A Woman’s Inherent Right to Choose

I have never been pregnant and if I ever got pregnant, I’d like to think that I would never abort my child. However, this is bigger than pro-life vs. pro-choice.

Before there were abortion laws, long before Roe vs. Wade, before there were hospitals and birth control, before there was civilization, women who were not ready for motherhood ingested poison, used sharp objects, committed suicide.

No matter what the law says, women have always and will always have a choice, even when that choice is brutal for both the mother and the embryo/fetus/child.

A cisgender man will never understand what it feels like to have a life growing inside him, to know that he is responsible for that life. He will never understand what kind of love it takes to choose to end that life.

Of course, all life is significant. All life is precious. This truth is embedded in our soul. Let’s not forget this truth when we look at the girls and women who have been raped, girls and women who have no access to birth control or sex education, girls and women who have systematically been programmed to believe that their worth is tied to their sexuality, body image, and ability to please a man.

We are living in a world where White men and boys get slaps on the wrists for raping women and children, the same system that wants to force women to become mothers.

When the mother gives birth, and she cannot care for her child, will the child be abandoned in hospitals? Doorsteps? Thrown into trash cans? Will children be abused and murdered by the same women who KNEW they were unfit? Do these states have systems set up to support these women?

The answer is no. The voters may truly care for the women and children, but the system does not. The system is set up, not to save lives, but to oppress women and femmes.

Black women, White women, Brown women, Muslim and Christian women. Cis and Trans women. ALL WOMEN AND FEMMES.

If we support women and femmes, if we teach young girls to find their true worth, if we give them sex education, if we give them easy access to birth control, if we respect their bodies and honor their boundaries, if we teach them that it’s okay to say no, if we tell them they are beautiful and powerful and capable, if we listen with our hearts to what they to say, if we support their decisions, if we express our love for them, if we do these things, they will be better mothers. But if all we do is create a law that seemingly takes their options away, all we have done is oppress them further.

All life is precious. But we cannot force a woman to become a mother. If you think abortion is brutal, I would hate to see the choices that women might make when they realize that despite abortion bans, SHE STILL HAS A CHOICE.

Sending so much love to all sisters, mothers, and daughters. Keep your head up.

Men, boys, and masculines: please stand up and use your voice. It is our responsibility to dismantle the patriarchy.

#heforshe #abortionban #roevswade #feminism #ilovewomen #thepatriarchy #prolife #prochoice

Sacred Space: From the Inside Out

Chances are, you already know what sacred space is. You may have an altar dedicated to your spiritual practice. You might smudge your self, your crystals, and your living space regularly. You may even evoke the wisdom of Fengshui to harmonize with your space. There are some fun exercises I would like to share regarding the creation of sacred space in your home, backyard, or somewhere in nature. Before we get to that, I’d like to remind us that the most effective beginning to creating sacred space is in the remembrance that our external spaces can only be as sacred as our internal spaces. So, let’s create sacred space within. Let’s examine our inner energetic fields.

I am not an expert on metaphysics nor am I a Law of Attraction guru. I am a writer, a filmmaker, and a shamanic practitioner. I want to share my understanding of energetic hygiene along with some tools I use to boost my vibrations daily, and enhance my spiritual practice towards ease, peace, and joy.

Please feel free to dismiss anything that doesn’t resonate.

I think it was Christ who criticized the religious fanatics of his day for cleaning the outside of the proverbial cup, while neglecting the inside. JP Sears does a great job pointing out how ridiculous we can look when we are too focused on the externals of spirituality. It’s humorous when we can make peace with some of the silly things we have done. We’re all learning, and these lessons don’t have to be taken for mistakes.

So how can we get deep into our inner auric fields for daily cleansing? How can we create inner sacred space? Well, what is it that stinks us up in the first place?

Most times, the source of our stink is a low-vibrational story that we are telling. As we examine our state of being and release others from expectations, and when we take responsibility for our vibratory output, we often discover that our thoughts are in misalignment with our truth.

Our belief systems inform our perspective, which in turn generates a vibration that manifests into form.

How often do your belief systems evolve?

Do you believe that ascension is difficult? That the Twin Flame path is impossible? Do you believe that healing is painful and that the best life lessons involve suffering? Do you believe that there is no resolution without remorse? Do you have rigid beliefs about others which seem to protect your heart, but instead causes the other person to act in ways that fulfill your low expectations of them? What are your expectations of others?

Changing your beliefs isn’t about neglecting or denying reality. It’s about reframing your perspectives of reality for a higher vibrational output.

Let’s go back to the beginning, shall we?

In the beginning God created the Heavens and the Earth.

I was raised Christian. This creation story, from the voice of Yahweh to the Garden of Eden, was the soil that seeded all life in my Universe. Although I left the Christian religion almost ten years ago, the book of Genesis continued to generate my reality from my subconscious mind.

I understand now that creation stories are metaphoric, but more importantly, they inform the energy of everything in my Universe.

The Judeo-Christian creation story is not necessarily a bad one, but I wouldn’t call it a good one either. The story of Adam and Eve is one of forbidden knowledge, guilt, shame, and banishment. Not to mention patriarchal bullshit. These energies showed themselves in my reality everyday that this story was running, whether I called myself a Christian or not.

Consider a Native American creation story about a woman who fell from the Upper World and made her home on Turtle Island (North America). She gave birth to the twins of duality in perfect balance. In some stories, the twins lose their balance and there is banishment and unconsciousness.

There are many creation stories. Some are religious, others philosophical, and some are scientific. Simple minds are satisfied with simple explanations, while more complex minds need complex explanations. I find that artistic minds, like myself, enjoy allegory and its many layers. We are free to choose our creation stories, and the one you choose is continuously creating your reality.

As children of Creator, we are also creator-beings. We have inherited creative energy, and with this birthright, we are empowered to rewrite our personal story of creation. We can be intentional about which energies will be seeded in the fertile soils of our reality. We get to plant our own Garden of Eden.

This is where sacred space begins.

Once you change the creation story running in your subconscious, it’s your story. It’s your Universe.

Here, I will share my personal creation story. If it resonates, you may adopt it. You may revise it however you wish. Don’t bother asking for my permission, and don’t worry about crediting me. My name on this article is all the credit I need.

In the beginning there was Everything and Nothing. The great void was full of infinity. Truth was paradoxical as duality was One.

One day and night, the Source of All That Is got a little bored with infinite Oneness and decided to explore other ways of being.

There was a Big Bang!

Source stretched its lazy limbs into a yoga pose. Breathing in Prana, Source expanded itself across the Multiverses.

Source became galaxies and nebulas, star systems and black holes. Source was pleased with this.

Then Source looked closer at itself. It noticed that Oneness could be broken down into two parts. Light and dark. Good and bad. Masculine and Feminine. Excited, Source experimented with duality.

What happens when duality is balanced? What happens when duality is imbalanced?

Source wanted to look closer, but saw that it was too big to see minute details. It had to fragment itself into smaller parts. It had to forget that it was Source.

So, Source created Earth (along with many other worlds like Earth, and many other worlds unlike Earth.)

Earth was a planet where Source could recreate itself as physical beings.

It started with bacteria. Source watched life on Earth evolve for billions of years. Of course, this was only four cosmic seconds. After watching the animals grow more and more intelligent, Source watched as Earth’s most evolved being begin to discover duality.

Source zoomed in on the Garden of Eden, and watched as the Kundalini snake slithered up the Tree of Knowledge. Source watched the primates taste the fruit of Conciousness, and humanity was born. Finally, Source became human.

As human, Source experienced forgetfulness and imbalance. Source discovered the phenomenon known as suffering. Source raised its human eyes to the Upper World, saying, “Creator, please help me.”

To those fragments of Source in human form, Source replied, “You are me, I am you. You are All That IS. Come on, remember who you are.”

Source, as human, began to create ways out of suffering. Source created many different religions. Some religions alleviated suffering while others created even more. Source observed the contrast between opposing polarities and laughed.

To Source, duality was funny.

Eventually, Source grew tired of duality and decided it wanted to be Oneness again, but its fragmented human parts forgot how to be Oneness and was not quite ready to harmonize with itself. So, Source watched as its fragmented parts began to awaken. Other parts slept more deeply. Source waited to be asked for assistance when a fragment was lost and afraid. Source delighted every time a fragment came home to Oneness.

All times, Source is watching and patiently waiting for itself to remember Oneness. When Source in human form remembers itself as One, there will be Heaven on Earth.

As all things happen in the eternal Now, there is Heaven on Earth.

The Beginning and the End.

Homework: Get out some paper and write out your current creation story. Is it affiliated with a religion? Is it scientific or philosophical?  Which energies are seeded in this creation story? Which of these energies are serving you? Which are not serving you? Burn your creation story with gratitude in your heart for all that you have learned from it. Write another. Be intentional with your words and be conscious of the energies and perspectives you include in your story. Print out your new creation story and let it sit for a while. After a month, go back and see if your story needs revisions. Let this story evolve with you as you travel the path of ascension.

In my next article, we will build on this new energy. For now, have fun creating your new reality.

Poem: Why Meditation Sucks

I have always been a doer
to hunt and slay, (and hide)
to remind the angels
why I am worthy of
warmth and clean water
(or chocolate milk).
Maybe.

Too busy to breathe
I’ve been earning
my breath.
Keep your money and fame
I am seeking
my worth.
(Wait).

I had to secure my ticket to Heaven
(like all the other straight,
White,
Christian men)
I – I can’t get in?
What do you mean I’m not a man?
Fuck.

Holes in my rusted chalice,
fake treasure maps, toy swords.
Indiana Jones and the Flat Earth Theory.
(Fall off the edge already).
Fine.

The thirst and salivation.
Cheat codes hidden inside the nightmare,
(but my scars are real),
behind the shadows, along the veil.
Stephen King and the Cave Wall.
Popcorn and limitations.

I never wanted to sit,
to be still, feel, the fathoms
below and die.
Would you trade misery for joy?

Shut up, boy. (Not you).
The Lady or the Tiger?

Place your heart on the scale.
Do it, doer.

End this poem,
(end it now)!

Beat Poetry: Stream of Consciousness

Back in the cemetery with invisible friends, feeling nostalgic again, revisiting dead ends, and dead friends, with dead pens, and garlic and obsidian

I keep the zombies away, please keep your ego at bay, I got a small child at play, the part, the world’s a stage, if love

is war, then your heaven is forged, in the heart of Mordor, and haunted corridors, of my mind, nevermore, quoth the Raven, one more,

time, the rhymes, white lines, sweet poison, the noise and, hard times, all these are lies, my old life, has died, and here I rewind, pay homage, pay

tithes, to the darkness, why lie, this black rose, it knows, torture and bliss, dark rituals, holy ceremony, and true love’s kiss, horcrux, es, true stories, this is

illusory reality, I’m losing all duality, entirety, inside of me, something just done died in me, quite possibly, I’m approaching singularity, event horizon, scaring me, but where, I need to

know, excuse me, sir, how far does this ship go, to the Pleiades, oh, for fact? the eastern breeze, please, carry me back, to my second home

Earth, I know, they’re needing me, they’ve seeded me, I’m on a mission, and I’m bleeding, see, it’s still all g, big G, in me, and Love is free, I see

through walls, these dimensions, solid matter got me stressin, humanity depressed and, I think that it’s a bless-ing, and everything is fine, but the fluoride, third eye blind, confusion, feel used and

when winning feels like losing, I’m choosing, to put my heart on the line, and they got this thing called time, just a concept of mind, man, it’s a

vacation, here in space, and, embracing, the freedom, from chasing, my own tail, my own reflection, I am facing, introspection, this perfect imperfection,

got me feeling alone, healing my bones, my choice, alone, my voice, pick up the phone, ET, how do I get home? When Krypton’s just a fic-shon, get grounded, but still fly-on, through purple skies and true lies, like twin flames, in disguise, like friends at

war, 3+2 makes 4, makes sense, for sure, in dense, environments, I’m bored

but since I’m here, I’ll adhere, to the crude atmosphere, and marry the dark with the Light, Sacred Union, within, it appears, as it might, a certain shade of grey, ish white.

Uh. Okay.

Read it again later. Goodnight.

–AT

#inmyhead

Poem: The Question of Love, a Shakespearean Sonnet

Tis sweet defeat to love, says Lo
Answers Vick, thine sugar is rancid
Am I then dunce, asks I, or no
For defeat cannot be tasted.

Vick, he laughs, at I, and bends
Young knave, if defeat is thine candy,
Then retire thine tongue, or now, perpend
Thou death is thy life’s own fancy.

Lo, she fronts, thou fear the child
With thine zany words, I shrift
Love is unsure, unsafe, and wild
Yet without such Love, is one adrift.

The two undergo such testy balk
While I abhor their argued tenses
For Love is silent, and fools do talk
Neither doth Love to sit on fences

And still my mind doth will to capture
Such honest and absolute, thus rapture

Short Story: My Friend Grief

Grief is my visitor. He won’t stay long, yet long enough.

I recall the night he knocked on my door. The shadows of my newfound solitude invited me inward. I was pleased with myself, and deserving of a reward for making a difficult decision. In a pleasant mood, I was about to open a bottle of wine. A bold Merlot, you know.

Just as I grazed my fingertips upon the dusty green bottle, and sensed a thirst in my cheeks, I heard my visitor tapping. Somehow, I knew that it wasn’t a time for celebration.

Observing a shift within me, like the descent of an elevator, touching down on the basement floor, I went for the door. I promised myself the wine would flow at the right time.

It was late night and the rain was pouring down. Many memories washed over me as the cold draft met my skin. Grief stood on my heart-shaped porch, without a cover, awaiting his welcome. I touched my chest as a single tear fell. My old friend was back again.

We have a bittersweet relationship, Grief and I, and still, I call him friend. He’s taught me  much during his extended stays. We know each other well.

He’s like the night that falls, on schedule, bringing shadows and obscurity. I had learned to appreciate the sunlight, for the evening would come, soon enough.

I opened the door wide for him. He picked up two pieces of luggage, regret and growing pains, and silently stepped in. I took his coat and hat. He made himself at home.

For the first night, we sat before the fire. We didn’t speak to each other. We didn’t sleep. We just sat there, feeling the others’ presence.

I tried to open my heart to him, to accept him, and resist the urge to run. Avoidance behavior cost me so much trouble in the past. Now, life is much simpler, but it means acceptance of Grief, of who he really is.

Sometimes the moonlight shines through the kitchen window, and I can sing and dance as I celebrate my tender heart. He stares at me, his bushy eyebrows scrunched in confusion. His knees, bent at his chin, as he sits on the bottom step. He doesn’t understand how I can laugh and play when he’s around. I try to explain to him what it means to have joy. I think he likes the idea.

Other times, though, he comes to me at night. He sits at the foot of my bed, and it seems that we can hear each others’ thoughts. I speak the sadness of my heart, hoping the sound might absorb my pain. I tell her that everything is okay, and that I’ll always love and think of her, and that I pray for her every day and night. I wonder if her heart can hear mine. Then, sometimes, I cry.

I’m not sure how long he’s staying, but I can’t rush him away. If I’m going to heal, it’s going to take time, and I should give him all the time he needs. Really, I’m doing this for myself. No band-aids, no cover-ups, no crutches or addictions. No denial or repression, no avoidance behavior.

It’s just me and my friend Grief.

Short Story: The Reluctant Hero

I’m standing on a high cliff, overlooking some foreign ocean. The night is falling upon the scene, as starlight breaks through the darkening blue sky, and I.

I’m barefoot and shirtless. My hands are empty, too.

The salty breeze chills my skin, but I am transfixed by the sight of the ocean, its magnificent beauty, coupled with the intense fear of its power, awakening deep inside of me.

A tear streams down my cheek. Could one be so awestruck and fearful at the same time? A voice whispers in my heart.

It is the Aquarian sage. “The journey ahead of you, behold, in a ship of your own vessel. This is all for you.”

Yet, I know what this means.

“You must leave behind everything you have ever known. The bed you sleep in, the comfort of perceived limitations. The masochistic words you mumble under your breath. Your poisonous drink. You have outgrown these things. They have no place in your life anymore.”

Somewhere inside me, an Arian Warrior stands poised to dive into the depths of the great unknown, unaware, unafraid, but on the surface, right now, an unsure child stares at his feet.

But my hands are dirty. I’m unforgiven.

The Aquarian speaks. “Everything you have been through has prepared you for this moment. Yet, you have free will. You may choose to turn back at any time.”

The Arian lays down his weapon, a spear, at my feet. He kneels before me, his arms flexed to display his strength. His long hair falls like a curtain over his face as he bows. “I swear to protect you from the evils of this world, as you would save me from the evils of myself.” He rises to his feet, picks up his spear, and points it toward the horizon, to the bow of Sagittarius, five twinkling stars. “There is the satisfaction of your soul.” The warrior turns behind him, to the past, “There is meaningless comfort. The choice is yours alone.” He lays his hand on my shoulder. “I will follow you, wherever you go.”

I hear the clopping of hooves, the folding of wings. Beside me stands Chiron, the centaur. I look up at him, enchanted by his figure, half a man, half a horse. His green eyes stare out at the ocean.

Chiron is my Sun. He is, in many ways, my father, teacher, and best friend.

In his silence, the planet makes her trip many times. I watch as the Moon spins around the Earth. The Sun follows the elliptic. My hands grow larger, my spine taller. My mind expands and poses unanswerable questions, provoking a yearning within. What am I feeling?

Finally, almost three decades later, Chiron turns to me, the white hairs on his chin, blowing in the wind. “What are you feeling?” He asks.

“Time is no more,” I whisper, barely audible. “Chiron, this is magnificent, and I refuse to deny my destiny, but I am human, and this makes me alone.”

The hooves of the centaur clop as he moves closer to me. His human torso bends until his chiseled face is just before mine. I see, now, that his green eyes are rimmed with yellow and orange.

“You have never belonged on Earth, Dear One. That is why you feel alone. Yet if you see with your third eye, that has never been the case.”

Chiron reaches behind his back and delivers a bow and quiver. “This is a tool, not a weapon. Always aim upward, for greatness only exists in the higher skies.”

I take the items, throwing them over my bareback.

A woman appears before me. Her silk gown bellows behind her, white like the moon. She opens her hand, to reveal a pair of golden scales. “Two thousand lifetimes, and you have settled your karmic debt. But that’s not enough. You must create a surplus.”

“Libra,” I whisper. “Must I go alone?”

The corners of her thin lips turn up. “You may take anyone willing.”

I exhale, wishing to banish the passion of my heart, now burning my flesh, it seems. For, I desire the unwilling. I find the courage to meet the goddess’ eyes.

Libra’s eyes are white, innocent with justice, convicting my heart, compelling my speech.

I hesitate. “But, isn’t my twin supposed to help me?”

Libra lifts her hand, and I feel her fingertips glide over my face. “Your twin is with you, always. Though not in flesh, you feel her in spirit, do you not?”

I look down, to the dust, dissatisfied.

“Let that be enough,” Libra leans in and kisses my cheek. “Beloved, you have Chiron as your Sun, Ares as your Rising guide, and the scales of Justice by moonlight. Call upon Pan when problems arise. Let the Aquarian lead your heart.”

The Horned God stands beside me, half a goat, half a man. I can smell the mint he chews. I feel his calloused fingertips on the crown of my head. “You will focus on the mountain peak. When you see your destination, trust your feet, for they will not lead you astray.”

I close my eyes, receiving his blessing. When I open them, the ancient gods are gone. The sage, warrior, centaur, goddess, and satyr live within me. Combined, they are me.

I’m alone again, on the mountain’s cliff, staring out at the dark ocean.

Scorpius twinkles in Midheaven. A cycle has passed. It is time for rebirth.

Poem: The Starseed

I lay in the grass
in the trees
in the sand
with questions in my
heart
Light grenades in my
hands.

Father Sky
have
you
abandoned me?
Guidance, please.
Our Mother
bleeds.

The Humans
bite
the hand that
gives.
I am not accustomed
to needing
protection.

Utopia,
a distant
memory.
Vivid dreams of
purple skies.
I want to go
Home.

Angels
and ghosts, they
talk to me.
Animals, alike.
Yet, people
don’t understand.
At all.

They ask me
what it was
like, my
world. I only
remember
that we Loved one
another.

This place is
cruel, a living
Hell, but they
can’t seem to help
themselves. Nor
can I,
sometimes.

I wish I
could
show them
that
there’s a better
way to live.

Wait.
Maybe I can.