A ghost gaffs in my pearly bones,
to plant a splitting cellular rumor,
You piece of junk.
Burnt out as a string of lights.
At the ledge of my heart,
I sought magnificence of green aventurine, glowing room.
Where a child walked through,
a forest to a beach of silver sands
and sunstone shells.
As that child, I sat gathering seashells.
Preparing to build a bridge to mother’s lunar craters; to be engulfed, in a child’s mind a solacing embrace.
But the dawn always broke with the numbing morning antagonizing,
Your too late.
Nowadays, I’m aware of her nature,
as cold and distant. Only a mirror, to the warmth I desired, in my blacken nights.
But I know the spuns of iridescents are still within. And I can burrow in the empty chambers of the furled spiral.
Even if I tip on my side and sink into the depths of a cave in the ocean; my love will never runout, dear.
For some, like me, must contract the fragmented consciousness, to revive back into the ever spinning expansion.
The swaying of the train
Mind outta of body
While my head rest upon the cold
Siddhartha in lap
Patched up in chrysalis haven
My innermost is to dwell with YOU
A tree of fire
A curve of collarbone
A precious gossamer float
Enraptured always by the brazen words of Oberst
In the wavy moonlit movable waters
A secret want
A holiness to fingertips
YOU reveal my deficiency
My entirety, awaits in another expansion
Poem/Naomi Print/Vija Celmins/Music/Conor Oberst
Nadiah awakens by the cool breeze shuddering her skin back into the core of her body. She wonders how long she has been in this summer meadow. As her eyes touch a near by oak, she realizes the season has changed. The tree’s canopy of golden burnt-orange leaves dancing in the new autumn wind.
Everything for the moment seemed silent. Just a faint rustling of the leaves. Even the buzz of the bees she could no longer hear.
As she begins to rise out of the dying grass. Nadiah’s anahata fills with a painful heaviness that pulls her body back down to the ground. Her body is quaking as her chest and throat are closing like a vault.
As her mind tries to reason with her body, it evens slides off balance into suffocating fear.
She starts to let go.
She knows it.
The lack of oxygen leaves her giddy.
And she believes the warm sensation in her head are her brain’s transmitters shooting and bursting like fireworks; to then sizzle out into cellular ashes. But the warm sensation did not stop in her mind.
It slid down her throat and chest like honey. Then down through her arms to her naval and stretched to her legs. Once it reached her toes, her whole body opened up like a golden champa flower for the sun.
She now not only could breathe fully. She could hear fully.
Her ears absorbed with what sounded like thousands of rapid speaking tongues, until the voices broke into a singular voice like a diving echo.
In confusion she questioned its’ source, “Is it in her?” The voice begins to turn into a hum, then a vivid male’s voice breaks into a lyrical tone,
Your quivering heart no more
You’re jewel droplets
To this sacred ground
Aqua is your tranquil mind
Your arrival is harmonized
In the highest love of the awe.”
And then there he was appearing like an image on the emulsion of reality.
His dark eyes were deep seats of joy. His face a sculpted masterpiece of cherished time.
And a gentle smile that perished any doubts in her mind.
Without an utterance she knew she was going somewhere with him.
But where she did not know.
She was not afraid as she took his extended hand into her own, hand of crimson.
And like a pure drop in the ripples of sound, he spoke,
” Hello Nadiah.
I am Beara.
I’ll be your guide.”
And as if the earth escaped from the sun, everything grew dark. Except Beara, who glowed like a lantern in the unknown ebony.
And from this magical lantern, a whisper,
“This is trust.”
Poem: Naomi Ruth/ Art: altered by Naomi Ruth & Violet Aveline (peer and loving friend)
I enter in this arch of light above my heart.
Take me back, to that gentle place.
Where I tread upon before age.
I hear a faint crowd in the back,
“Nurse, the scalpel to drag across the chest.”
I’m walking through a bush garden.
Oleanders to my right side.
Oleanders to my left side.
Only their sweet scent can drown the surface pain.
They conceal and protect.
What is left of my folds of consciousness.
In the inwards of the garden,
I rest on the alabaster ground; to bask my pallor body in the crystal light.
The spirits here are tender.
They delicately burrow love atoms in me.
While the living take me apart and rearrange me.
They lay me in cool chambers to relieve the surface heat, like a sunburn stinging inside of me.
I’m wrapped in satin flower petals.
Cocooned here, until I emerge
with child eyes.
Poem: Naomi Ruth
Image blended with Newsha Ghasemi Art
Your mythical timeline, a spine of rings, encased in a clay box of blues.
Made of the same elements as you.
Around the bend, you’re calling me.
I know when I dream, you bring me here. You shelter me amongst you’re glowing indigo wilderness. Where you once roamed as a teenaged boy. You must be telling me stories of your play wars. For I wake with vague hiding tactics. And your favorite lines from Watership Down.
Your too fast to catch, my dear El-Ahrairah. I’m more like Fiver, sensing the danger.
I realize now;
This is where you crossed over the first time you called for me.
When it is my time to surrender, let’s take a stroll around this graveyard bend…
Step into the edge of these woods. Channel timelessly away towards everlasting deliverance.
Poem,Photo, Art : Naomi Ruth