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.

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Through Their Eyes

When I see myself through their eyes, I see gnarls.
I see a twist of body like a rooted tree gone nuts, tangling into itself, searching for moisture from it's own veins.
Random sprays of green shoot out like desperate attempts to grab at living, breath unbreathed incomplete.  Instead, collapsed inward.
When I look into your eyes and see outward, shards of glass come at me through you.
What seems like a blinding brilliance is nothing more than lenses without filters, firing every thing, every image all at once without pause.

Why would I look then.  Why would I want to see such an ugly totem carved out by others dangling over me from such a narrow view, reminding me of a broken mirror image instead.
Remind me to close my eyes and see within, instead of looking through your eyes, else I be blinded by fear.


Friday, September 6, 2013

Turning Down

Fall is coming I can feel it.  The quiet mystery of air cooling pushes in without a word, telling us to get ready to go deeper.  A stillness enters and skies ready themselves to open up, breaking for release.  Our bodies curl in preparation for this change. Thoughts of warmth begin to form and intimate moments beckon to us.  Time to turn down into our bodies so we can see the world from a different perspective, one that connects us to the earth.



If we hold on during the tough moments and let go during softer moments, there are a million tiny specks of light and dust filled with wisdom, love and insight that can filter into our hearts and lead the way into a deeper space of living; further expanding our experience in life, outward and on.  Just keep on breathing the in's and out's of life.  Keep your heart and mind open and be ready for those moments so you can inhale deeply when they happen.


Wednesday, August 7, 2013


Time has been long in my soul.  It drags on with me in tow.
My bones are starting to decay, falling apart in small microscopic measures.
The dust they emit fills up my mind, my vision, cluttering the clarity I once had so logic no longer makes sense.
Instead, what forms is raw emotion ladened with restraint, forming into thought, filling my head to near bursting.

I think I have been on this earth too long and I am quietly crumbling from within.


Thursday, July 11, 2013


Having faith in yourself, much less others can be most challenging at times. Rebuilding it from scratch is not unlike conjuring water from dust. You have to keep rubbing your fingers to death and hope that when you put your hands out there, they are washed clean.
There is a moment when only dust exists, waiting until small bits of hope fall onto you, washing doubt away, reminding you it can be done. Slowly building up the foundation so you can stop wringing your hands and life away on worry. 


Saturday, June 22, 2013


Shady creatures, slinking about hide behind well-formed excuses that have ingrained themselves into dark places.  Making it seem that all is well, nothing is off and yet the sky is crooked when you look up. Living lies all around me.

Ramblings of Agitation-6/22/13

Monday, April 29, 2013


Moving slowly as if from a dream, crawling out from underneath the weight of heavy skin.  Like flakes of dried snow, the outside begins to peel away to reveal something else.
New flesh soft and clear is revealed so young and uncertain, it stays awhile longer under old, cemented crust watching, waiting to make a move into new.

Though for awhile there was nothing but tearing.  A ripping apart of old skin by some giant outside claw, coming in without an invitation, searching for something unseen and destroying everything in sight.

So many old familiar things torn into dead.  Leaving in it's wake, a cold and frightened shell asking why? Gone are those that felt like fixtures and reliable old landmarks.

Stolen from someone who may have needed them, badly.  These layers have been taken away painfully to reveal something.  What that is, remains uncertain.
In the mean time, the question stays silent in the air...why?

Why were so many things pulled out from the hands that held onto what looked like long wooden sticks to stay upright with, creatures of faith and love that have now become dust.

Why must the process of letting go be so elusive and mean? I'm sure there is some beautiful story in the answer but in the mean time, anger boils into acid and shards of distrust form ready, to be used.


Monday, April 15, 2013

New Skin

Can a snake choose what kind of skin it wears? Can it morph into an entirely different set of scales and a new pattern if it so chooses?
Grow different appendages so that it can move in different ways?

I'm ready to be something else.
I have lived in this skin for far too long and it no longer feels comfortable, maybe it never did but I figured I had no choice but to continue slithering around the way I had. 

Thinking maybe, I don't have to.  Maybe there is a way to change forms, become another something and grow into different.
There must be as land is melted into earth, birds walk to take flight and snow forms from thin air.  There must be a way to change the very essence of being so that what lies on the outside is as true as what lives on the inside.


Monday, April 8, 2013


As the pattern on a ceramic dish wears away, the cracks in the body begin to show.   Lines that define the age of a piece are revealed to show it's true wear and tear, beyond the pretty curls and designs that previously distracted the eye.  Edges become worn, jagged that if not careful are sure to cut those that handle this dish too clumsily, without regard.
It begins to become unused and is only kept around for sentimental value, seldom brought out for show except on rare occasions during a moment of aching nostalgia.  Then it is held with love and gentleness as it is fondled and turned about by someone who misses a time long ago, no longer possible.  Till then, it sits high above the rest of the other ware, separated from the oft-used utilitarian dishes and instead, left alone because it no longer has the solidity to hold itself together.  It is considered weak and quaint and therefore abandoned in the daily chores of living.  

Someday when I have space, when I have the right things aligned I will have two sets of dishes.  One set will be perfect and exquisitely beautiful, so that no one will ever want to use them, except on rare special elaborate functions.  The other set, will be a hodge-podge of sad neglected old dishes that no longer were wanted by anyone else and sat lonely on shelves to collect skin and time.  These dishes will be used until the cracks widen, chips of plate will fall off into my food so I have to stop and look at what I'm eating more carefully.  The color will fade and require me to look deeper into them when someone asks me what shade they are.  I will have forgotten the name of who made them and make up a name to fit the smudged remnants of writing on the back, creating fantastic tales of the dishes journey.  
I will drink from mason jars and old cans, wiping my mouth with old shirts.  I will then clean the dishes with soft cotton socks that we wore as children, so they know what it's like to be tended to again.  
And when they fall apart, into the sea of dishwater I will take those new dishes off the walls from display, and start all over so that someday my glorious new trinkets will become old again and remind someone else that everything always has a place, no matter how worn and jagged it becomes.  


Saturday, April 6, 2013

Dry Season

I can see changes in the sky this day.
Clouds form strange lines that look like they are dancing sideways away, or towards something.
A silence crawls over me, like new skin forming.
Except this time it's covered in fur and scales. Readying itself for some kind of rage coming from the sky.

Despite the threat of this torrent, for some time now it's been dry all around and inside me, if I'm honest.
Perhaps it's better that the rain has been gone long enough for things to dry out, for smells to disperse,  for things not better contained to escape.
This way my back can dry out. The skin can heal and close.
With time to shore up loose ends, my bones can grow stronger, fusing themselves together in fortitude for the next storm.

I crawl out onto a warm rock and sprawl my body across it like a dying animal.  Basking in the frightening heat of a future summer storm yet to come, my sinew softens and I melt into stone.
The thought occurs that I could stay here forever, seduced by the heat of the earth, warmed by the fire in the sky, telling me I am whole again.

Until a reason grows otherwise, I will stay here as long as I need to dry out.


Saturday, March 23, 2013


To do this right, leave slowly...the darkness.
Come out in small creeps at a time, unveiling the fire within...
burn them slowly and they will think it is the sun.
Bring with you everything you know, all you contain,
all that contains you while you remain in form.
The depths to which the mind can escape are limitless,
unbound by reason and logic. Sadly, it is so.

Therefore stay whole, do not lose your way dear child,
you have a purpose. Even if it is unseen by others at the hour.
Remember the lessons within, the darkness of this hole;
The wisdom it taught you, the pain it brought you.
How you went to profound depths and returned upwards with more,
yet strangely clean slated to begin again.
Go and bring that with.

2/22/11 Danya Mosgofian

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Does That Mean Diamonds Come Next?

Ground and hardened, a rock wall forms like spine built from the inside out.
Life under a cover of disappointment, living becomes difficult. Motion occurs only on occasion.
Moving forward is like walking through mud in the rain with cotton socks on-Impossibly slow. Each step costing long drawn out pauses in between efforted movements.
Waiting for the right response inside to break open the hardened crust and set oneself free, is a quick way to bitter.