The Resurrection of Spring <3

Photo Credit: PDX Monthly

The mind melts with tea and honey, reorganized like the sentience of my vacuum cleaner.

The world shifts like moving pictures, forking paths around the garden.

I’ve never been here before.

I used to have a relationship with the public, but that’s all changed. I pulled away because I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. I used it to cope and abused it as a medicine. I took power from the people who looked up to me.

I realized that the purpose of spiritual ego was to hide behind a mask, to hide the fact that I felt powerless in a dangerous world. I went looking for my power, the kind that comes from within.

From above to below, in all directions. I’ve only just begun my journey.

I’m sorry for the person I’ve been.

First I went to outer/inner space to find the parts of me I left behind when I allowed myself to become what I came.

I set foot on the Earth for the first time in thirty years, and I was filled with rage at what I saw.

I bore witness to the atrocities committed by the ruling class and I got lost in what I thought of as my personal rebellion. My inner revolution.

I saw darkness and light. I bathed in Fire and Water. I went to the Queen and the King and claimed my inheritance.

Now, I am a child again, learning the difference between milk and glue.

What I’m trying to say is that I’m back. I’m going to share my spiritual journey here. I will be graceful with you, World, and I pray you are graceful with me.

Back in the MySpace days, I called myself “Your Local Christian Heretic.” Well, I’m not a Christian anymore, but I’m sure as hell still a heretic. I’m thinking “Earth Temple Witch.”

Yeah, I’m a Mama’s boy.

Come back if you can.

Aloha ❤

Kaika (ky-kuh)

he / they

Poem: Awake at 4 AM

I am awake at 4 am despite exhaustion in my bones. The mattress springs have rusted from the tears I cannot cry.

I am awake at 4 am because my body craves a poem, a witness to the mourning in my soul. A quiet death, invisible butterfly.

I am awake at 4 am as white supremacy digs its nine-inch heels into my flesh, insisting its innocence while demanding absolution.

I am awakened by the sight of the seemingly endless distance between shades of skin and the realities we live in, miles I cannot close on my own.

When cognitive dissonance tastes like wine, drunk, we await our savior while entertaining fantasies of Utopia and vomit our medicine.

Not me. I am alone on this bridge. I built it, but they didn’t come. Somewhere a child understands they are not anymore.

I am awake at 5:30.

I am awake at 6 am.

I am awake, here gather all my strength.

The Lion roars at dawn.

Portland at Sunrise. Photo credit: Ritza Garzia