be careful, i am fertile

be careful
i am fertile
a soil thick with promise
a mouth full of petals
you can feel when you are near me
how i may touch you
and you may blossom

be careful
i am fertile
do you know i thought i was barren?
someone told me that story
it took so many accidental gardens
for me to realize
i had sun in my fingers

be careful
i am fertile
i wake up glossy ripe
the next idea damp with dew
soft fuzz in vernix and miracle
screaming for my attention
reaching for my light

be careful
i am fertile
there is a divine timing
a pulse i can hear within
a season for incubation
a moment of bliss and surrender
code name: abundance

be careful
i am fertile
dream by my river
whisper longings under my moon
if the world says yes, i feel it
watch, i’ll unfurl in every direction
to let tomorrow through

be careful
i am fertile
and not at all alone
so many of us howl in the starlight
comforted by our own creations
fungal feral lava workers
arching our backs in joy

be careful
we are fertile
growing the next generation
of awe, of wonder, of fractal fate
in obstinate wombs
bound for production
we spin time ever forward

be careful
we are fertile
that heat between our palms
that poem in the mirror
we know the beauty of our own reckoning
all those years, asleep in delicious fog
that was only winter

be careful
we are awake now
be careful
we are springing
be careful of our spells now
be careful – we are the fecund earth
and oh yes, oh yes

we are fertile

spring equinox

i have been in the woods for five days now. i started this writing retreat with the new moon, and now, tonight, it’s the spring equinox.

and i love the moon. i love that my body moves in cycle with the moon, and how it’s one of the ways i know that nothing lasts forever and everything repeats…that knowing gives me peace.

i have several people in my life who are touching failure. i am with them, eating ice cream even though, even though, even though…oh but i love the lessons that come from failure. they take time, they expose to me where i, where we, still get the gift of learning.

writing a book is such a beautiful and daunting endeavor. they simmer, they touch everything, and they change the writer. to be less vague i am here writing this book on pleasure and it is changing me. i am in the phase where every day i’m like “i can’t do this i know nothing.” and i love the humility that comes from doubt.

i love holding on long after it makes sense. the best people in my life, i have held onto them in spite of logic, socialization and distance. composted, seeded, and something new is possible again.

i love the way i go mermaid dolphin whalerider creature in the water. how do i ever forget that i love this feeling? how can i never forget this again? how can i stay open to this just being good right now without feeling future regret?

i am happiest when i am writing. it’s the truth.

i love having living values – even if it’s small moves, they matter to me. i landed on this island and figured out how to recycle, compost, swim, talk with my nibblings and find local produce.

i love that i can feel pleasure in my bones. and that my pleasure comes directly from feeling connected – to my own body, to my life, to my lover, to my woes, to my nibblings, to this miraculous world.

and now, in spite of everything that hurts and that makes us want to freeze it all…it is spring.

in spite of the snow and rain, it is spring.

in spite of the bombs and assassinations and corruption and disappointment and lies…it is spring.

we grieve. even in spring the predators eat and the greedy reach for our lives.

and yet there is beauty here, and beauty coming. new life is beginning to seek the sun from deep down in the darkness. it is a devastating world loves, but we are miraculous, we are plants and pounding hearts, we are wired for pleasure and we, you and i, we are shapers in the springtime.