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.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011


                 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


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 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


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