The inward journey is not a path
but a pulse~
a quiet thrum beneath the ribs
that asks me to follow
without promising arrival.
It begins in the soft collapse
of outward noise,
in the moment the world’s demands
fall away like dust
from a long-closed book.
I walk without moving,
descending through layers
of my own unspoken history~
the rooms I locked,
the names I whispered,
the truths I folded
into the smallest corners
of my breath.
Here, memory becomes terrain.
Regret becomes weather.
Desire becomes a compass
that points not north
but inward,
toward the place
where my oldest questions
still glow.
And standing in that small room of light,
its lone ember breathing softly,
I realize the inward journey
is a homecoming~
a gentle turning toward
the oldest version of myself,
the one that never left.
kisses.
feel them
the tension and aliveness
they’re loaded with psychology and social context
its an intense observation
mouths connect our inner and outer worlds
they cross the exterior-interior divide
they’re simple forms of passion and expression
but they’re drastic and emphatic
I wrestle with wildness
I desire less breathing room, less layering
I riot with instinctive response
I long to obliterate feminine’ restraint
and share inner experience
.
.
A song for this:
Drive Me Crazy by The SoCal VoCals
Fly Into Your Arms (a cappella) by X-Cetra
Nothing Can Stop Us by Saint Etienne
Graciousness forms
the apparel of the meek,
tempered in blistering
hues of aura crafted
with the breath of
exhaustion sinking
deep into the soul
of the soulless,
there it wanders
with eyes open wide,
a pop of life silenced
by its surroundings,
forsaken lands filled
with despotic nature,
crucified
their interior along
with their exterior,
proceeding cautiously
as it gravitates
toward the center,
connecting humble
origins placing
the palm of its heart onto
forced separation,
the wind wraps
around creating
sanctuary healing
the wounded descent
of sacrifice,
predetermined
by its antecedents,
a child born
through ashes into
the world's callous
ever ruling
appeal.
Standing on my head
looking up at the trees
and the sparkling sky
When it’s dark I don’t see
the ship float by nor
the tsunami sea
Upside-down women
on either side
of cotton candy eventide
When the light’s bright
palms and ferns come to life
tickling my soles
and I am able
to rearrange the houseplants
with my toes
How much harder it is
to apprehend the tossed high heels
and the mute parrot
high and higher
almost in flight
but I catch them
as I carry on
with lethargic lids
that never seam
The minute I close them
my baby-faced muse
pries them open
with a seam ripper
and I flick the light back on
and then to annoy her
I hit the switch
so I can view the “Fanch”
in the Hitchcock hour
Truly, I am reclining
and in turn propelling
out of my chair
It’s been a long day
I won’t bore you with its tales
I’ll just point you to
the simple fact
that artwork looks different
hanging
upside-down
or inside-out
or Cubist
On the inside of the doohickey
is the cogwheel thingamajig.
And that thingamajig keeps the thingy working well.
It turns and cranks and circles around and round
like the second hand on an analog face clock.
On the inside of the workspace office
are the people that run the show,
and even if they have the most expensive of mechanisms
will be a chaotic environment if not
for the heart of the office glow.
On the inside of the human
is a mechanism most grand!
The heart that pumps a life giving, bloody, stream of life.
And the heart is the center of our emotions.
Our heart is the reason we laugh
and its the reason we cry the salty tears.
But no matter the location on the GPS
or no matter the engine in the truck,
and no matter the ink in the pen,
the heart of the person is the mechanism
that matters more than the most.
There are no cogs, springs, wheels, or gears inside of me.
I'm a flawed human whose mind and heart often disagree.
I don't have parts, interior mechanisms like those inside a clock.
but if my heart makes a decision, my mind puts up a roadblock.
There's no symbiosis between them, nor a willingness to agree.
Each day is a struggle for me, from which I cannot break free.
Mechanical parts of a washing machine sometimes need repair,
but when heart and mind are at odds, it's a hardship I must bear.
It's pugilistic sparring and I'm overwhelmed with doubt and fears
because I'm the one who always gets hurt, bringing me to tears.
I can't get through to my heart, and simply cannot make it clear
to a stubborn mind that tunes out what it doesn't want to hear.
I've pleaded and tried bartering but neither one will take heed.
I've accused them both of having an ego and an attitude of greed.
The interior machinations of my mind and heart often malfunction.
My heart seeks love, while my mind is smug with selfish unction.
I can't really remember when the last time was, they ever agreed.
They're an enigma, each one having its own beliefs and creed.
"If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe," ... Carl Sagan
Subtle crafts soundly, using euphemisms,
yet cluelessness dealt a sheltered abyss.
When one confront internal mechanisms,
whatchamacallit ... orphaned hit-or-miss.
A conundrum conspires an endowed soul,
behooves postmortem liken achievement.
Where'er wits helix baptism, buried hole,
an urchin crawlspace, be I foundling sent.
Newborn bid birthright a pardoned envoy,
of mature absence deemed as uncharted.
Internals blueprint designed, bad employ,
indeed, tunnels end--will be lights outed.
Rare conscientiousness temper unknown,
infiltrate hallmark translates as dethrone.
O canc'rous creature enmeshed within me,
Thou art first - yes, the worst - capital fault.
You won't work in shadows - others must see,
Yet you hide in plain sight while you assault -
The crystalline castle you seek to break;
Any light that's not yours is blasphemy!
Collect ugly sins ne'er claiming them fake.
But they're part of your twisted symphony.
Not perfect, but you ... what could be more true?
Can't betray yourself, so you'll look beyond.
Bend light to yourself. Consume! Conquer! Do!
Ignore soft cries when they try to respond.
Begone now demon from my diamond hall.
If you must be first ... then be first to fall!
8 October 2023
Inspired by introduction to St. Teresa's "Interior Castle"
If your motives are ulterior,
Then, hatch them in The Interior
Where the Blame-Worthy is senior
And the Praise-Worthy junior;
But your gain: Satan’s hysteria,
In hospitals Fresh Diphtheria,
The Ulterior makes The Inferior
Hardly, The Ulterior superior:
The by-nature meant for the rear,
Coastal regions and ones by a ria
Welcoming Sacrifice to Fear…
If your motives aren’t The Ulterior,
Yourself produce at The Exterior
Without notice of the prior.
Interior
Preparação interior
é tudo;
para tudo
– do negócio ao amor;
está no seu interior
a única bússola verdadeira.
Acima de tudo,
escute a bússola
de seu coração,
tudo o que você precisa
PARA TUDO,
tudo mesmo
está dentro de você
a força para fazer
mais e mais.
Consultora.
MANIC DEPRESSION
There is a well of blackened brine,
That knows no dell of air or sunshine,
A volatile fire, it consumes the heart,
The mind, the spirit, it rends apart.
And when the hell spawn is loosened in the night,
Beneath the mad moon, bereft of hope, and stripped of light,
The long, corridor where candles flicker
Makes the dark malevolent, the fog grows thicker,
Until all hope is banished-
Hell has arrived
With steely claws which rise from fire
Doom- demise, gloom beyond reason.
There is no blame, no tangible treason.
And the hallow wind courses through the soul,
Devouring dreams, swallowing whole
All of Neptune's promise,
The rings of Saturn.
An outcast that does fall
You are thrown into the endless pit,
Devoid of stars,
In a maddened, mortal, tortured fit.
JOHN LARS ZWERENZ
i recently realized i can love someone until i love myself
i need to make one thing about me and put my heart on the high shelf
as much as you make me happy i need to learn to love my body
and i can’t keep making you my only single hobby
everything about you consumes me, you have my heart every bit, the entirety
but i have to love me just as much and have myself as my #1 priority
so give me some time to be happy looking in the mirror
because as happy as i look on the outside, that’s not how it is in the interior
The interior landscape
Here in the landscape of bushes and crippled trees
silence speaks of the final peace.
Grotesque dead trees with grey boughs stretching upward
appealing to a fairytale God:
“Give us today a new life.”
There is only one god with many names
you can`t trust him to hear your whisper in the wind.
Those who do not understand this are doomed to endlessly
going to casinos or nightclubs, unable to be alone the noise drowns out the ghost of god.
Pale faces seeing a horror behind you or into a void which
is the biggest punishment is to be forgotten.
I shun not this landscape as it has been abandoned by man
can only be peaceful.
INTERIOR SPRING
spring carpet in teal
chirping of tea pot ~ sipping
fresh air through screen door
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
Everyone thinks, it's all there is.
all that's different & special, they miss.
they think there's nothing more to her,
& all their visions are in a blur.
Why can't they see pass her pretty face?
Why not see that she's unique in so many ways?
If only they know she's an art,
then they can fully see her True Heart.
They only see what's outside,
not the Soul that's inside.
They always take advantage of her beauty,
In her eyes, lays the Real Story.
It's the bitter sweet truth,
of this generation, of this years youth.
That's why she's used to people forsaking.
Not knowing her heart is also breaking.
Sometimes she wants to explain,
All her secrets & pain.
If they just show her good Intentions,
Then they'll probably see all Her hidden Interiors.
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