wear. It wasn't quick, my soul felt empty when I returned from Asheville. Of course, it never was, the soul is always full, but my hearing, I could barely hear (what she was whispering). But everything did fall in to place for me quickly, a new apartment, friends around, a job - then I was an herbalist in Manhattan, no more service jobs. First initiation. While I felt white and hollow, I was turning in to a witch. One would say, my magic was what saved me from a deep confusing hole left after that divorce, the life change. I mean, I couldn't understand.

But something heard me. Life in the city wasn't easy, not on my body, as I understood later. But in my first year of being back in the city I had a threshold tattooed on my shoulder. Suppose, subconsciously, I wanted to imprint on my body, that I have passed on to the other side, and there unseen angels, yes, they heard me, they outstretched their multiple arms towards me, and slowly guided me forward, led me to uncover, what was hidden here, on the other side. I was led in to a forest full of treasures. One of them, was my art. In that same first year I got a small camcorder from my dad and started learning how to edit video for the first time.

Three years later, I had a handful of my own self-created videos up on YouTube, I was living in a two bedroom with a close friend, my bedroom - and my separate art studio - were painted pastel shadows of blue that I mixed myself, my white little cat was roaming around the apartment, her name is Taiga; I was about to get drivers license and my first Jeep. I had walked 500 miles on the Appalachian trail, I had many friends, most unexpected job, I traveled and laughed and got heartbroken over and over again. All of that, until a golden thread from the sky pulled on me. Everything paused. And I was faced with vague, but sharp reality, the winds were changing, in fact, they have changed. Now - I'm on the other side that other portal. The flight through the opening just now landed, it's settling.

So I am reflecting on the words that I have been. And you get to witness. Thank you dear reader.

a visit

It’s all on a shelf in a word under the nail, in your pocket, on the tongue, in the future When I look, I spin, I fall, I’m breathing, I am blue, my hands are empty, shoulders stacked, I look under the bed, and in a golden shape reflection of the door, I look on top, and in the world of pages, while it’s all in my mug, in a smile, in wisdom forgotten, it’s hanging on a tree and it’s tucked behind The kitchen table It’s when I met you, when you were beautiful, it is angels voice, reminder, of the turn, coming up, and I look behind and hear my skin and yours, I looks tirelessly, look where I left off, I look inside my mouth, before my silver breath,

it’s all where you left it, it followed you all along and got lost in your, beauty, under the golden skin i caught a glimpse of behind the front door

мечты

Lush stream of earth’s milk,  Through my veins, in to open waters,  To your mouth Its reflection is in your eye  When I lay the weight of my  Fingers on your face  Your face,  I’ll frame and keep in a pocket of my  Ribs,  Till they are absorbed by dirt  I am alone,   In the pain I feel, inside  The love for you, that is ageless  In a shell, on a chain, on your neck,  When you were forming, youthful,  I am alone in there, just me,  No winds, no waves  Only creaking footsteps of my  dusty lonely love, that lives on the tip of your eyelash,  I sway my branches,  Little blow  And we are  Together

this poem is alive

(tonight it is for you)  it tells you that i have a headache  and also that there are too many clouds can we have some cloudless times, perhaps, please? 

it tells you everything i’m afraid to say :

“that in your eyes i see some entity I want to talk to that my head has been cracking aching -  thinking about you, of course,  that i am here, but soon i won’t be here, i’ll be there, where you are,  and when i’m there, i crave to talk to the entity in your eyes: that i’ve had so much sadness in my blood these days, that i dream of forest; and of open roads, again; what you dream of? “

this poem came to tell you that I - not the poem, but me - want to tell you something but i feel like i can’t so i’m writing this poem;; 

and you, what you are writing about? 

i wish the creature in your eyes would tell me 

oh it will        it will

like the snow will fall

ohhhhhhhhh

oi. жива ли? Боюсь буквы Ж? 

one mountain afternoon

standing around waiting for coffee I would have waited for you 

But now i have to wait for the winter to be over

You needed for the winter to be longer, so you could build a house and sleep in it while i wait for you

but there is no waiting, you are going to the summer next week and i am - deeper in to the winter

there i’ll wait for so many things  but they won’t be you 

i’ve waited long enough

my coffee is ready 

(rare moment)

(when i got to the first photo i ever taken of him, my eyes shut in an instant as if there was an electricity explosion, and a rush of echoes from the deepest depths you could imagine was now heard clearly, like the volume was turned up. echoes of something eternal. i thought i'd have to keep my eyes closed forever - i couldn't bring myself to opening them; but then a ray of sun hit my eyelids and like a pet on the head, it felt ok, )

(i opened my eyes )

_____ 

(sometimes i imagine seeing a notification of a text from him )

been here before and after

look at your feet / or what is under  you are standing on a pulsing heart  your heels scratching its transparent skin your legs are straight 

you have walked in jagged lines from the no’s to the yes’s , from warm hands to cold blades 

and all you really can do is pierce the heart with your sharp heels, spread the blood over your face, like jam on fresh bread,  and scream in to the dark, scream to the planets that tickle your armpits at night, but when you need them they are further than anything you have known 

with cold knife you cut the fruit of youth, ripe skin 

you cut the throats of cowards 

you cut the wind of changes in half, and stand there, still, for a moment with no air to breathe, long legs on a bleeding heart, still pulsing, 

but no one hears, small objects far in the sky, 

it beats until,  goodbye 

slept

words sleeping on your face

like a dead bee on a white flower 

fruit gone

i’ll never forget  how you died in front of me  how i buried myself instead  how i dug deep to find autumn fruit in the roots 

i could never remember  whether you ran to the north  or i melted in to something unstable - down south  we held hands, but only till they got sweaty  and slipped  falling face down to the opposite poles 

i have to remind myself - before taking my clothes off - that touch is forever,  and whatever dies in the dirt comes back as fruit for the family table 

i rip off my dress and my socks 

i rip the ripe harvest from stems 

i rip the page where i’ve written about your funeral 

i didn’t spend too much time underground, 

i gasp for air and moan in oblivious laughter 

lost sailor

i write you what's so true , in the air, i tattoo the words on your skin  and you take the skin off, jump right out of it in to a bottomless lake 

i search for a glimpse of what i thought was real  i search for the portal in to what i saw was real 

the waters are long, they stretch, i stretch after them  you seize to be an echo  that might have been of my own cry 

the waters long, i stretch, you are dissolving 

i squeeze my lips and now i scream what's true  i saw your eyes blink in the far deep 

i saw your chest i saw your dreams i saw your hands working, so hard; i saw you smile, smile at night, smile after breakfast, smile in the woods, i saw your feet, and i saw your poetry, i saw your forehead in front of my lips, i saw you want something you don't have, i saw it in your eyes, in your eyes there was everything , i saw you 

i scream what's true and the waters empty 

you saw me too, my skin felt it 

"what's true" turns in to angels, they wrap me and they take me back  "we saw you two" 

i'm back on the shore, i'm dressed in layers woven of little strong truths  my dress is my beauty 

the waves crawling on my bare feet  and your name hidden stitched in the folds of my skirt 

walking with grief

grief in flowers in flower bed  in front of a white simple house  in a small town in Vermont.  it was sitting inside them. i saw it when i was walking by.  my - grief - in those flowers in a mountain town in Vermont where i have never been before. but my grief always lived here.  where else                                                                      (where i am) 

- -

Mother won’t hold me,                          mother, are you behind the tree,  (echo falls on my face,                                dripping with salty memories) Ready for rose, ready for rising,                               -mother, is it your voice? -  My teeth are growing sharper and my howl is heard through vast fields; so i crawl and i step soundly,    leaving black burned wood marks on your land;  (the wood that burned is from the walls of the house where my mother used to hold me) I grow sharp and strong and feral: until my heart burns to ashes and a rose, mother, reaches for your                                                                                                         hands

THE WOLF IS TIRED (a mantra)

How does the wolf dress when she’s tired?  What does the wolf drink after running for a long time?  How much money does the wolf spend carelessly on care for her earthly pleasures?  How many times does the wolf cross the written words when she’s tired?  Her mind goes to faraway unreachable places when she’s tired. She wants to make love. She wants everything exceptionally fresh. When the wolf is tired she spends more time in the realm of the subtle. She dances every sunset, for dancing is not tiring. When wolf is tired, all things around her, including other wolves, should keep quite. Quite.  The only touch permitted on tired wolf’s skin is kissing. Tired wolf cuts her clothes and hair off.  She is OK with waiting.  Tired wolf will run again, when she decides. When her eyes opened back up. When she can listen again. The wolf has been running for the time of long history. The wolf has bursting life inside of her.  She thanks, only what she liked along the way.  She might be dangerous. Inside her mouth might be red.  But now you should know, she’s tired and she wears the crown. 

Gold

sprinkled in your          hair gold, chunks in your mouth gold winter snow melts on your back  (love) - (every sparkle) season of colors mixed in a palette births the summer of golden (whisper in the dark - glows) rest in                cool                         cool          water that reflects the sun-of-half-the-day                                                             in to your face       sorrow of forever cooked in the yellow fire                  till it glows the alphabet of autumn, misty thoughts (i love you) - (with no words) gold in between your toes      let me pick that                        (when you love me)    _______ it rains in to your mouth a month of sipping gold _____  that is what i become

steps

step      in to the muddy waters, weird smell step back     step in to the sunray step but not move              i walk in and out,                                           constantly i step through the door, step outside the door, lock it, break it to hell i walk on the edge, balancing, pounding, what i’m afraid of is one step away (the edge goes far and then tangles. i stand confused) i step in to the memory of melted touch in bed  (i close my eyes, for a moment my brain tingles in pleasure) i step off, - a rock, off, a cliff, (perhaps) off and gone, now so much better (i walk back to the “YES!” i had when i was leaving) steps fall together, like a pile of rocks,  feeling “in love” makes an earthquake, they shake, the steps create a rythm or a beat, to the song that lives in between, two hearts, or two mountains//

rocks falling off a cliff, one, after another, hit the earth my feet, like the pearls on a string, hit the earth, one after another i step in to a puddle,  (a half a million steps),  i step inside my dream i step - it doesn’t matter where,  but i do and that is how you birth something worth living                             lift your foot,  one after another (a half a million steps)

,,,

(i could give you a few thousand tears, would that buy me a ticket back to the home where i was born?)