Taurus New Moon

the raw beginnings.

of a manifesto.

PART 1:

Waiting.

For a pulse. 

Springtime, I know you're there, though my body is still catching up to you.

My skin is aware of the light, while my soul has been stripped to nothing. 

I must tap the well of the water that Feeds me.

The first drops may not taste so good, or glisten crystalline.

Against the struggle of its last fighting breaths,

We must be trained to let go of the polish.

No museums or perfected instruments in glass cases.

No calcified, static things, nominalized and cold.

Today, beauty is blemishes, and sour berries that weren't quite ripe for the picking.

Wringing out the clothes of my body and bathing me in the milky glow of your sunshine, Venus is stirring in your cup. She touches my eager skin who knows how to come back to life, again and again.

The singular distraction to end all distractions ends the splintering. Aroused by principle and the fortune of grace, I am dancing again.

I Wish to go Gently, into that dark night,

where the fields are not full of fighting, but the light of a thousand suns,

branding my soul with something far more compelling than the chatter of the mind,

or a nostalgic heart.

Sun, I will meet you in the glory of your Solstice Summer brilliance, throwing my arms back,

Open

Wide

A passenger, taking my cues from your central fire.

PART 2:

There is a start to all things.

A point when things crawl out of their familiar darkness into naked freshness.

Valor bestowed as necessity, or a most natural occurrence.

The irony of recognition.

To trust when there is more to be said, that the words will come. 

And when there is not, to refrain from spectacle by listening for the way life makes sense out of things.

Disdain dissolves through the cracks of ancient misunderstanding.

It was all a grand distortion waiting for clarity.

And then, Grace.

When I finally let it be for me, then -

it can All be for you.