Earth as Creator's full belly
Earth as womb and body
One pulsing stomach
Full of webs that can't be broken
Both toxins and All of Life in deep, intimate interaction

Only within this metaphor
is sense made of suffering
for me

Mother god laboring with us,
Each kick noted,
Our pain::Her pain
Her pain::Our pain

I see you brother, my brother
I am your witness sister, my sister
We are webbed and dew drop brilliant
Moon rings circling our faces
We are crowned and connected
We are pulsating evolution
We are footprints weaving
We are laboring and heaving,
confused and disoriented,
Ice chips and deep breaths
anchored to
Ice burgs and ocean crests
We are becoming.

Comfort, comfort, comfort

The word Glide has been giving me life lately.
Funny, and un-poetic word,
But it is what it is.
It adjusts my energy when I feel under stress.
I can't quite finger point the exact image I get from it,
but it's something like walking through strong winds
or across a strong river,
Chest deep, trying to make it, but getting knocked around a little.
Instead of aggression or succumbing to it, I glide through
With the marriage of a little grit and a little ease,
Steady, steady, steady
with only the necessary amount of energy exerted.

I catch myself whispering the word blessings these days
and sending it off like a blown kiss, with an air of hope.

It is good to be together.
The intermingling of energies is breathtaking

To have breath is to be apart of it all
Not even needing to do or to act,
yet still pulsating all of the colors that your soul spins
and that existing with, feeding, or responding to
it's Alive surroundings.

The stunning ripples of it all.
Whatever turn is taken,
the Web adapts.