My Voice


I heard my voice joking with the woman who served me coffee this morning. I heard my voice laugh and it surprised me. I heard my voice like it was some old friend I’d forgotten. I heard my voice like a spectre moving through me from some memory of this warrior I watched stride from room to room holding space for hearts witnessing my voice. I heard my voice forgive me for the stuttering stumbling sounds I have hated myself for when I wake screaming in the middle of the night. I heard my voice disappear as I walked out of the cafe wondering if I’ll ever hear my voice again. Smiling to myself, in the sunshine, walking near the ocean by my new home, I thought of my voice and all the things it’s said, never said, has yet to say. Maybe there will be a new voice, she and I. Maybe not. In the meantime, I’ll be listening.

Be well sister

Sometimes,
when I see a woman
walking down the street,
I think I can feel her sadness.
Sometimes,
in that
moment,
I close my eyes,
open my heart
to tenderly, silently say,
“Be well sister.”
It seems small
though full of love
and a little bit of colour
and little more of power
What ever I may have to share at this
moment.
We need you awake and alive
in this matriarch
because our men
are so tired
our leaders confounded
they need us to stand up
need us to show up
and be grounded.
The patriarch is pained and afraid.
Our little boys shown sensuality as porn
while little girls learn of love through
His eyes
looking at Her.
If all I can do is love her
silently as I drive by
it is a
moment
of another
then another
begets more.
I am awake and shining through Divinity
moment,
then another.
Then two more minutes
begets more.
And if by any chance she can feel our
love
as we love her in the places
she’s forgotten how to love herself.
“Be well sister.”
Love,
Mira Black

I am loved

I can feel vignetted edges

of broken promises

claw and climb out from my mouth.
They leap like little larks 
needing nourishment

craving ease from this punishment
of separation from my Divinity.

I am wrapped in a hunger I don’t fully comprehend
but fly around the fairy tales I thought I’d eventually find.

Wake up this time!


No need to make up reasons,

shut out the raging tease i
n your belly
craving
drama 

diving
deeper in the trauma
of addicted connection.

These juicy moments distract me fully
even though you could never really love me.
There are fantasies clinging to these
 clotted heart beats

hidden in the closet of my older brothers room.

That’s a story Im pushing through.

I thought he hurt me because he hated me but I can see

in these reforming memories,

it was his way of
stealthily
stealing
something
he did not understand but needed none the less.
So he basked freely
in the golden Light,
once pure presence,
shining from my eyes
without my permission.

Stories of my King held me upright through years of lies.
I stand on broken limbs, here, wanting something I have not yet earned
and yet yearned for from those moments of safety usually conditioned daily as a baby
but my father kept forgetting where he set me down.


Beloved,
believe me,
where ever you are,
I’m fighting to be the best of Me.
Giving to this Life all I can be,
returning,
ruthless
, relentless

towards the sunrise

each time the moon’s trickery
did some pretty shitty things to me.
I will still fall in love,
just in case.

It takes a powerful heart to stay in these moments of grace.
Sunset trusting,
maybe
this time,
that reflecting globe shining Light mercilessly
on my skin,
can heal the half of me whole.
Here, in this moment
as my realities destiny unfolds
and I open to the unknown,
what I I do know,

I am Love.
I am Lovable.
I am Loved.

Inside this firing line


This moment,
here,
the one crept up from behind the rear
view
drop kicked me
awake,
through my fate
finger painted by the child
inside my mind.

I notice some kind of
faded memory
biting
gnawing
nagging
severing
stealing real affections
serving left over predictions
of betrayal
and though my heart’s
overcooked and spoilt
the gorging is unavoidable now.
This is an echo of an ancient wound
personified by the depth of
love songs
sung from
across oceans of awareness,
blocked by the multitude of stars
failing their wishes
hidden in dark shadow of light.

But I won’t stop wishing
for You tonight.

Inside this firing line
the only witness
blind men who say everything’s just fine,
scraping rabidly behind their eyes
at the beauty of remembered connection.
Their writhing weeping a Truth of loneliness
in the middle of the night,
only rise with the fakery of lies
bought on credit.

My longing’s laughing at
these ridiculous tears
of imagined loss
searching the sky for God
screaming of my broken bones
burning like phantom pain.

I have no evidence of injury
only the memory of hearing my name
once called across our home
with Real
joy.

I’ll put my pen down here
with that sound
blissfully near
before I remember
just what it was I fear.

Mira Black
June 1st 4:09pm

“What do you want in a long term partner Ms. Black?”


Someone recently ask me about my needs in a long term partner. It took me off guard. Not the question itself of course but my long pause that came after. If asked, do you know what you want in a long term partner, I would have heartily laughed replying of course I do. But when asked for specifics I was surprised at the blank nothing in my mind. I know now, after much consideration, the reason is because those things of which I was so very sure were qualities vital to my long term partner have drastically changed. I had to inquire deeply. Requirements that were once centred on how he made me *feel* have now changed to his philosophies, how he behaves, what choices he makes and what he inspires in me. And I in him.

1. Trust: we trust each other. This is not about never making mistakes but rather to know with certainty that we tell each other the truth, even when it’s difficult to do so. I wish to live with confidence that my partner is doing his own contemplations and introspections so that there is in him a capacity to live from a foundation of honesty, with himself and then with me. He can rely on me and know that I too am doing my inner work, hold a safe space for him to communicate with sincerity just as he does for me even in times of struggle.

2. Respect: we may not always agree and in fact that would bore me but we will take pride in and be readily able to support the actions and choices of the other. We can speak about different philosophies and varied understanding such that we might learn from and evolve. We listen and consider and remain teachable even as we can hold strong and steady to what we believe in. I need to be proud of my Man. And he proud of me.

3. Safe: now hang on all you staunch feminists, this isn’t about my being frail and needing a knight in shiny armour or daddy figure (*respect to all the good daddies out there), this is about solid, conscious devotion to each other. Taking care of each other isn’t bad when does with mutually supportive and conscious temperaments. Co dependant is a thing, I get it, but there is also a place where you have someone you can count on. The yang to my yin. I want to be part of a team and build a home and that takes a deep commitment because life can be chaotic so I need my choice in partner to be a safe haven where I can rest in the storms. Support. Comfort. Dedication. Sacred space where I may lay my head down between battles. It would be a bonus if he makes me laugh. Maybe he would feel stronger knowing that I love him truly.

4. Sexy. As a monogamist and one who is entirely turned on by intelligent, revolutionary, awakened beings, it’s not easy to find one who is like minded but I have decided to wait for that One….to inspire and manifest space for that One. I’m an odd duck in this world of swans. And that’s okay. I prefer him to be like me. I know opposites attract but they’re really hard to live with! Healthy physical choices. Mature mental choices. Playful heart. Kinky nature. Open minded adventurer. Musically discerning….please let him listen to the lyrics. Ambitious and passionate are a must though I accept some of that is subjective. Bar fights: over it. Mama’s boy: over it. Porn: over it. Conforming to the status quo: done and done. He need not be a poet but love my poetry. He need not be romantic but he must romance me…sometimes. We will fight because it’s worth it. We will dance because we must. We will play. The best of friends. We will talk all day into the night and still want to talk some more first thing in the morning. We will revel in the juicy silence of good books and a dark roast on a sunny porch. And he will fuck me with gratitude and consciousness like it’s the last time he has the honour of holding me in his arms.

5. Spirit. This is a tricky one because once again..odd duck…pond of swans. I thought maybe I could let this one go but each time I tried I found it kept coming back to it’s importance. He need not be rich. He need not be tall. There is no requirement from me that he play an instrument or play sports or be popular or suave. His mother doesn’t have to like me and my friends have to requirement to understand. Ethnicity matters not. Bald, bearded, pierced or tattooed none of that matters. But we must speak the same Spiritual language. Communication is vital. His relationship with Divinity matters greatly to me.

I do not expect He will be perfect just as I do expect he will accept my imperfections. External beauty fades and we all screw up. Perfection is a fallacy. And yet, there must be a clear understanding of needs and desires. Can we be pointed in the same direction on this crazy journey? Support and inspire each other on the places where that path forks? We will fall down and do our best to listen in difficult times reaching out a hand to help each other up. Where there is honesty and sincere commitment there is capacity to flow through dark times with grace. And if not grace then with forgiveness. And if not forgiveness then compassion. But always, always Love.

So mote it be and blessed be. <3

Cheeky showmanship

I can feel the “old” cheeky showmanship returning yet the costume is not as I remembered;
the hat too tight
the dress too loose
and those colours clash with my skin.
There’s something new here,
changed so near the aftermath of battle, shattered in the false chatter of addiction
I am remembering something which fed my ego in a tantalizing mirage on which to I attache.
Dust off the little black dress
and highest of high heels
those little girls I shoved to the very back of my closet
They help me shine on the dance floor of my femininity dashingly familiar, the music fills my mind with times of triumph. I will her to smile above the roar of insecurities.
And yet,
these newly found moments of elder and Crone call to my maiden
“Breathe”
and be in the reality of what you’ve seen.
Tell the Truth of these gritty school girl dreams as they collide with what has been and now arrived.
Open your eyes.
Will I pass this test passed down through the lines of my sisters?
Sung praises of mercy for the passion and chaos of my brothers?
Forgive my Father and Mother for what they did to me?
Yes. In this moment until the next.
So, I am learning to dance barefoot on the floor of my own Life.
Love begotten from the barrels of the heart beating too fast in my chest,
pointing me home.

Love,
Mira Black

Wake Up You Slumbering Life


wake up,
you slumbering Life
too accustomed to the status quo!
Like the first time your lover smiles
so alive, allowing the affair to unfold
shuddering souls
between tender words
and sacred space.

i taste the sound of your voice
between my lips
as if
you might finally
kiss me.
make a wish of me,
make a choice
make a move
make mention and prove
me wrong for believing I am unlovable,
as if you could.
yet it’s in the trying that we find the
delicacy of connection.

we can confine the screaming muscles of a mind
which work through muzzles
to unravel thoughts
we find
caught in a
conundrum
confusing conscious efforts
for some
happiness,
with a quest for The Truth.

empty hands reach to a sky
misunderstanding why
that early morning moment makes us cry out
for new love
when the one in front of you lay,
a true love,
nestled on your chest.
when will the present
be enough to salve your wounded heart?

but those eyes that doubt and shroud belief
really don’t want to be seen
and so focus on the bloody contrast between
what is
and the way we think it should be.

the changeable pulse runs amok
rattling teeth
until the next mirage bequeaths hope.
grasp to the last procession that pokes
a deep lumbering state,
drop kicked into the fire of
grace.

don’t mistake a fantasy for beauty
or play the fool when it comes to duty.
let the truth be reflected and bred,
un-mute the song you hear in your head
and sing out so loud even
God begins to dance.

at least your feet know what to do
one and then the next in front of you
one more test of passion
a lesson
too few have the courage to
brave.
breath in.
out.
in.
there is only this.

the quest to know just what to do
distracts the mind cursing through
doldrums days denied dreams we don’t need.
still the loss keeps us weeping for a savour
and all we know for certain,
and this I know for certain,
is you can know nothing
for certain.

Mira Black
May 14th 2017

Soul To Soul


There are too few times in life
when souls are given their reflection.
The fear and attraction
combined creates a distraction from any kind of
safety,
the fate we
find forging frailty,
nudges us towards

reality.

We crawl
over mountains,
bare foot over thorns,
to bare crosses we swore did not exist.

Denial persists
pretending we are solid
while destiny has plotted
placing your twin flame,
that juicy heart,
to shine brightly
at your darkest parts.

There is no logic or containment that can slow our stride,
running head first into tempered glass,
and crash
and stand
and dive

and fly.

This device of Universal ties between us two,
is consciously created to make us face what breaks us
through and through.

The sacrifice the point!

The blaze
burning bearers and illusions of invulnerability
with a choke hold
manifesting growth
only those
willing to face the spokes of
manifestos
gifted from the Gods,
will survive.

We have been bought and sold,
dancing to Disney delusions,
the insurmountable tale
promising perfection.

Too late we learn
forever after does not
come inside a box.
And true love
is more uncommon than you think.

The loss of such a twin ember
sears through remembered trauma
cleansing karma,
and I am sorry for the drama
but never for the depth.

Some may doubt,
spinning in rejective,
grieving waves
which punish.

Still,

I call to each moonlit night,
for Him to have his way with me again.
And then,
I hold myself and cry a bit,
hearing my voice sing new melodies
mooring Mara’s spell
allowing desire to melt,
I talk to my self,
letting lonely out for a walk.
Then climbing, crawling, brawling
up and though stepping bravely back into…

Life.

Today,
when I sit still amidst the chaos,
broken bones,
sticks and stones
thrown by the banter of my mind,
I notice,
I’ve learned love of a different kind.

That Soul who crossed across my path,
razoring past and through and gone, and gone
again gone,
my Beloved’s gone,
returns from time to time whispering,

“Love.”

True love becomes its own reward.
Music muses moments mentioned only in undefinable rhyme.
Days and years may pass with no reason
but the season between them
carved in soft cement.

It’s only now
at dawn,
after fighting through the storms of our imaginations,
that we can see through the wicked shadows of naivety.

“Goodbye” the only words we cannot say.
So, instead we grasp hands for one last stand,
rocking slowly back and forth before the end.
Remembered friends forged from the playground of possibility.

Soul to soul flying free,
to be reborn on the next movie screen.
I think we two will meet again

inside Divinity.