Medusa I Hear You Calling

 

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Deep, deep, deep, pain.

So deep that only the bravest will go.

Its hard to breath this deep.

Its hard to move this deep.

Its hard to just BE THIS DEEP.

But I have BEEN THIS DEEP BEFORE.

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I remember that I cried and wailed

and gave my pain to GAIA,

asking for re-birth again and again.

I will do this again,

and again and again.

Re-birthing, re-birthing, re-birthing,

its hypnotic rhythm a luscious siren song.

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Medusa, I hear you calling.

I am awaiting your devour,

your anhilation of all that does not serve.

Chew me up and spit me out,

let all your enzymes change me.

What remains is my alchemy,

the Changeling I am to become.

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New and dripping with life,

a prism of sun and liquid on a crystalline wing.

I arch my back as I await your arrival,

death and birth being one and the same,

so that each death is followed by the peace of emergence.

Medusa, I hear You calling.

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April Aronoff

 

Roses, Beauty and Mother Mary

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These are the last of my roses, picked two days ago on 12/7/16.  We are at the start of winter in northern California, with rain and cold lingering these past few weeks.  I am amazed that any of my plants are still producing in December, but that is the blessing now, isn’t it?

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I am utterly in love with roses.  You can take one look and see why; they are astonishingly beautiful.  Beauty has been a recurring theme for me.  It’s definition has expanded remarkably, as I have now experienced beauty on many different levels; I see, smell, feel and taste beauty.  It takes my breath away when I am in its presence, and my heart fills with such joy and gratitude for this connection.

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I can always relay on my roses to bring me beauty.  These last few flushes have been stunning, and I am completely honest when I say that smelling the above bouquet brought me to a place within beauty that I can only describe as pure grace.   I am under the  spell of the Rose, I admit it freely!.  I am a Rose Addict.

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Which brings me to Mother Mary, whose list of symbols includes the Rose.  When I read about why The Rose is Her symbol, it is explained that Roses are the Queen of Flowers, and Mother Mary is the Queen of Heaven and Earth.  They are both Queens!  But I feel there is more than that.  The frequency and vibration of the Rose can heal the body and soul deeply, as well as its physical nutritive properties.  For me Mother Mary is the ultimate loving mother, one who both dissolves pain and nourishes with love.  Roses and Mother Mary heal and fill the soul with love.  They are that kind of energy, and why I see Them as One.

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In the name of The Rose,

April Aronoff

Avoid Dance, A Poem

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I have been avoiding for some time.  At first the avoidance was at a distance, a good 10 feet apart, and I could dance with it, entertain myself with its magnetic need to look away.

Then avoidance grew closer, quiet sometimes, noisy at others.  Its need to bow down, bow out, keep moving, keep busy, lest the pain consume, consume, consume, a steady pulsing river pulling me along for the ride.

Until it was touching me, running its fine silky fingers along my skin, settling in like netting on a fish, a blanket of constrained movement and form like a second skin.

The avoidance a thrashing, shrill voice, demanding I don’t look, don’t explore, don’t do anything, DON’T FEEL ANYTHING.

The irony is that at its core avoidance is pain.  The very thing avoidance has tried to keep me from.

Now it is so close I must look it in the eye, its iris an angry blaze of electric fire, and I know there is no turning back.  I am either going to let this beast consume, or I will hold its pain in my loving embrace.

And just look

Explore

Do

Feel.

And of course,

Heal.

 

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April Aronoff

The Forgotten Sense/Poem To My Yoni

 

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You have forgotten me

shut me out

put up yellow tape,

Caution,”

“No trespassing,”

“Do not enter.”

***

Entangled vines

high frequency cries

from unknown creatures

dwelling inside.

An eco-system pulsing and untouched.

***

I spread my legs wide

and peer inside

and gasp at the

light within me.

 Pearly walls

butterfly wings

lotus lips.

A rabbit hole leading somewhere

I can imagine in my mind,

ecstatic

safe

snug.

***

I was born with you

and I will die with you.

Whole cultures rally shame

around your very existence.

But you are simply

just another part of me,

like a finger

a tongue

an eye.

Tools I would never consider disregarding,

so why do I disregard you?

***

If I can touch

and taste

and see,

why should I deny

that which is my life-force,

my birthright?

***

The forgotten sense,

That’s what you are.

A sense I know only

the barest surface of.

***

Slowly, I remove the tape.

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April Aronoff

 

Jump-A Poem

 

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Why is it so hard to get the words

from here to there?

They are shouting across a chasm,

begging for a rope or a bridge,

anything to take them to the other side

where they can finally come alive,

living, breathing, and dictating a life

that is bursting to be heard.

 

Then I hear it:

“You can do it,” the voice tells me,

“Jump”

The chasm is deep and wide,

and I lose my sense of balance

as I stare into its nothingness.

“Jump,” it tells me again,

“You can do it, don’t look down.”

I shift my line of vision up 90 degrees,

the other sides features fuzzy,

but with outlines I can clearly see.

“Jump!” the voice says more firmly, “Do it, Jump!”

There is no guarantee I will make it,

no way of knowing if I will land breathing

or made up of bloody pieces,

but the thought of not trying is death.

“Jump!” the voice is now yelling, “Do it now, jump!”

I take a deep breath and close my eyes,

a vision appearing despite my sudden loss of sight,

every ounce of my blood alive,

and get a running start

and Jump.

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April Aronoff

Photography By April Aronoff

 

About My Roses

IMG_0811Ten rose bushes.  That’s how many I have planted.  I have nine in the backyard and five in the front, fourteen rose bushes total.  Thirteen of them are medium to big shrubs, highly fragrant and continuously blooming.  One of them is a spectacular rich, pink climber that will frame a window I have a view of when sitting in the garden living room.  IMG_1424The colors range from peach, to pale yellow, deep yellow, light pink, deep pink, violet, plum, deep crimson, red, and variegated crème and rust.  It will be a spectacular sight, when all these roses are in bloom.  I imagine my garden as a healing space, surrounded by luscious, fragrant roses, the emblem of love in its highest form.IMG_1221I want to bathe in the sweetness of the smell, the way it calms my nervous system and ignites my sensory preceptors, so that things like hearing, sight and touch, are amplified.

IMG_1179I am profoundly thankful that as I go through this space of deep grief and healing, I have these roses to look forward to.  I will evolve as they evolve.  The smell alters my DNA.  Perhaps that is why I am a gate keeper of the Rose.  I recognize its deep healing power.  IMG_0814As gate keeper my intention is to make my own oil from these roses of mine.  To heal myself with my own hands, the power of what I have created.  It is the dawn as night transforms into day.  It is the light I know will greet me soon.IMG_0654

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April Aronoff

Photography By April Aronoff