Awake

Awake

You cannot feel, you cannot see

How did I forget to blame me?

How did I not see that this is just

Just the way you are

I accept them all each one

Every energy that came my way

All this time I said I hurt 

but it was I that did not see nor feel

The rage you gave me flooded my veins

brought life to places long now asleep

Slowly the tingle of limbs starved of blood

throb as life returns to them 

Slowly the flood of oxygen wakes the grog

of a mind slowed by years of repression

I could not feel, I could not see

I'll never again forget to blame me.

by: Shy Willow

Flames

Sitting next to the fire, watching the flames dance I did not have the energy to run and be free. I sat... at times frozen, my eyes to the colors and dance within the fire ring before us. The sweet youthful spirits running free soaking in the air their lungs had craved. 

My body was capable, but somehow for some reason I needed to sit, to get lost in the heat. I watched the white hot coals remain constant as the blue and somewhat rare green flames sprang from the log that was being consumed. Higher up orange and red flames reached into the air more consistently and predictably dancing. 

So often in art those cooler in temperature flames are depicted, seen destroying forests or decorating a noisy motorcycle. Rarely does an artist draw the hotter and less predictable blue flames into their art. 

Perhaps I had it wrong, maybe the blue and orange flames working together is what enabled enough heat to create the white coals in the first place. 

Perhaps that balance we carry though at times feels a bit wild, is exactly what is needed to feed the coals which sustain the heat needed to continue to consume. 

We sat, we talked through it all, yet at times like these when our flames burn low and quiet, and the ash seems to fly carelessly through the air, it is that white hot coal that is waiting. 

Things cool. Aches and pains come. Trials and challenges fill our lives with storms. 

The white hot coals snap and crack with that beautiful sound of shattering glass, biding time, waiting until something comes along to feed it once again.

A stir, and new kindling, and the next moment, our flames roar to new heights as if they had never slumbered in the first place. 

- Shy Willow

Dark Room

Welcome to the darkest room of my castle; the room that until now no one else knew about. I quake knowing that now you will know the dark bloom of energy that swirls in clouds of blackness upon the dark canvas in which you gaze. I ache in bitter frustration as my being is sucked into the darkness which balances the passion that freely lights my day.

Welcome to the place inside of this suffocating darkness which cools the blood and slows the heart. Breath is drawn slowly and thoughts focus purposefully on the singular painful necessity. My mind swirls in the ache and bitterness of pain I've caused; bathing in the self punishment of disappointment and mourning. 

Colder and deeper I go, why are you here with me. No one must see this pain. On the verge of plunging into a pool of black and boiling tar, on the verge of letting go, there is a pull.

So many times before I've felt around this dark room with the tips of my fingers, searching for the freedom of the door. Why are you here, you will get hurt. 

Yet, before I know it, it would seem we are both in a the cold corridor outside of the dark room's heavy door. Slowly I warm and feel my body desire breath again. I've not been in that room for some time, nor do I wish to go in again. Perhaps you were there because you needed to see the peace you bring.

-Shy Willow

Letting Go

Letting Go

by: Shy Willow

Into my eyes and see the pain yet neither flinch nor recoil. 

Stories bathed in irony which dance in both rays of warmth and also the frosty bite of reality. 

Too many times the door left open gets closed behind suffocating and trapping. 

How often the energy turns from fire that feeds to one which takes life away.

Into the fire, the flames which grow and consume.

Lives bathed in irony which dance in the energy we've learned to trust and lean on.

No longer do we thrive in the boxes which we build to hide, no longer must we have doors.

An ache all to familiar we felt, an ache we tried to fill, is now free to burn.

Into my life and see the beauty which I see in every life.

Expressions of art bathed in the energy of passion, released from the purest of places.

Enticed, pursued, romanced then captured and wed with the breath of freedom.  

Into our eyes the energy, better understood, despite the pain, brings comfort and ease.

Poetry and Food; Who'd Have Thought Such a Thing

The Honey People

Sometimes the people in our lives are there like sticky honey

Sometimes we revel in the sweetness and sometimes we curse the stick

But there is something about that amber color that always amazes us

~A Poem my heart wrote to a friend in need

~Shy Willow

A Moment

There was a moment there when the world was gone....

A moment, when, I am quite sure my body no longer needed to breathe. 

I heard nothing.

Not a single fragrance was allowed to rouse my senses.

Not even touch registered in the tide that washed over my body while I was yet frozen, unable to move, unable to flinch... could I blink? 

This sensation was like nothing that a person experiences on a daily or yearly basis. Perhaps something like adrenaline. Pure energy, so strong, so overwhelming, like a magnet, yet somehow dangerous... somehow like that vacuum of oxygen before a large flame of fire. 

A single amazing moment.

~Shy Willow