Pantheist Credo

1. We revere and celebrate the Universe as the totality of being, past, present and future. It is self-organizing, ever-evolving and inexhaustibly diverse. Its overwhelming power, beauty and fundamental mystery compel the deepest human reverence and wonder.

2. All matter, energy, and life are an interconnected unity of which we are an inseparable part. We rejoice in our existence and seek to participate ever more deeply in this unity through knowledge, celebration, meditation, empathy, love, ethical action and art.

3. We are an integral part of Nature, which we should cherish, revere and preserve in all its magnificent beauty and diversity. We should strive to live in harmony with Nature locally and globally. We acknowledge the inherent value of all life, human and non-human, and strive to treat all living beings with compassion and respect.

4. All humans are equal centers of awareness of the Universe and nature, and all deserve a life of equal dignity and mutual respect. To this end we support and work towards freedom, democracy, justice, and non-discrimination, and a world community based on peace, sustainable ways of life, full respect for human rights and an end to poverty.

5. There is a single kind of substance, energy/matter, which is vibrant and infinitely creative in all its forms. Body and mind are indivisibly united.

6. We see death as the return to nature of our elements, and the end of our existence as individuals. The forms of “afterlife” available to humans are natural ones, in the natural world. Our actions, our ideas and memories of us live on, according to what we do in our lives. Our genes live on in our families, and our elements are endlessly recycled in nature.

7. We honor reality, and keep our minds open to the evidence of the senses and of science’s unending quest for deeper understanding. These are our best means of coming to know the Universe, and on them we base our aesthetic and religious feelings about reality.

8. Every individual has direct access through perception, emotion and meditation to ultimate reality, which is the Universe and Nature. There is no need for mediation by priests, gurus or revealed scriptures.

9. We uphold the separation of religion and state, and the universal human right of freedom of religion. We recognize the freedom of all pantheists to express and celebrate their beliefs, as individuals or in groups, in any non-harmful ritual, symbol or vocabulary that is meaningful to them.

Gillian Hanscombe, from An Intimate Wilderness: Lesbian Writers on Sexuality.

“It’s when two women fall in love with each other that lives are transformed, mountains moved, dormant strengths discovered, enhanced and magnified. And falling in love can’t be manipulated, either by one’s own wiIl, or by a culture of erotica. Falling in love has little to do with what is outside us. Nothing falls on me from above. I do the falling; and so does she. We fall towards one another, trusting in trust, believing that the nakedness of the body indeed images the nakedness of the dreams and theories, the tempests and the narratives, that we are prepared to reveal. And the mystery of the continuity of passion lies in the capacity of the other, the partner, and in oneself, to be endless, to be never completely claimed, to be never utterly known. That capacity for endlessness, for change, is what is energised by passion. Truly shared sexuality changes us, over and over, more powerfully than almost anything else.” — “In Among the Market Forces?”

Love poem (Three word Wednesday)

Dear Sky,

Your suppleness clouds my novice thoughts

so much I become light in my own body

A heavy tar escapes from my grounded flesh.

As a way to give you a kiss of gratitude I must ignite, into ash 

billowing smoke signals. And when my gesture of affection 

rises softly and gently. I sear into my chest the words 

'With this distant eternal melancholic hearts 

I'll long for you.' Just as I kiss you on the cheek

Love,

Earth.

I Like Your Flaws

Dec. 20, 2011

 

By Stephanie Georgopulos

I like how you mispronounce words sometimes, how you fumble and stammer and stutter looking for the right ones to say and the right ways to say them. I appreciate that you find language challenging, because it is, because everything manmade is challenging. Including man, including you.
When you sleep on your side, I like to map the constellations between your beauty marks freckles pimples, the minuscule mountains that sprinkle your back. I like the tufts of hair you forgot to shave and the way you smell when you haven’t showered in a while; I like the sleep left in your eyes.
I like the way your skin dies in the middle of the night, how you die from embarrassment the next morning; how you writhe in the snake casing you’ve left behind. I like that you think pillow snowflakes carry more weight than pillow talk; that you think my opinion of you is so fickle that it could change overnight. (It’s not.)

I enjoy seeing you insecure, vulnerable. I like to watch red steam light up your cheeks, a spreading mist of shame when you think you’ve done something unacceptable like missing a step on the stairs or not having the perfect answer to something I’ve said. It’s like you honestly don’t know how wonderful you are, it’s like you have no idea.

The burns, the scars, the black and blues on your face body heart, I want to know their stories. I want to know what hurt you, who hurt you, how bad the damage is. I like your hard, ugly toenails and the layer of fat that lines your belly, the soft parts you try to hide. It’s okay to be soft, sometimes.

I appreciate your ability to get inappropriately angry as much as I appreciate your willingness to apologize afterward. I like how your passion manifests unpredictably and uncontrollably, how your feelings cannot be caged or concealed, how you’re incapable of apathy.

I like how you can’t dance, how you have pedestrian taste in music, how the worst song on every album is your favorite. I like how enthusiastic you are when you hear it, it’s like you don’t know how terrible it is, it’s like maybe how you’re able to love someone like me. (Perhaps that’s your biggest flaw, perhaps that’s the one I love most.)

Your flaws single you out, set you apart, make you different from the rest, and thank god. I don’t just put up with settle for accept your blemishes, I like them. I like them because they make you human, and humans are easier to love than photographs and illusions and ideals; humans fit more easily between arms and between legs; humans are welcome to their imperfections because if there’s one thing humans can do perfectly, it’s love. Humans can love, they can do it flawlessly.

Those Curious Knives (spoken word poetry)

The first time I heard the sounds of sex I was 8. Standing with fear and curiosity outside my parents bedroom door. Clutching a bag of stolen chips and a glass of grape juice. I was going to have a late night tea party but instead of innocent giggles of imagination I got very real debauchery. Even at the age of 8
my plans always had an annoying way of turning to shit.

And my over active imagination went for a walk down a dark path.

From the cries and pleading, moaning and groaning I thought my mom was getting murdered, mutilated. and stabbed. Which technically she was just not with a knife. Oh no not with a knife. I didnt investigate but made flight for my instincts to fight was undeveloped. And by morning the incident was already forgotten as most memories of childhood fade into the minds dark night. But in that moment standing outside that door a seed was planted.

The first girl I ever kissed was named Santanna. She had the softest lips. Two moth wings, virgin-touches brushed mines was the most tickling sensation I had ever felt.
If my black skin could blush I would have been a cherry. A cherry that I would have given Santanna to pop but wouldnt understand the intricate, delicate, meaning of such a gift in my prepubescent idles.

She had straighten permed hair. That laid flat on her head. Her skin was darker than mine. A kind of black that was purple. She told me she didnt mind it if I called her Blackie since I was special. But I never did. Because I was not a cruel school bully with low self-esteem but a girl with a love-crush. I thought we would get married in a tree and kiss in the leaves just because we could.

When I first realized that if I nibbled on Santanna's ear and tweaked her nipples she would moan my name, as if I was her God in that moment from that planted seed years ago a monster was born. A horny, curious, mannish little boy with a secret. The fruit dont fall far from the tree and I was definitely my father's daughters though. But I wanted to be the husband fuck being the wife, because boys had more fun.

The breadcrumbs of the pleasure are meant to be followed by the starved, and I had just tasted the donuts, croissants, french breads, gateaus of all cakes. Santanna was the filling that I craved, my own slice of American pie that I wanted to fuck in the kitchen.

When my father found Santanna and I kissing he gave me a wink and a round of applause.

When mom found Santanna and I kissing I received no standing ovation. It was a lazy afternoon, on my bed. Naturally, me on top. Santanna's Crying and pleading, moaning and groaning. Her lips still softer than rain so I drank. Every. Last. Drop.

With Mother listening with wide eyes, trembling hands, and silent fury which didnt remain silent for long.

I couldnt help but to wonder if her first thoughts, standing outside my closed bedroom door, holding the days laundry, were that I was murdering Santanna with my knife that wasnt really a knife.

Draft

I miss her but
I am not depressed yet,
but give me a couple more days.
No right now I just have an
over active imagination.

Boredom doesnt help either,
because when I am not
sleeping or eating I am thinking
about how much I want to cook for her
or dream of her lips.

Or daydreaming of her lips
while I am cooking.
Which I will argue does not
correlate to the fact that
I have burnt noodles for the 3rd time.

This rectangle mattress
has become my prison
and the numerous blankets
are the ropes that holds me down
preventing my escape to go out and find her.

To take her when I do,
in my arms no matter
where or what she is doing
and proceed to give her a very
hot and sexy reason we should never part.

I have taken to making paper origami
to the pass the time, and
I plan on giving them to her
when she returns
but so far I only have

23 Cranes,
45 roses,
11 flowers, and
5 elephants
Along with the 8 love letters

I wrote but didnt send because
I wanted to see the look on her face when she read them.
And I know each word will sound corny and sickening
as a candy-corn smeared with chocolate to the rest of the
world but I say screw you haters

I think metaphors
comparing our love to sunshine rainbow is original
because I am the first to give her sunshine rainbow love
I am still bored however
and I still miss her.

And with all the presents
that have been accumulating
in a small pile beside our soft love making nest,
all I ask in return
is a sweet kiss and for her to

grab my hand and promise
to never leave my side again.
Or at least take me with her
the next time
she goes to the corner store.

Crappy love poem

Every once in a while my mind would have a thought,
A flashback to a moment
where my heart pumped fast
A blush warmed my moca cheeks
All was right in the world and
I was alright in the arms of
whom with I wanted to be

Every once in a while I will
dream of a face that shattered my heart
And wake up with tears stained sheets.
With eyes opened now the tears remain at bay.
And continue to stay that way
As I shifted closer to the one that merticulously glued
Back together each shattered piece.

With in

I feel the need to start again on the long journey of healing and reconnecting with the person I know still lives within me. I stopped for a while and now that I am done wallowing in the misery I can walk again.

I hope to find peace and enlightenment inside myself so that I might be strong enough to give and bask in the unconditional love of her presence. I can only pray I will never feel crippled again.

July 25

Never before have I felt such a multitude of emotions for anyone. This moment right now, my heart beats not only in my chest but in my throat, my mind, my sex, and in my eyes. I am in awe at how similar we are, but so different at the same time. Parallelism isnt the right word, but its the closest.

My number of past relationships is greater but that only makes me more seasoned and knowledgeable in the field of pain. I think this is why I am so frighten. I am not even in her presence and yet feel so compelled to do everything in my power to make her smile.

I am aching with every breath I take. If I was frighten before then there is no words to describe what I am feeling right now. Bitter acid stirs in the back of my mind when I think of all the shit we have to go through. I think its so unfair that in order to find love, we have to experience the pain of heartbreak.

God, I am so tired to having my heart broken by the people I thought would take it in their hands and kiss it gently. I must have faith though. Because If I loose the hope that one day I will find my mate, then I wont ever see myself being whole.

Arrows

She had hope that was filled worried. If you tip it over confusion will pour out. Longing so bad it hurt. But not as much as the holes in her heart from cruel tiny arrows. They will never heal but she wont let that get in her way. The string was surprisingly easy to pull and the archer was so beautiful. Whats one more hole.

If you dont use it...

My heart is starving. With nothing but loneliness to chase away my appetite, I watch as the once thriving flesh that was my love wither away.

As I watch my heart become weak and fragile. I am reminded of how it got that way. How silence wrapped its cold hands around my insecurity and instantly cut off all flow.

Leaving behind anger.

Stillborns and Memorial day

Hello sister.

Even though we never held hands, or brushed each other cheeks with butterfly kisses. Blew raspberries out car windows together. Never sang to one another or braided the others hair. I love you even though we never met because you were already gone before I came. I love you because as I sat with mama in her grief and I know you were loved. I smiled with my heart every time someone calls me by your name.

Keeping waiting for me and I will keep remembering.

Love,

Your sister

by your side

It isnt all about your apitite. Dont speak I cant hear you with my ears still hungry for more silence. I will give you big smiles and always be by your side, while wearing invisible black eyes and bruised housewife thighs.

Cocorosie
Swiming stillborns girls and fem love story blues.

Heaven Cloud

I see you now, the flutter of a butterfly.
I chase you, To feel, to lose,

You are in my sight, Open the gate, I follow through and into you. My longing for you, My belonging to you. For what magic is this that consumes me so…

Dizzy and daydreamt, the fire that is you. Your scorching presence lingers and writhes, burning and engulfing the emptiness I feel.

Controlling and out of control, With fiery hands you grasp. Cradling me in your embrace of flame. My eternal sun.

The bringer of light into my life.
The heaven and hell that is love.

Maurice Cross

Mistress

Maîtresse, embrasse-moi, baise-moi, serre-moi,
Haleine contre haleine, échauffe-moi la vie,
Mille et mille baisers donne-moi je te prie,
Amour veut tout sans nombre, amour n'a point de loi.


Mistress, embrace me, kiss me, hold me tight,
breath against breath, breath me life,
thousand and thousand kisses give me I beg you,
Love wants everything without condition, love has no law

Mudlove Glue

She was born from a union broken, drowned, and rushed. Pushed through a baby gap of a young mistake. What could have been in the future, a birth done on the white sheets of love, was soiled with the mud of too soon undeveloped feuding blood.

Her and She and He. The present is a gift and she just want to be. Remember her not as the freaky lesbian daughter. For the past is meant to be left behind her as she arches and marches forward searching for her mate, to master and to bait. In order for her to finally cum.

Her spirit is meant to be give to one and only one. But her body tends to get lost in the mix. Searching through many faces, fingers, pleasure and feelings. Her mud is the glue that connects their hearts to others when she is done breaking it.

Pain and Love

Letting her voice catch the wind to fly her love away. Will you let her voice reach your ears? Would you listen to it like it was a secret whispered between lovers laying under the sheets?

The moon falls as the sun rise, she is still awake. Too tired to sleep now a days. Scrambled voices float through her head pounding their opinions on the inside of her brain. She cries as her headache grows worst.

Sharpen notes pierce her skin like the pencil through her hands. Watching the blood seep into the carpet. Picking up the pain and folding it into a paper plane. Blow a little kiss and watch it fly, alongside her love.

The apple dont fall to far from the family tree

Pressure just under her eyes. She will not cry has become her new motto, as of tomorrow. But it hurts so much mother.

I know baby just accept the pain with a kind heart, open smiles, and a half empty bottle of wine.

Oh mother if you had to choose over, she hope you would choose the other.

But being her mothers daughter causes the pressure of depression and emotional repression to take toll. And dear sweet father, so confused about the world with an already to heavy to carry soul.

Drunken days makes the night more bearable when you are passed out. Cant be awake to open the door of mistakes. Trying to live without facing failures of life. But the numbers seem to increased tenfold everyday.

Sighing is becoming another habit. Thank you mother. Thank you father. She is the pride and joy of a used to be happy daughter.

Soulmates

She desired to kiss, touch, and feel her lovers but to never become their possession. They were all too unworthy, of such love.

Its wrong to hold oneself in such high esteem, some may suggest. Such a pretentious nature will only lead her down a path of eternal loneliness.

But that is wrong to assume such thoughts about her. If she ever found herself in love, no longer will she wants be her own person. Too long has she lived for herself and desired her soul to become one with the other. You and me would become us. As it should be for soulmates.

If one was prepared to give themselves so fully to another human being then is it in their rights to be finicky?

She thought so.

Moths

Innocent ears are fooled by sweet melodies
The smirking mouth tells all lies
Moths crowds her mind, their wings tickling the walls
They are lured in by the bright feathered birds and lustful light
Cramped fingers, lecherous hands, broken nails
Present changes the past tests and past fails
Four letters, four meanings, one song, one word
Family, friends, lust, and lover
The bird destroyer and the moth creator
Captivating and playful wings lead her astray
But it is the letters, meanings, song and word
That keeps her from getting eaten by the hungry bird