Wild as the ocean, free as a mountain sitting motionless. Soft as a storm blooming in full.






Wild as the ocean. Free as a mountain sitting motionless. Soft as a storm blooming in full.





Saturday, November 26, 2011

I am a sieve

Burdened with many holes.
Millions of breakage strewn throughout my body showing unguarded ways into my soul.
Burdened with many holes, I am a sieve.

Holding water doesn't stay, falling right through when I need it most.
Round and hollow, waiting for dimension to unfold, I shape and form as time seeps through.

What I am given that most becomes the moment, just falls through.
What is least usable sticks to the edges of my holes and takes shape, forming smaller holes until I no longer have space to see.  So now sunlight cannot shine through but in tiny beads that barely break the surface, letting water sit by itself until it is sour.

Everything is affected as a result of this.  Like unclear pieces of an image, specks of noise and thoughts filter through in some angry blur with no tail end, no finishing story.  Chaos fills up around me and I search for still because I have no way of keeping everything out.
I end up searching my bowl for the end, trying to create the rest of the story myself, all in my mind's eye, from scratch and bits floating haphazardly through my holes.  But it's not possible because it is all in pieces that do not connect.

It would be nice to be a different shape, another tool with better edges, but alas I am a sieve.
I seek something clean.  Something not broken into pieces but whole and smooth.
Open-ended and soft.  Something that makes sense all the way from start to finish without my mind interfering.

©11/26/11DanyaMosgofian

Monday, November 14, 2011

I move slow.

For so long now I've moved at a rabbit's pace.  Buzzing and hopping from moment to moment where thoughts ascended like fire up a chute, into sky, burning the woods around and inside me.
But these bunny bones have grown tired as the pace of life thickens and the threads of my soul wear thin.

Something has shifted.  Something brewing deep down for awhile now, is asking for space.
An urge has been crawling upwards and is crying out for attention.
Slow.
I am finally slowing down as the world speeds to a pace it cannot keep up with. And we are now juxtaposed.
Like a turtle I want to ooze over things, caressing the ground underneath me.
Ignoring the end of things, knowing I will get there in good time.
Not to worry or fret over how but just go there slowly, and feel every trace of it.

My body craves a slowing of time, an enveloping of itself into warmth and lust, the complete immersion into moment.
A safe and embodied trust that will develop because I see there is time to build it and if I don't know the way, I will be shown with patience.

Slow conversations that crackle the air with pregnant pauses.
With time to listen to deeper meaning and no fear for what is not said.
Or what needs to be said.  For there is time.

Slow love that seeps into me before my brain can find walls to build.
Hands moving slowly.  Heart opening slowly.  Eyes soft.
Love spreads around me, gently.

The chaos of life is not beyond my witness, for I see how flurried we have become and what I crave most of all, is something that will turn the world on it's end and head the other direction.

Oh how I have grown backwards in time.

©11/14/11DanyaMosgofian

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Winter Changes

Some have come and gone.  Like Autumn leaves that fall by the wayside and become earth, giving of themselves to beget new growth...there is now space to be filled by what lies ahead.
But in the process, the leaving hurts.
Winter branches crack and give way under foot, giving testament to the change that has taken place.
No ceremony, no poetry, only change.
A painful breaking of cells to make room for new ones.
This is the body of change, the mechanism of life.

Quietness sits like a blanket in the dark weighing heavy, bringing a strange comfort and uncertainty as the air grows still and dampens with cold.
There is a desire to sit and wait, to grow colder as the heart wonders in silence what is to come.
It quickens to keep up with the falling temperature and rapid changes.

The eyes see nothing, stillness, and yet the heart feels something is happening, as these winter changes fall down around us.
This life, unfolding before us, mysteriously lays quiet now.

There are no answers yet, life has gone distant for now.  Patience is required.
In the meantime, go and seek the sun.


©10/22/11DanyaMosgofian

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Come Through

This time, please come through.  Show up to me and stay.
Don't wiggle backwards into weakness, for fear of showing me the holes in your spine.
Or cower when I show you mine.
Come through and stay.

©10/11DanyaMosgofian including photograph

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Beckon Me

As Fall may finally be peeking it's head out...I am ready for it and waiting.
I need the softness it begets in me, the intimacy it summons.

In the mean months of Summer, I swell with confusion,
lost in my body's resistance to stay outward and flit about.

From the dark underbelly of the earth, it grows upwards in a slow crawl of secrecy, seducing us in it's subtle arrival.  I lavish it's return.

The sweet smell of plant life sticks in the air, flowing through me and leaving it's trace all around my face.  A smile grows; not unlike the smile of a wolf as it walks through a quiet forest.

My soul feels welcomed at last...by something.  Home perhaps?
Quieted by the silence it creates as the earth grows calmer, I grow within.

The tension in my sides relax, my heart beats in time with the wind and I feel aligned with the world. Settled.

Fall is coming, can you feel it?  It's seeping in.


©10/18/11DanyaMosgofian

Frozen Web

Something has broken, the web has cracked.
Dried and frozen in time, tendrils that have kept still for so long are tensing up to break free.
In some soft moment passing quickly in time, they speak quietly as if to say, it's safe to let go.

Pull shadows away and a gentle fog rolls in, softening the limbs telling the body there must be more than what has been.  But before this can happen, things must be broken, undone.

Things must be ripped and torn into, uncovered in dead spaces so that what lays underneath, can become visible and allowed to breathe. Must and wear can be thrown out, cast into the wind and forgotten but with great effort it will take.

Old becomes uncomfortable, new becomes strangely terrifying and the rest is completely unknown.
Walking out again, wobbly knees and all, steps that have not been written must be taken despite.

Things will grow clear so long as these moments are not wasted upon dizzy-headed memories.
Light will bleed into cold places that have been waiting for warmth long.

The skin warms and muscles soften, then the heart remembers.
Like a soft ungrown animal, the soul lifts itself up and leads the way.

Remember to remember, and give space.

©10/18/11DanyaMosgofian

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Been Given

You may not feel so super these days, but you are my wonder woman.
You have gifted me with the ability to see, deeper into the dark shadow and wells that life contains, so that I may seek a deeper truth.
In that truth there are many things to be found that dispel the mysteries of life, into a light that is more than blinding but soft and graced with a gentle loving that is so empowering that there is no room for darkness.
In times of grief and fatigue, you push on through like a call to duty is written in your cells.  Even at your own demise and exhaustion, you give.

Lucky am I to have been on the other end of this, for you have given me the seeds to keep planting into the world so that this love and insight can expand broadly into many places.
At times when I am beyond my rope, fatigue has set into my bones, I remember all the tools I have been given by you and so many others and realize I can now use them on my own.  I have been gifted a set of tools to pull myself up further into the light and out of the dark realities of life to the other side of the sun.  So I will.

I also remember in moments of grace and a soft heart that you have been at the helm of this journey the entire time, without trying, without a defined drive of teaching me how to share and love; A love that surpasses ordinary love into a love that can be taken out into the world for many purposes.

Slowly and surely as I mend my garden, tend my fences and shore up my lines...I remember these seeds growing slowly within me that are ready to bloom.

So thank you, thank you for being who you are and taking this journey with me. Thank you for sharing your wisdom even when you think you have nothing to offer.  In the simplicity of one's insight, there is a truth that unfolds simply by sharing one's heart with another.

When you feel you have no more to give, no fire to burn with and wonder back on your life, remember that you have done the work you may have hoped to do more of but felt you didn't. You have planted seeds given to you by your mother: seeds of kindness, generosity and enough compassion to fill the ocean.  And in me, you have planted those seeds and I will grow them so I can then share this fruit with the world.

©8/27/11DanyaMosgofian

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

The Machinations of Green

Jealously. Yup, that thing we refer to so easily that resides in the darkest places of our souls.  In our petty private thoughts that we dare to reveal to anyone but those we know aren't going anywhere, only to breathe out that putrid green smoke from our bodies like some cathartic confession in hopes that's all it takes to be rid of it.  That horrible feeling that consumes one in a moment of insanity and complete lack of clarity reminding us how feeble and small we can be sometimes.  It reminds us that we are human really.  That we are not done working.   And I had to address it anyway I could.

I've said it many times, I'm jealous of this, I'm jealous of that...but I wasn't really. Not truly jealous but simply desirous of something I didn't have.  Believe me, there is a difference. Because before when I said that, I hadn't really truly felt it. Now I have.
And I had to purge it any way I could because it is that sickening.

It was never part of my character, my make up to be a jealous person and I was proud of this. I realize this more so because I've begun to experience real jealousy now a few times over the last few years and it kills me each time.  Seeing and feeling this way causes a shock to my system because it is unfamiliar ground that I walk on.  I just end up tripping the entire time. Although I fight hard not to let myself go to those truly ugly places and hang out, but catch it as it's making my way up my spine draining me of self-love and hope.
Now when I say jealousy, I mean the real deal.  Bitter, resentful, sour, dark, sad, ugly and jealous.  The word alone is enough to describe what the feeling connotes and should not be used casually I believe.  It's too strong a word to throw around, kind of like love and hate. Moreover, jealousy is heartbreakingly honest and reveals a side of ourselves that is unable to speak freely in the light of day so it has to morph itself into some disfigured form to get attention.
Real jealousy is like an enteric coated pill that takes it's time to seep into your system as it erodes at your insides. THAT kind of jealousy.  True jealously.

Despite this strange occurrence going on in me I know better than to let it run me down or drive me into walls of stupidity and despair.  So I talk with it, so to speak.  I listen.  As there is something more to it.  Something deeper that begs attention.

And I have no clue what to do about it other than to look at it with soft eyes.

Somewhere between loathing myself for having it, recognizing that it's just not something I want to live with and the bitter feeling in my stomach when it rears it's horrid head, I see something else.  A vulnerability.  A desire unfulfilled. Something resembling frailty that is living underneath all the armour, intellectual discourse and rhetoric is a body in need of something and an uncertainty of how to get it.

So even though I want to gouge my mind out with a cocktail fork when it pangs, I can't help but look at it more graphically, broadly to try and understand it a little better so that it doesn't have such a hold on me and I can move on to greener pastures.  I couldn't resist ;)

This is something that is very new to me that has rarely happened and I have been truly grateful for this.
It wasn't that I didn't want things or people, or suffered from the ravages of insecurity, but I wasn't truly jealous.  Not bitter at the object of desire and not angry or sad about it.  Now that I have experienced real jealousy a couple of times, I understand it a little better and all it's complexities enmeshed in the psyche.
When it does happen, I am overwrought with confusion and humility knowing that I feel that way about something or someone because I am not there and am forced to ask myself pertinent questions.

Ugh....When I do, I feel so human.  But I guess that's par for the course in being human, that you will feel the entire myriad of emotions that we are equipped to feel.  If you don't,  there are personality disorders you can get diagnosed with.  Eventually if we live long enough, we feel everything.

As I age, perhaps it's the changing of form and function that evokes such a dark and sour feeling in me;  Perhaps it's being smack dab in the middle of my own personal remodel, and knowing that I am in this 'remodel' mode, everything takes more patience and time.  Neither of which I feel I have enough of as the acrid irony of aging sets in.  Either way, it is here and coming to life. But I am not content to sit quietly with it while it grows into a behemoth of disproportion.

Since it takes me to such sad hollow places where I see myself in a shadowy reflection, it demands I view it with honesty. So I am.  Painfully, bravely I am looking at this scaly monster poking through my ribs trying to get my attention and I'm giving it to her.  But not without an explanation and an exit plan!

All I can do is own it and see it and work my tail off to clean it out of my system so that I am no longer held captive by it.  I wonder if others go through this when they experience jealousy or other sickening emotions.  Or do they just feel them and live with it?
I am cognisant of this form growing in me and driving me to this sick feeling in my gut but also aware that I won't stand for it.  It's not me.  Moreover it's bad for my soul.  But it reminds me of the dark empty spaces that still live in me that may need attending to which is obviously why this feeling of jealously, have cropped up at all.

Worst of all it's makes me sick with jealousy.  And that's enough to want to try something else.
Think about it.


Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Words

Words.  What do they really mean? 
When they come and go so easily like wind and mountains sit waiting to be moved.
Warm breath releases and lies unfold.  So they say, so they say.
I do, you will, be more, and yes but really no. 
They mean so little, and yet carry the weight of one ton weapons.
We hang ourselves on small utterances caught in the wind and are carried off, legs dangling behind us hanging on for dear life.
When the wind stops, gravity gives way and a fall bestows itself upon us immediately, without so much as a sound.  And we are let down to the earth, humility and all.

Words....they are beaten around, tossed up into the air like grain for luck but discarded so easily after use like paper with no more space to explain, no longer in need, stored away in memory.
Garbage to be swept under our shadows. 
Are we gambling, checking to see if anyone is paying attention?
Are we testing each other or is it pure indulgence, laziness.
Caught up in a moment of excitement, fear and adrenaline drive us further outward; So important that we maintain this rhythm, keep up the momentum.
A frenzy of emotion that we throw out, more and more filling the space with grain, stuck in a silo of our own excitement.  Drowning in our own lies.
They mean nothing at times, at others, they can lay our lives flat and so often, even the simplest of words, reveal what lies below that which is not being said.

So what if we said less but said more?

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

What Love!

What is love? Real love that sets the heart afire, that sets the soul at ease?
True love, is the total and complete submission of one's heart to the beloved.
Boundaries softened, guards at bay.  Open to the possibility of.
And in sync, it is done the same in reciprocity.

When you feel like throttling them upon foul words and mistaken statements, there is a moment made up of small, quiet adjustments to the heart that allows it to keep beating wildly upon the entry of one's beloved into the room.  In love, your heart remembers clearly.

Even as your blood boils with boredom, your feet start facing south...
the heart will open up and you'll know that real love allows one to reap the bounty of those wonderful things that make sense, the moments of sheer joy and perfection that make our eyes smolder and glaze.

Yet the sheer humility of love reminds us to embrace all parts, even the moments that drive us to madness.
For when we are about to close up shop and head south, that it all goes together in one fumbling mess of ecstasy.

©6/19/10 by Danya Mosgofian

Saturday, April 30, 2011

Stoned Illusion

~Time is but a phantom, blowing over and around us as we change.
We morph and trod on in our lives, often unaware at times.
Yet it moves on, without our permission, regardless of our resistance.
Consistent in what it is, itself, a thing, a concept in our minds.
Existing like a thread with no end...an inflexible being.
Never changing, quietly, always there~

©3/29/11 by Danya Mosgofian

Why Wait?

I've decided, at least for right now, come tomorrow it may change, that I am no longer going to wait.
I'm moving on, building out.
I've sown seeds, tilled the soil and watered the spirits and still...not. 
I've donated blood, given pieces of my heart, sides of my flesh. 
Yet somehow enough, is not.
Am I doing it wrong?  
Giving too much?  
Or not enough?
Maybe not right.  Maybe not now.
How much is left and will any remain?  

So, I'm not going to wait anymore. 
I will mend, sew, puzzle and plot.
I will break and repair, sift and create.
Sort and sort and sort until I have built a mountain so high I cannot see the other side.
From thin air and dust, I will make. 
And on breath baited, I will not wait.  

There is room, there is space.  I am open, in a sense.
But it's not for sale, not anymore.

I will tonight, try and keep up this fight.
But come tomorrow, don't be sore, I may change my mind.
That's just the way the wind moves in and blows things around.

©4/30/11 Photo and words by Danya Mosgofian

Monday, April 25, 2011

Poblesito

Played played played like a fucking fiddle.
Strummed and plucked in a childish riddle.
Bouncing, jumping like a foolish lover,
I bob and weave like a mouse, ducking for cover.
I dance to myself, because there is no other.
Safe and hidden, like a moth stuck on hover.


©3/2/11 by Danya Mosgofian

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Drifting

Pulled up like a root and floating.  Wingless and adrift in the winds of change searching for ground to lay upon.  Time rolls by like a soft hill undulating, beckoning to join it like a lover that will not wait but continues to love on it's own. Shadows cascade upon walls as your feet take you into the nooks of the world, lost in another day searching for home.

©3/15/11 by Danya Mosgofian including photograph

Friday, March 11, 2011

Returning

Ethereal sounds waft through the air, into my heart and mind softening the cage that surrounds it, breaking down the crust of what held me up and keeps me dry.
Warmth surrounds me and reminds me that I am beating with life, alive with cells and vessels still intact and hoping for more expansion into and outwards.
Those who hold grace and love return, giving me what I had forgotten I had...What I needed, truly...and what I did not.
I waited and found that the best pearls were not the shiniest.
My heart swells for a small moment, reminding me it can.
Do not give up hope just because the night grows cold at times.
Find solace in precious gifts of time and memory:
The wisdom of humor when it all comes back to make sense.
Of magic you create and find in a moment of clarity, remembering what matters most in your life, in all of life.
They are there. These things that ground the sky and still the river.
These people who hold meaning in their breath and in their bones, for you and for the world.
Perhaps they are just hiding in their own shells.  Keeping warm and staying dry as well.
Even if just in spirit alone, remember they are there.
You must find them and share the love you still have in your heart.  Reach out and touch them in small ways that transcend our mere flesh and preoccupations, remind them of the heart's softest points.
The path is possible although dark at times.
The right way, the right light will return to you as you need it, just when it grows darkest.
For you too, hold a light that others will seek when they remember that what they need is out there, waiting patiently.
Thankfully.

3/11/11 Written by Danya Mosgofian

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Iron Breath

The lungs weigh heavy, bearing down upon the torso and spine like sacks of clay. Motionless and full of soot and somber.  Like abandoned, ill-treated children.

Skin pulls in and tears in tiny places unseen but felt, piercing outwards into limbs.
Sinew becomes fatigued with the burden of holding carriage all on it's own.
Breasts ladened with, sit like dead stones atop a mountain of defeat.
And the neck burns with a memory of regret and humility that won't die.

Sitting upright becomes a chore that feels unfamiliar and new, as if one has not already done this an entire lifetime?
Grief, like an illness, permeates the body in strange ways, taking one asunder as it tries to itself lift up and walk forward.

Sitting with this body, watching it sway and alter to find that place of peace, while notes sift into the air, I feel the blood grow quieter, the heart begins to listen.  A quiet mood falls over the night, taking one deeper into a solemn place of contemplation and sadness.
Acceptance at a point, is inevitable albeit painfully difficult.

What is it like to walk without toppling over from one side to another?
How does the owl sit so calmly while seeing everything?

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Too Deep

Too deep the well.  I sink below the surface and bleed into bone and marrow, invading the cells of everything around me.  Drowning sorrow and symptom into thought and processes of abstraction and words too heady to witness.  I suck life and oxygen from the air for more, more...breathing in short wisps that sustain only for small moments.
Enough is never.
Sorry is not.

I only want what will sustain me and yet grasping outward like a blind child at what could be, I drain and tire those around me in my attempts at life. My own life is drained in the process.  Like a tub constantly filled and emptied over and over until it is a constant flow of energy.  Filling and done, filling and done.
Yet the tub never stays full.  Not allowed to ever sit in the comfort of finished long enough to soak up the sustenance I receive and be full.  Damned well.

My heart is cracked open and bleeds freely, all over the ground below.  Feet sopping wet with blood I stumble through gravity into others. The heart is full and tender, foolish at best, wanting only to love but sloppily drunk with confusion as it turns in blindness; whirling like a toy searching in hopes of a truth that will fulfill this bored empty depth.

Stealing grace from one moment to the next, hoping to carry the burden of a permanent drought so that no one else has to, I bury deeper into the ground for balance.  Feet sink deeper into earth, searching for moisture only to hit rock and bone, a sharp reminder that growth happens upwards not behind.

The sustenance I receive still leaves me dry and brittle, yet I am drowning in something? Waterlogged, stuck and sullen unsure of what direction to move into, I grab to hold on desperately, like tree leaves shooting out in all directions madly looking for sunlight. A frantic motion to sustain life and yet one that  sucks the life from me.  Sorry is not enough as regret seeps into the ground cementing my feet.

Teetering between worlds, I give and get and give and get, exhausted and not for the better. I sit solemnly in a pool of muck and dirt alone with no water to wash away to clean.   Perhaps I have given it all away? It no longer remains precious.  Maybe what I receive, is not sustenance?

A bead of consciousness breaks through and one small drop of light pierces into my heart painfully, releasing a tiny sliver of space to set freedom aloft and reset a new course to allow for movement into sky once again.

New freedom for a moment.  Fragile, uncertain clarity seeps in that stings like soap on a wound.
I move forward into light so blinding that I recoil as if light is the enemy and not an old friend.  Triumphantly I realize that I have been here before and will rise up and out of this mire knowing a bit more and seeing truth for what it is.
I will take these bloody, cut feet with me, trailing behind to remind me of the roots I've laid.  Unwashed and sore, they stay with me like a talisman of what lies behind.  Not completely cutting myself off from the deep well below but slinking onward truthfully.

©3/5/11 photo and words by Danya Mosgofian

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Dream or Die

We are but dreamers, holding out for what we want.  Starving in our lust for perfection of being.  Passing on just enough to get by....
Stealing pieces of our soul to feed our flesh when there is no more food to fill our bellies.
We say if...we can find the right...if we can just,
hold out for the right thing, hold out for the right job, hold out for the right lover...and so on.
Everything will come together and be just right.
Because we believe we can.
We believe we deserve better than to simply toil the long day,
to create blood for another day to toil another long day for this life. 
That very idea strangles at bare mention the ability to breathe full breaths at times.
Not out of vanity or delusion but out of hope.
Some might say spoiled or arrogant, deluded or lazy. 
But in pursuit of the dream, we simply trudge on holding the hope tightly against our hearts that some day it will bear fruit and flourish.  A triumph of future design, a winning against the odds, against ordinary.
Rising up and out of the mire of ourselves into the ether and into form.
Dreams are what keep us alive.
                                                          ~~~
Perhaps we haven't lost enough to want to simply survive anymore?
Or perhaps we know that if don't feed our souls the flesh of what it desires most, hope and the fantasy of what could be,  it won't matter how grand the design, how large the house or how full the bank. Enough will never be enough.
Settling for enough won't be.  It will not satisfy the larger scheme.
If we don't hold out, and stay on hoping and dreaming....then we will have lost everything anyways ending up as empty vessels taking up space from others to bloom.

©3/3/11 Written with photo by Danya Mosgofian

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Grace/Sunshine.

                 Warm like the sun, he falls over me.
             The heat of his body comforts the cold in my bones.
               Shaking relentlessly from deep within, I am held.
                      Softened by the strength of his kindness,
                          I take gracefully, as he gives freely. 


©2/28/10 by Danya Mosgofian
©2/12/11 Photography by Danya Mosgofian

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Posing as self

I am a storm.
A wild wind sucked into itself and stuck.
A powerful undertow, inhaling breath swallowing whole.
I want to shake the world until it's quiet.
I want to drown fools who beckon cruelty into their wombs.
Them who create darkness from the light, obstacles really.
My body burns itself for fuel so I can continue to inhale.
Fire builds upon itself, fueling air circling upwards and I burn.
And upon my exhale I breathe a tired black cloud of exhaust and fatigue, an angry soil laid upon the ground below covering all in darkness.
Bringing up the earth in my ire, flatly laying it back in just, I am a storm.


©2/16/11 Danya Mosgofian along with photograph©2011

Hunger

I have this hunger, it never dies.
Well almost, when it died I nearly did.
When I think about ways to destroy it, distract it, tire it out until it can no longer run my life, it just continues.  It stays on endlessly wanting more.
And continues to ruin my life.
Yet, it's what sustains me, what keeps me alive and burns me up inside.
Same drive.
I want to know more.  Eat more.  Suck more.  Devour myself at times.
Drive deeper into my own soul and know the very essence of nothing.
Consuming all that is, and when I tire I will be done and I can just be.
But I'm tired now, and yet I'm not done.
This is tiring.

©2/16/11 by DanyaMosgofian including Photography©2008

Why

Why do I fight? Who am I fighting for?
What life am I trying to save if no one cares?
I ask my head, the sky, what bravery is needed to save a lost soul?
And why is it my task, when none for the asking have bid doing so?
In the end when the corpses are rotting and flesh returns home, will it matter?
When the dust settles and the story is over, who will remember the solitary acts of kindness, bravery or servitude?
The brave?
The saved?
It will be done, finished. Who will remember?

No one is asking.  Let it go and run with the dead dear child.
Let it flow and be one with less meaning, whatever the skies demand, just flow.
Life is a swirl of movement, a giant storm of mist floating around our heads,
pulling us into the chaos in some grand humorous act by an accident of nature.
We just are. We really don't know.
The dark red of our souls will continue to flow until the last one standing declares it is over.
There is nothing you can do.
No one is asking.

So save your own life for now.  The time will come when the earth grows quiet, a pause to breathe it's own breath sighing out and releasing.
When as it does...all will be let go from this grip of existence.
So until then dear child, let it go, let yourself flow into the vein of life and stop fighting. Stop caring for a moment.

©2/16/11 Danya Mosgofian both photos by Danya Mosgofian ©2008

Body at war

In this shell, this body of mine, there is a war being waged.
In a timeless manner, no mind to the moment at hand, random signals are sent out ordering maneuvers and directives so that in any given second, a million pounds of sharp metal will cascade into various spaces where soft organs and fragile beating things lie.
Pounding occurs, bleeding happens.  Pain ensues.
And yet on the outside, this shell, looks mostly calm.
To the naked eye, I am whole.
Any deficits in structure are not visible to someone looking in.
Only from looking out.
So if anyone asks what it's like to go to war, you can say you've been. 
Only that you never left home.



©6/8/10 Danya Mosgofian including photography/self-portrait©1997Danya Mosgofian

When winter ends.

In the dead of winter, in a sea of snow, I am warmed by something much stronger than fire. Love, real love.
Not the love filled with delusion and dashed hopes; romance of another kind that surpasses soft kisses and cold nights spent under many blankets and stars.
Although those fill another part of my soul with joy, this is something different.
I am loved, believed in beyond boundaries of fear and intrepid desires.
I am seen and given a day of moments where I can let down my guard, relax my shoulders long enough to let the sun warm my back and breathe knowing I am truly cared for.


©4/3/10 Danya Mosgofian/photograph©1997

Friday, February 11, 2011

Music to my ears

My lover will sing to me. He will croon and moan until I fall.
Breathing hot sweet wind from his soul into mine. 
It will carry me deeper into love, into places I've seen in my imagination when the sunlight hits my face.
And yet places I've never been.  
Waiting patiently, it will all make sense at once, pieces locking into themselves becoming one.
And I will rise up to meet him, breath for breath, inhaling, breathing out, inhaling deeper, into pure love. 

©1/3/11 by Danya Mosgofian

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Crawl, creep and hide.

Like a small creature, I burrow into myself.
I curl up next to warm spaces, warm creatures and hide,
waiting for a reason to stretch my body wide.
My body, becomes a space to hide into, legs furl in on themselves, arms folded in twisted manner, like some sheepish animal that can only be see at certain angles at specific times of the day.
I am hollow, coarse and tough.
I am soft, flaccid and weak.
I grow and change with the wind.
I shrink and crack from too much quiet.
So I burrow deeper.
With one eye peering out, I see the world around me swirl like a storm descending.
Should I continue opening outward into the world, or should I go deeper into myself?
Do I need the warmth from above or can I create enough heat from driving deeper into my own soul and eventually spark just enough to disappear?
Then nothing will remain as I creep further into myself to be born again and into something else.
Maybe next time, I will learn how to glide instead of crawl.

©6/18/10 by Danya Mosgofian

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Soul work

Soul work is the daily whittling down of what is no longer useful or what is most harmful to your heart and soul, your existence. It is the careful paring down of well-worn patterns: small, repetitive thoughts and habitual reactions that erode at the foundation of yourself, your inner clarity, your strength... your well being really.
Finding the bottom of your heart, the barest essential you, beneath blood and bones, beyond pain and past, building upwards into who you truly are, is a profound journey that can take you to the greatest depths of hell.  But if you keep going, it can take you into the beautiful spaces that lay between the pain, instead, into a place of joy and self-knowing... Ultimately opening your heart to an all encompassing love that fulfills your needs so you no longer have space for heartache.

©3/13/10 including photo by Danya Mosgofian

Hidden

Sand and sea I smell you as you blow over me.
Sweetness from the grass rushes in and softens my heart.
Mouth parting to inhale, my walls break for a moment long enough to remind me of the tender being that lives in salt caves near shallow ponds, hidden beneath the rock walls of the sea.

©3/19/10 including photo by Danya Mosgofian

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Chemistry as friend and foe.

My chemistry always does me in.   It leads me astray, into danger and I never seem to realize this until after the dust has settled and I am lying there wondering how it all happened...how did I end up here, again?
In a moment of soft and sweet supple skin, I am done in.  Again.
Floating around like some lifeless form of clothing in suspension I am freed if only for a moment until I awake and realize I am here...again.
Static electricity sparking throughout the air, do not break the connection or you'll be shocked, some kind of personal scare.
Isn't that the truth of my entire existence!?  Done in by my chemistry, once again.
What is it about numbers and chemicals and equations that have such power over movement and mind...could it be happening without awareness, until then, it happens again...to be done in, again?
I am chagrin.
How is it that my brain stops thinking clearly so my heart will be ignored so that my body will be adored....?  All because of chemistry, again.
Eyes, lips, fingers all make sense somehow despite words not working right.
Once again, nothing rings clear and simple things fare. 
Done in yet again, by my own chemistry.
Oh how I applaud you great warrior over me.  You have won this battle yet again, such a great victory.  Oh how you mock me?
I will continue to wage this battle and see, how I can come out the other end a little less bedraggled and a little less worn. For in the end I am somehow scorn, unto myself, done in again, by chemistry.
Alas I may relent because in all honesty, it speaks to me, this movement from underneath. Something deep down below my brain, my spinal stem that woos me like thunder.
Oh the power and grace of such disgrace, I am once again, done in, by my own chemistry, yet again.
Sigh....oh sweet chemistry ;)

©2/2/11 by Danya Mosgofian including photo

Rich Like Me...

Rich like dirt, full of shit and stuff and limestone rock.
Waiting to be turned into more shit and stuff and rock.
I can continue recycling this shit over and over until eventually, it is absorbed by others who are so often the cause of me being so full of shit...
As they spew it out, I chew it up.
So I am rich like dirt, full of shit and stuff and limestone rock.
Ready to give birth and be clean.

©2/2/11 by Danya Mosgofian

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Love Doesn't Come Easy

It never has.
Somehow it slips by when I finally get the courage,
to reach out and try.
I have waited, watched, listened, wondered aloud the point...
I have negotiated, prayed, given up and prayed again.
Stayed hidden amidst the brush of my body.
Still, in bits and pieces it falls around me like snow.
Gently brushing me on cheeks and cold cotton,
but never falling in.
This elusive yen. The ever fading object of desire.
Love. A concept of great proportions and consequences,
and yet a pained illusion that never ceases to seduce more.
This thing that so preoccupies the mind and heart of man, and yet
so vague at the same.  Intangible and yet sharp.
On me, still slipping by in a mist, it is no different for this woman.
I have decided to stop grasping outward and just wait. Patiently.
Like a winter root hoping and waiting for warmth to occur,
I will wait for the thaw to come.
Cold water will drip off tiny buds giving spring to hope.
And I will be nourished by moisture, heat and sunlight.
I will continue to grow and blossoms will soon fly out of me,
painting the sky in intermittent flashes of light.


I will grow slowly opening into ready.
Moving fully bloomed into form.
Suckled by sunlight, melting my body into open.
Fully ripened and ready for love.  


Eventually it won't matter if the rain comes to soak my body and drown my sorrows,
as I will be ready to receive whatever wisps by me at night's end and find my own source
of light.


©12/4/10

Keep Me Deeper

~I have strange tastes at times.  
I'm finding I prefer character over perfection...flaw and full over thin and smooth. I like rich and deep over wealthy and shallow....Substance over style. 
Even though my mind is easily distracted by the shiniest hue, I eventually see past the blinding sparkle, into the deeper glow of dull. 
Where I find crevasses and valleys to climb down, instead of ridges and peaks to climb up and away from deep~
As a result,  I get lost on my journey at times, but the path downward can be quite exciting at times! ;)
©1/26/11 by Danya Mosgofian