The Rupture of the Mother Line and the Cost of Becoming Real ~ from Bethany Webster

http://www.womboflight.com/the-rupture-of-the-mother-line-and-the-cost-of-becoming-real/

Miriam and the midwives

Tonight at our Passover Seder, Miriam and the midwives of those days were invoked in a whole new way to my understanding - a juicy, reverent way.

As I heard it tonight...
Miriam, daughter of the leader of the Jewish community, convinced her dad that the community's idea that all Jewish married couples should get divorced and stop having babies to avoid the Pharaoh's ruling that boy babies be killed was unjust - it also eliminated life for all girl babies. Six years old, and a convincing prophetess, Miriam got her dad to shift the course of action, leading to the conception and birth of her brother, Moses. Moses would later encounter the burning bush and be convinced by seeing his staff turn into a snake to lead his people, despite his stutter. She let her people know that we had to not walk, not run, but DANCE across the parted Red Sea. Later, during the forty years in the desert, Miriam had a well which followed her, helping her people have water.

Miriam Dancing, a weaving by Anna Kocherovsky

The midwives are honored for not following the Pharaoh's proclamation, by supporting the birth and life of those babies being born, not following the authoritarian command that the baby boys be killed.

We also had an orange on the Seder plate, in support of all those who feel alienated and like they have no place at the table - "like an orange on a Passover Seder plate." 

L'CHAIM!

spit spat / reconciliation

I
spit spat
in the platinum sunlight
of scorching squabble,
I am a dragon, tongue a hot bent jalapeño
crowned with crystal fangs.

when you sink
across my equator
an orbital prisoner of my provisos
a flaring sigh ignites my wings to sky
as scaly talons dig you down in.

flesh craves a feisty feast, a sacrifice
too beasty to speak.
Willingly stunned, you fall
into my trap hole
every time.
The poison stinger of my tongue
outwits your numb-skull power scramble
to get the last word
in.

II
shhhhhhhhh! no more word banter in this
flamenco reconciliation...
this is an invitation to close your eyes
and feel this dream.

tip of a finger curled
to pick an orange and put it in your pocket
wax dripping, encircling the move
a snake rolling around the languor of thirst for ordinary fruits

every inch, every hair drawing rushes of resistance out
to drip past borders not yet opened
the piano fall of fingers composing nothing
the magnetic pull passes through fingers in time
the rowing of a beach guitar
cello prancing down rocky orchid vocal chords
stand up bass dips deep in tango
head down, the scent of ankles rises
topped only by that of shin, then knee crease
and the promise of an ooze of juice
down thighs into the thick deep well of
a baritone sax cavern
serenaded by a sunset of stomping heels

these beats pass through our bones, and
leave no choice, no free will
there is a cord between us
and the knots on our other sides are pulled so that
the space between us is yanked away
and we pound together
the heat builds to explosion
and the two halves split and pull

but still bound, the resistance only serves to
make the drawback more irresistible
this time the slam stills the pulsation
and long low six string hues strain away the game
leaving behind a wake of heaving
breathless quiet, eye to eye
spit spat / reconciliation by Jessica Tumposky is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

“Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark.” ~Rabindranath Tagore

There is a story of Tagore's that I read in Osho's Love, Freedom, Aloneness that echos and inspires me so that I will dig it up and share it here.

Wild Geese

This poem never gets old for me. So many of its themes echo relentlessly - self-love, self-forgiveness, our presence in our lovely imperfect bodies, our connection with the wild... Wild geese mate for life; this poem reminds me to mate with aliveness and presence for life.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
~Mary Oliver

Egon Schiele

Zwei sich umarmende Frauen, Two Women Hugging, 1911

Die Umarmung (Die Liebenden), The Embrace (The Loving), 1917

“Bodies have their own light which they consume to live: they burn, they are not lit from the outside.” ~ Egon Schiele

Everyone You’ve Ever Had A Crush On Secretly Had A Crush On You, They Still Do, And They’re Waiting For You

I knew it!

http://www.theonion.com/articles/report-everyone-youve-ever-had-a-crush-on-secretly,35080/

Because if we can't laugh at ourselves, really, what's the point?!