adventures of a fearless (mostly) globe trotting seeker...
wondering, wandering, barefoot, nomadess

Saturday, January 16, 2010

The scent of damp earth

It rained last night.
It is amazing how erotic the smell of damp earth can be.
like a fold of skin, the spice of an inner thigh or amrpit,
hidden and intimate.
it is as if the falling rain makes the scent of the earth rise and she smells like a woman's body. devi.
dark and sweet and full of secrets.
like the secret of how decay nourishes the earth and fertilizes her body...falling leaves decay and become earth again to grow new buds. regeneration, like my orouborus tattoo, a snake eating it's tail. death brings life. i have brought myself here to this strongly spiced land to die again, to let the parts of me that are heavy and keep me from shining die.
die before you die.
alchemy-tantra, take the poison and turn it to nectar.
fearlessly facing the poison in the world.
the poison in myself.
the mother knows this. she knows the dark earth and the mud is where the sweet lotus grows.
her musky thighs are sex and birth, and her yoni is the mouth of kali.
it is easy to lose yourself in her intoxicating dance.
that is why so many spiritual seekers wear white and turn from their shadows, denying the illusion of the world-maya. the world is woman.
someone said you can't become a tantric, you are born one.
i read a buddhist meditation about meditating on the peacefulness of a flower, we should be as peaceful as the flowers.
are the monks blind?
do they not see the flower's lush honeyed fullness calling to be made love to by the bees?
to be known in the full glory of it's beauty, the flowers whole body; stem, petals, fragrance and color are aching and calling out to be fulfilled in that embrace before, like all things, it's body must give way to decay and death.
how can they not see the flowers passion and longing?
maybe they are not women, ah, isn't it so?
tantra is the path of the feminine. the woman. passion, emotion, life, power, creativity...shakti.
the leaves fall so the new growth may rise.
fall and rise.
like my own soft belly when i breath.
and there it is again, all the secrets of creation, of the mystery, are in the fall and rise of each breath. in the manifest form of the divine, my own body.

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