God said to me

"I want you to play,"
He said to me.
"I want you to
smile
the way you smile,
laugh
the way you laugh,
dance
the way you dance,
sing
the way you sing.
I want you to
love
the way we love,
live
the way we live.
I want you to always
be happy."
I saw Him
smile
a moment
before I saw only
the sea and
the horizon.

Wolves at play

Running.

First on two feet, laughing, feeling wind on our faces. Then...

Running.

Now on all fours, breathing steady, feeling wind in our fur. Smelling all there is to smell - one another, the ground beneath our feet, the air of freedom. Where are we going? It doesn't matter, we're only...

Running.

We're only being, there is no destination. A moment, we come closer to one another, so close that we can feel the heat of each other's bodies, can feel the other's muscles working, moving, stretching and contracting. Oh that delicious heat, it fuels us, makes us go faster, faster. We can't stop, we're...

Running.

The energy is rising, it feels like it will burst. No! Don't send it away, don't escape from it. Let it swirl in the depths of your belly, beat with the beat of your heart, pound drums in the spaces of your mind. We let ourselves go! We run, run, run, run...

Stop.

The air is still. We can feel the silence between each beat of the heart, each breath of the lungs. We can feel one another tremble. Our eyes close. Our heads lift.

Howling.

And every being in existence can hear it, can feel it.

Your beard

I love when
it is long
and you are
savage and
wild
like me,
and my fingers
go in
trekking its
landscape,
searching your
skin and
traveling back
to your lips
like a maiden
to a well

I love when
it is short
and you are
bright and
contagious
like your
smile,
and my eyes
travel
every line
of your
clever grin,
like paths
to your lips
for a maiden
to a well

Fireweed meditation

There is dirt, brown, dry, but in the center there is the Fireweed, green, colorful, staring straight at the sun.

And there is someone next to the fireweed. Is that me, or is that someone familiar? A different face, body, smile, scent, but the same. She is laying down face up, like a flower bathing in the sun. There are movements, quick like someone fast-forwarding through a movie. She sits up, smiles, laughs, her chest always open, her heart full. Then she lays back down and... she is dead. Her body decays. There are bones. But there, somewhere in the carcass, there is a light. It's her. And again I see her, or is that someone familiar? A different face, body, smile, scent, but the same. She is laying down, face up, like a flower bathing in the sun. She sits up, smiles, laughs, her chest always open, her heart full. Then she lays down. I know she will decay but I know she will not die. She comes back, different, but the same. The same laugh, the same smile. Her chest still open, her heart still full.

I cry at the beautiful sight.

By Francesca Moschini

Meditazione su Fireweed

C'è sporco, marrone, secco, ma al centro c'è Fireweed, verde, colorato, che guarda diritto al sole.

E c'è qualcuno accanto a Fireweed. Sono io quella o è qualcuno di familiare? Una faccia, un corpo, un sorriso, un odore differente, ma lo stesso. Sta sdraiata con la faccia in su, come un fiore che si bagna al sole. Ci sono dei movimenti, veloci come se uno avanzasse velocemente attraverso un film. Lei si siede, sorride, ride, il suo petto sempre aperto, il suo cuore pieno. E poi si rimette giù e... lei è morta. Il suo corpo decade. Ci sono ossa. Ma lí, da qualche parte nella carcassa, c'è una luce. È lei. E di nuovo la vedo, o è qualcuno familiare? Una faccia, un corpo, un sorriso, un odore differente, ma lo stesso. Sta sdraiata con la faccia in su, come un fiore che si bagna al sole. Si siede, sorride, ride, il suo petto sempre aperto, il suo cuore pieno. E poi si rimette giù. So che decadrà, ma so che non morirà. Torna indietro, differente, ma la stessa. La stessa risata, lo stesso sorriso. Il suo petto ancora aperto, il suo cuore ancora pieno.

Piango alla bellissima visione.

(Grazie a Carlo Lopez per la traduzione.)

A Sunday morning

They are rolling around in the sunlight by the sea, sand sticking to their bodies as they land and falling off as they come up. And they are laughing. I can hear it before the waves crash ashore and again as the waves roll back into sea.
I don’t know what they are laughing about.
Do they?
Does it matter?
For a moment, they stop rolling, stop laughing. He is over her, looking at her. I see their mouths slightly open, no sounds, only their eyes continue to smile and laugh.
Who came closer?
Was it her or him?
Does it matter?
Each came closer, one for the other. A kiss. Deep. They roll; kissing, grabbing, caressing. Arms and legs wrapped one over the other.

I can hear their love even through the sounds of the waves.

You and I (we feel like poetry)

I didn't intend on it... When I wrote the first poem, I was only writing, not intending to make a series. Looking at the five poems, it makes sense... We experienced one another with our five senses after years of just our souls (the part that really matters). A moment... afraid this will turn into the shallow pleasure of bodies searching for warmth that isn't there? Impossible. Physically, my fingers touch you, but it is my heart trailing the hairs on your arm. Our tongues glide, but it is each other's light that we are tasting. My eyes follow the curve of your smile, but it is my soul looking into yours. My ears funnel the sound of your voice, but it goes straight to my heart where it can dance to the sound. And your smell... it goes in through my nose, but it reaches every part of me, parts physically nonexistent.

You see? It's simple. You and I. Together we make poetry.

***

You and I (what it feels like to touch you)

I touch you and
it’s as though I
touch every
cell and
fiber
that was or
is or
will be
your being.
And I can’t quite tell
where
you and
I
are
and I’ve forgotten
where
you and
I
have been
and it doesn’t matter
where
you and
I
will be.
Because, right now,
in this moment,
we just
are

***

You and I (what it feels like to kiss you)

Like our fingers
finding one another
through the swing in our steps
so do our tongues
search and find
each other
as you and
I
kiss.
Our saliva
mixes and
each pain and
guilt and
fear
of yesterdays
melt
in the power of
you and
I
together
and it tastes so
good

***

You and I (what it feels like to see you sleep)

Our legs crossed,
entangled,
together.
And I see your face,
sleeping:
a smile?
And I smile back,
wondering:
a dream?
It’s you and
I
in this moment
but it feels like
it’s all the you’s and
all the I’s
in every life
in every time
in every breath
and it’s
strange
and it’s
weird
but it’s
us
and it’s
beautiful

***

You and I (what it feels like to listen to your heart)

Here
my head on your
chest,
your arms around
me,
listening to the
light breathing
as you drift off to
sleep.
It’s just
you and
I
here
where our hearts
do all the talking;
they whisper
our dreams,
our secrets,
retell our joys,
kiss away our sorrows.
They beat to the
beat
of our names,
thump…
thump…
bum…
bum…
Here,
with this lullaby,
you and
I
fall asleep

***

You and I (what it feels like to smell you)

I smell you
in the fibers of my
clothes,
on the cells of my
skin,
even in memories
of
you and
I
embraced.
That smell of yours
that takes me
home
somehow,
here,
watching you sleep,
listening to your heartbeat,
caressing your skin,
tasting your kiss.
Smelling you,
breathing you in deeply
so that
my lungs may feel you
as my heart does

(All five can also be found on my Medium blog.)

The boy and his Lion

The boy stood there
guarding the Lion,
his Lion.
“There was a girl here once,
a fighter,
and I will not let her back here again.”
He looked up at me
with defiant eyes
bluer than the sky,
deeper than the sea,
beyond his years.
I came down to meet his face,
“What did the fighter do?”
His eyes pierced but
I could see that hint,
that touch, of sadness.
“She did what she pleased,
she pushed and
pulled,
she came and
went,
she was the Lioness
to my Lion
and she ran.”
The boy crossed his arms
as though speaking of this
would somehow jeopardize his heart,
his Lion,
his wellbeing.
I touched his arm
hoping to undo his stance,
urging him to look into me
again.
When he looked at me,
this time,
he could see it.
In my eyes he could see
the fighter
with her mage
laughing
dipping in that sea
as they used to,
greeting the night
and kissing goodbye the morning
as they used to.
And though he was afraid
the boy mage could not look away;
the strength in his arms
wavered,
the bite in his eyes
softened.
And after so long,
the fighter and the mage
looked at one another
again
and neither one was
running.

(Also posted on my Medium blog.)

Meaningless Riot

I wrote this many years ago, when I was 19, and serves as a reminder that God, love, life, all are simple and we can be happy if we stop making them complicated.

***

“And there I was,” He said,
“It was me against the world.
It was a huge and nasty riot.
Everyone asked me questions and
insisted I answered every single one of them.”
“Wow,” said the little girl, “What did you do?”
“Oh, that’s simple,” He said, “I told them
to look for the answer within themselves.
No matter what chaos they created, my answer stayed.”
“Did they?” She held her teddy bear closer.
“No, they all ignored me as they have
for centuries now. They expect me to give
them the answer to everything. It’s absurd, really.”
The girl looked at Him, “I don’t expect you to answer,
I will listen and look within.”
She said this as if offering comfort.
He smiled, “I know you would. But you are a child,
your questions are different.
You don’t ask why your life is not joyful,
why you don’t have the job you wanted,
why you could not get married,
why you could not have children,
why you aren’t beautiful,
why life isn’t simple,
why you are in jail,
why you are not in school.
These are really not questions I should be asked.
These are questions people must ask themselves.
But they refuse to believe they hold the fault
for everything and anything
that they think is not right in their own lives.”
The little girl sighed and looked out to the sky,
“Why do we have clouds?”
God laughed,
“Now that is a question I would answer!”

(Also posted on Carlo Lopez's blog and my Medium blog.)

Fighting and bravery

You make by projection, but God creates by extension. The cornerstone of God’s creation is you, for His thought system is light. Remember the Rays that are there unseen. The more you approach the center of His thought system, the clearer the light becomes. The closer you come to the foundation of the ego’s thought system, the darker and more obscure becomes the way. Yet even the little spark in your mind is enough to lighten it. Bring this light fearlessly with you, and bravely hold it up to the foundation of the ego’s thought system. Be willing to judge it with perfect honesty. Open the dark cornerstone of terror on which it rests, and bring it out into the light. There you will see that it rested on meaninglessness, and that everything of which you have been afraid was based on nothing.

-- A Course in Miracles T-11.in.3

People fight because they are unsatisfied, because they haven’t measured up to something, because they feel lack, because they are afraid. I have spent many years and a lot of energy fighting. My entire life spent fighting something; fighting my father, fighting my mother, fighting my sisters, my brothers, fighting myself… Fighting the ideals placed by the culture I grew up in, the generation I grew up in. Fighting love. So many things instilled within me that I fought, only digging them deeper inside me. So much offered to me with an open heart that I fought with a closed one. Maybe I always felt threatened and avoided being vulnerable. My mother always told me, no, begged me, to become this or that kind of woman and at every turn I’d question - is this what my mother wants? She pleaded for me not to be weak, or vulnerable, to be independent and strong, to not be pushed around or taken advantage of. My defense was always to fight, fire with fire. My defense was to not trust and to maintain a closed heart. Is this strength? Is this invulnerability? It was futile, always futile. A moment of victory, maybe, for a lifetime of pain. What does it matter that for a moment I could wipe a smug look off my father’s face if it only gave me pain later? And what of avoidance, ignore the fight and the pain? Putting my head down, turning my head away, does nothing but bring more pain later. ACIM says the best defense has no potential of attack. What better defense is there than to realize that… there is no fight - none. Moment by moment, I undo them, dispel them, erase them, open my eyes and look passed the illusion. In a show, I heard it said that being brave is never giving up, to keep fighting. But no - being brave is giving up the fight and embracing love. In the face of everyone’s darkness, being brave is looking passed it and trusting in their light. For me, being brave is trusting in god, especially when the ego is yelling in my ear.

(Also posted on Carlo Lopez's blog and on my Medium blog.)

A moment in Madrid

I remember my last night in Madrid. I remember faintly smelling the exhaust of cars and breathing it in. The smell of exhaust takes me back to being a little girl in the Dominican Republic, feeling the summer air and the itchiness of mosquito bites on my skin. Smelling a combination of fumes, delicious food, and my family’s scent, which was different from my New York city home. It makes me feel small and it makes my heart feel full of wonder and love, of energy that feels almost too big for my body. “Nostalgia” is a word that doesn’t quite fit. While I’m having a moment of remembrance, I’m also there, all over again. It’s a combination of remembering and being that can almost make my head spin if I tried to evaluate it, but my heart says there’s no point. There is no such thing as time and my head will never understand. My heart tells me to embrace it:

I am here and there, I am now and then, there is no difference.

Sure, in that "nostalgic" moment in Madrid, I was a bit drunk. We had just come back inside and were drinking at the flat we had rented. I was on the floor, laughing, my friend and my brother laughing just as much on the couch. The room was spinning a bit. My phone was buzzing with messages from a man I love who I closed my heart to for years. I was miles away from my family who I live to serve. My iPad would not connect to the right server so I could not work on my vacation.

It didn’t matter - it wasn’t the conditions that opened my heart, it was an open heart that gave me that great moment.

It didn’t matter that I was drunk, that I had great company, that I was chatting to a lover, that I was away from my family, that I had no work to do. What mattered was my heart. I allowed it to open, to be full of love, and, even though I didn’t consciously know it then, I was connected with God and I was happy. That was the best night of my entire trip.

(Also posted on Medium blog.)

Rome

A city filled with the history of a civilization
and yet
I think of you
and our history.
Here I am, walking its streets lined with
ancient stories untold
and yet
I think of you
and our stories.

I must be lost,
which way is back?

(Also posted on Medium blog.)

Poetry in the park

From one tree to another
comes chirps of love
- maybe not.
Could be a business transaction.
Who knows.

***

A chirp,
a car.
The wind,
the traffic.
A bird in flight,
a woman zooming down a hill
on her bike.
I see her wings.

***

Sitting here so long,
the ants have begun to
colonize on my body,
the worms travel my legs,
a tree’s roots snake up
and around my belly,
a daisy pops out of my ear,
birds make nests in my hair.
Just as well,
I am home.

***

A passerby sees
eleven of us enjoying the grass
on a sunny day.
You’re all nice couples but
do not be mistaken.
I am not alone.

***

A writer sits in a park,
convinced,
“I will not write of love.”
Listening to the birds chirping,
the heart stirs.
Each song is a song of love.
“But I will not write of love.”
The writer looks at the grass.
Each blade is like a hair,
on the head, on the body.
Run your fingers through,
feel the beat of the heart underneath.
Feel that love? That endless,
infinite,
eternal
love.
“But I will not write of love.”
The writer looks at ants
roaming his/her own skin.
It tickles like
a lover’s caress,
soft kisses on the skin that
leave for a moment but
stay for a lifetime.
“But I will not write of love.”
Forget the park, what of the sky?
The sun!
Such warmth.
It feels like being embraced.
Completely enveloped in love,
in sincerity,
in pure light,
in godliness
that only true lovers will know.
The writer goes home.
What else is there but
love.

(Also posted on Medium blog.)

Does that open too?

Your eyes flutter open
every morning.
Your body opens with a stretch
or two.
Your mouth opens and lets out one big
yawn.
What about your
heart?

(Also posted on Medium blog.)

Luce

I see her
staring back at the sea.
They take each other in:
recognizing,
memorizing,
hypnotizing.

Her skin, soft
like the powdery sand
slipping through my fingers.

Her steady breath
like the rhythmic waves
crashing in my ears.

Her great, still eyes
as deep as the waters before us.
I’ll never reach the end of either.

The wind ruffles her hair
as it sprays saltwater onto shore.
I can taste it on my lips.

When she turns to me,
she smiles:
as wide as the sea is vast,
as bright as the sun’s reflection.

I see her,
my girl,
daughter of the sea.

(Also posted on Medium blog.)

Eyes

Maybe
you’ll look into my eyes
and
maybe you’ll recognize them.
Round
and
brown
and
going on into
infinity
the way our hearts
do.
You’ll get so lost
and
so found
the way I do
looking into
yours

Finding you in music

There's something
deep
about sharing music
with someone.
It's like:
Hey you,
person I have come to love,
my loveliest love,
I heard this and
I thought of you,
I felt you.
It's not my words,
not my sounds, but
wow,
they come close.
I would have written them
for you,
in another life,
another time,
another talent
and wow:
those guitar strums,
that keystroke,
these drumbeats,
that sultry bass,
that voice...
It's you,
it's us,
in a different kind
of painting.
It's us
traveling the sound:
our smiles in the wavelength,
our kisses in the intensity,
our laughter in the frequency.
Will you give it a listen?
Will you hear me,
here,
as I hear you?

Te siento

Te siento,
de repente,
como si hubieras
llegado a
soplar mi oído
y darme cosquillas
en el cuello.
Y te vas,
así,
y me dejas
riendo

Cuando me saludas

Quiero que
me miras a los ojos
cuando me saludas.
Así,
con tus ojos azules
llenos del cielo,
llenos de luz.
Hasta tu boca
llena de
la luna
y las estrellas.
Tu mirada celestial
que me llena de
energía y
amor

A weekend, a lifetime, the infinity

I get distracted sometimes with the good feelings I get... About to write and I feel God and I feel you, all connected, feeling the spheres of light that aren't so far away, they're here... I touched the warm sea this weekend and I felt as though I could touch God, touch us, touch all, and I wanted to swim in it.

***

And so these are
the words I couldn’t get out this weekend
because I was living,
I was loving.
But I don’t quit living
or loving
when I write.
Maybe I was afraid,
afraid to lose a moment.
Maybe I knew I could keep them;
I keep every moment
and I will relive them,
savor them,
taste every dimension of them,
as I write.

***

I’ve seen us there,
here,
not quite like this but
there,
here,
traveling.
Our laughter echoes
in the tunnels,
the tracks full
of our energy,
the beauty of the views
outside but
the windows admire
the beauty
inside

***

And so here we are,
I’ve never been here.
The streets are new
to me.
The wine is new
to me.
The warm sea is new
to me.
But
somehow
a hint
of familiarity
because you’ve brought me
here
within you

***

I feel I can touch
God
as I touch these
warm
salty waters
in front of me
and I want to swim
in it,
in us,
in this moment.
But a taste,
a taste will suffice

***

I was holding you,
really,
finally,
you are here

***

Say it,
tell me
those
“stupid” things
and see:
Wow, how
stupendously
beautiful

***

Here. I say it often but, where is here? Here has been there and that way and over yonder. Yes. Here is everywhere. Here only needs you and me. Here is always… here.

***

There were clouds and not much sunlight but there was Luce, us. The air was fresh and the wind a bit cold but there was your love. The trail was new and the path winding but there was your hand. People say “it’s life” but there is always you, always me, always us.

***

It was dark
but there was light:
how warm.
There were your growls,
caressing:
how soft

***

Maybe,
maybe someone would say
it's blasphemy but,
God,
did you hear me
howling:
thank you.

***

My head on your chest,
your head on mine.
We fit
beautifully,
perfectly,
amazingly,
either way.
Your head on my chest,
my head on yours

***

With your eyes of light,
your contagious smile,
your comforting smell,
your tickling voice,
your arms that always manage
to hold every part of me
from my body
to my spirit:
how can I not be happy?

***

It was weird. Lao, Kallystra. We said those names, our names, the names we met with. And I felt we needed to say them. We needed to kiss those names. Lao... Kallystra...

***

In the morning, Luce smiled to me. She was happy, she is always happy. I felt she held us many times through the weekend. Of course. She is us. I held on to her smile. When I smiled at you, maybe you saw Luce's light. I want to smile always with her, with you...

This place won't be the same

This place won't be the same. I read that, as soon as I stepped off the metro at Genova. I don't know what the sticker was advertising but it spoke to me, personally. It echoed in my mind and my heart. This place really won't be the same. I knew it from the start, before my steps hit the pavement of this city. And I knew I'd see our ghosts, I knew they'd haunt me. My only comfort? I knew you've walked these streets with me. Sure, not me physically. But I knew... you carried me then and I could feel it. I walked, not learning or discovering but recognizing, remembering.

Tai chi together

I wish I could trace our shadows
on the wall,
make a painting.
And it's weird,
when I didn't know the moves
I quieted the mind,
didn't panic,
relaxed,
and I felt them instead
from you,
as though we were one
single
unit
moving through this space
at this time.
A bow,
a breath,
finished but
connected still.
A kiss, my love

A moment to hold you

In this moment, I want to hold you. Yes, like we did. To hold your head close to my chest, still within reach of my lips. I kiss your head and feel the warmth on my lips. My arms around you, touching all I can touch, caressing softly. Breathing deeply together. When a nose is accustomed to a smell, it overlooks it, but, oh hun, never yours, never ours. I love our smell; it comes to me. And so we breathe us in, sighing, moaning, smiling. Time can flow from our fingers like this, but never each other. The hold is not tight, not constricting. It is gentle, it is loving.

A moment on the grass

I’m here, in the Valley, sitting. I don’t know where, I feel only grass, thick, soft, enjoying the feeling of it on my naked skin. I want to roll around in it, feel it on every part of me - feet, legs, belly, back, breasts, arms, hands, face. I want my hair to be full of green grass, dirt, worms and bugs, savage and wild. I want to become the grass, the earth beneath me. I feel it pulsing, like the blood in my veins, the light in my eyes. I can say the same of you. Here you are, laying beside me. I touch you and I enjoy the feeling of you, your warmth, your heart, your love. I want to roll around you, feel you on every part of me - feet, legs, belly, back, breasts, arms, hands, face. I want my hair to be entangled in you, your fingers; let’s be savage and wild. I want to become one, pressing ourselves together and feel our hearts pulsing, like the blood in our veins, the light within us.

My hair: a messenger?

Everywhere I go it’s like a part of me is leaving. Am I shedding the old? Or leaving remnants of myself for people? Here, some strands of my hair to remember me by. When you sweep the floor, you will find it and wonder to whom this thick, black wire belongs to and then you’ll remember the girl with the crazy curly hair and go “Ah, her.”
And then? What did I leave you with?
Ah, her…

*

As I shed these hairs
maybe I leave
a trace
of me;
a thought,
an embrace,
a quiet hello
that you will find:
will you listen?

She / Me

I remember her
in these moments.
She
was so excited,
so free,
so in love,
so connected
and she
embraced all,
smiled wide,
looked up high,
eyes shone,
and somewhere
she
got lost,
listened to the wrong
voices,
the ones that sang doubt
and she
didn’t think she was
strong enough
and so
she
left.

I remember her
in these moments.
She
came back.
She
gets so excited,
so free,
so in love,
so connected
and she
embraces all,
smiles wide,
looks up high,
not too high,
eyes shining
and I
embrace
me.
How glad to be
back.

Your spirit

I see your spirit
and how he is wonderful
and I ask him
why he isn't here always.
And he looked at me,
confused,
and then
oh, his laugh...
How can I not laugh
with him
always

A moment in space

I feel small.

I used to be afraid to feel small, but feeling it now it's like I'm in good hands. The universe has me, God has me.

And I feel far away.

Am I here, typing? No. I am somewhere, far far away, in deep space or something like it.

And I am swirling.

Round and round, my hair wild - or is there hair? That's right, there is no body. I am light and I am round. A round ball of light. A sphere of light.

And I'm not alone.

He's here with me, as he's always been, as he always will be. Forever united, forever kissing.