I used to say that the Yoniverse,
was in the middle of her greatest ever striptease,
and that I have a front row seat.
But I was wrong.
Actually its a Burlesque show.
And its not a seat,
its the eye of a hurricane.
And to the tune of ‘Black Betty’
She is peeling off garments,
So quickly now
I am mesmerised.
Her veils fall over my eyes,
at first blinding,
then clearing my vision.
Which never fail to hit target.
Although they are not swords,
She will never reveal everything..
And right now,
I am so gripped,
by what her next move might be
that I cannot breathe.
Only gasp at the perplexing perfection of her.
And laugh and cry at the same time.
by Aisha Wolfe
Look out there.
Over and over and over again.
You may seem like a woman.
But you are a palmful of water.
Reflecting, what is projecting.
The moon’s daughter.
With no-one and nothing,
to keep you in a constant shape.
You are re-born
in the belly of the oldest snake.
You were seeking the holding,
That would allow you to flow.
It showed up as surrender.
So, let go.
May I be humble enough to be only an instrument of Grace.
May my centre stay low to the ground and free.
May my words be less, but kinder.
May I come to be stable in the knowing
that God is in the small details;
the passing contacts,
the stretching ache of heart muscles,
the relentless call for truth and integrity that wearies me.
May I be more grateful for the past,
the stamina of soul gained by ordeal.
May I learn to stop running from fate and instead
drop deeper into the weave of my destiny.
I am annointed.
May I become intimate
with how exhaustion
leads to prayer.
A Temple is a place of worship.
Acknowledged as having divine presence within.
The Temple is Everywhere.
There are no walls that I can see.
Or that I cannot enter.
In preparation for the Great Brightening.
Sometimes there is a voluntary entering of the darkness.
Like the way the sun sets below the horizon,
to make space for the moon.
In obscurity and concealment,
the purpose becomes clear.
The self aligns with the Self.
What is important, emerges.
Love and Spirit are returning.
After a long and arduous trail.
Every structure had to be dismantled.
Every skin; shed.
There is a great surge
in the river of time.
Within it flow the symbols,
Which unfold the way.
Heaven is moving from below.
Turning to face the opposite direction.
The heart sees the joyous union.
Of heaven inside earth.
It is dawning on me,
that poetry is a written invocation
to enter heaven.
A petition to grace.
Preparing the heart
Buffering the fall of the separate self.
If I write about this vision before me right now,
The silver lake of the Pacific ocean.
Or about learning to ground
while becoming diaphanous.
Its merely stiction.
The friction that tends to prevent stationary surfaces
from being set in motion.
So long in the West,
it has become the East.
Where there once were scarab beetles.
Now there are birds,
the hawks, the hummingbirds, the pelicans,
the soul winged one,
I howled for inspiration.
and it answered.
the voice of spirit has entered.
It is mostly silent,
except when it births me
in the spaces between the words.
By Aisha Wolfe
Our true friends,
who want us to be all that we can be.
Will never rescue us from aloneness.
the only place intimacy can be found,
is in the arms of the darkness of
In this place,
the soul deepens.
In this place,
We can become still enough to witness
the hidden pearl
as it is forming.
Making love with the darkness
takes a certain kind of courage.
You will meet some shadows
and they may seem real, threatening even.
But they are teachers,
one and all.
In the darkness,
you will come to know your own light,
so you need not fear
The light of others is always changeable
and prone to flickering.
When you welcome home
It is a mansion to the infinite
which will never be foreclosed
by the banks.
So take a deep breath,
look all around you at the fading colours
and simply drop in.
You can quote me on this,
there is a pearl diver out there
just waiting for you to be ready.
By Aisha Wolfe.
Lie down and rest.
You are home and safe and held.
No more fighting for survival.
I love you.
I have made a small safe haven,
a mound on the earth with moss and furs and a finely woven shawl of compassion.
I invite the small bewildered orphan
who resides in us all to enter.
Come in through the dark heart
at the base of the sequoia tree.
A magical life,
is your birthright,
as the Bliss cell that you are.
Do you not know that we are all
thinking and feeling and creating this world
at the same time..
The mind, powerful as it is
may present many persuading reasons to be sceptical.
It is still following the previous suggestions;
therefore I am,
Just like everyone else,
therefore I am safe.”
So conditioned to measuring the hearts flow.
So little trust in being it.
We can help eachother to fully flower.
This is the Garden.
There are no motherless children here.
No being far away from home.
We can expand our capacity to feel it all,
like a new muscle being toned.
Until every single cell in our being,
chooses love through fear.
We try to pour the ocean of our soul into a thimble.
Mostly because we are afraid,
to feel so much.
by Aisha Wolfe.
For a very long time
I heard God whispering to me
“I keep calling to you, why do you not come?”
And now I know the answer.
I could not come
until I knew there was
really nowhere else to go.
by Aisha Wolfe
Looking outside of yourself
is like chasing the horizon.
you hear this,
and refuse to listen,
It is like me telling you
you will never reach the horizon.
And you responding to me
Yes I will,
as you run off seeking
what is inside you all along.
By Aisha Wolfe