HOLY SMOKE IS FOREPLAY

Naked woman. Ivory. Third Intermediate Period....
Naked woman. Ivory. Third Intermediate Period. On display at the Louvre, Paris, France. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m holding a sign that reads… Holy Smoke Is Foreplay.

You brought me to an amazing place, you introduced me to my higher self.  My reality is shifting to accept this nucleus.

Somewhere I’m naked with you. There’s a photograph of us making out in front of a mural. We have somewhere to exist.

It’s unlike me to speak at this volume. If I’m spotted, I will run in the opposite direction. My shadow self is battling to hold onto me. She’s cutting my clothes to smithereens.

Somewhere I’m lying naked with you. In the desert springs. You beckon across the sky to me….  And my vagina opens out into a seahorse.

Priests of the beautiful, separate me from my Self indefinitely.

Don’t ask me what this means, travel, find out/discover for yourself.  When you return, tell me who you met and what you saw.

I will be at my bonfire.

Borrow your treasure

Where shall I begin?

I took this photograph in Brighton, England in midwinter 2012.

So much has happened since that day.

Mercury has gone retrograde

The Olympics is on…

I started my Olympic scrapbook way back when…

before the internet

before instant messaging

and availability 24/7.

I’m humbled

by my birth certificate that says

I’m 47.

Instinctively I feel

my days are numbered.

I may not register any moment

beyond this

word.

Ask and YOU will receive…

What does it take to be fully conscious and present in this moment?

What does it take to accept personal responsibility to make positive social change in one’s life and the lives of others…

When we’ve been touched by the presence of God, the call to service, our inner voice, or our search for greater meaning and fulfillment in our life; we are advised not to turn away from our mission and have amnesia.

Spirit?

In my unremarkable corner of the world I’m thinking what’s really going on?

Whilst it’s been widely publicised that humanity has reached the tipping point in favour of the Age of Aquarius and today is the newly-inaugurated NATIONAL HOLIDAY TO COMMERATE LETTING GO OF THE PAST COMPLETELY: all that my cynical brain can come up with in response to both those claims is a rather pathetic “Really”.

As in “Really you don’t say…”

I pride myself on being able to digest the 5 a day fruits and vegetables equivalent of New Age mumbo jumbo spiritual advice which lands on me in a heap every time I turn the pages of “The Secret”, but does letting go of the past really include not caring that I didn’t put my rubbish out on the right day at the right time as dictated by British Government diktat.

In case you’re foreign and unaware: here in the UK, parking your garbage bags at home carries a heavy financial penalty. It’s 40 pounds for a first offence, rising exponentially week on week.

So glad I studied Russian language (and Russian culture since the Tsars’ time) for my university degree in modern languages and international relations, otherwise, I wouldn’t have a fucking clue about what’s going on in so-called modern Britain (as ruled by the Conservative-Liberal Democratic alliance for mutually destructive twits).

(Sorry am I starting to rant?)

To mark the occasion of “letting go of the past completely”, I do hereby stop regretting each and every moment that I’ve been dishonest and fucked somebody simply for the pleasure of driving the proverbial knife into the heart valve of my partner.

 Forgive me: I know not what I do….

On a clear day when the sun is high in the sky and the heavens are cloudless, I regret nothing but my ‘unpleasant sweetness’.