RAW

What I have always chosen to be. Transparent and Raw. My choices always governed by whether I am unveiling the ultimate truth of myself. My discernment unwavering. It is a search to know I am not alone, in my pain, in my wanting, in my longing to feel safe. I'm aware enough to know, it is born from a wanting to know we are all the same. To belong.  It is a part selfish search, I'll admit.  To know the very essence of things so that the ultimate question of all questions, ‘Why are we here?’ may be revealed. Or perhaps more so, 'Why am I here? What am I for?'

It is not a comfortable place. Yet to be known and live your life just as you are in every given moment, to see and be seen, to not have to pretend is so powerful that I buy in.

I undo. I undress. I reveal. Hoping my nakedness will encourage your own until we need no barriers between us. Just raw flesh that feels one another, raw eyes that truly see, raw lips that kiss and linger, and draw in with our breath, the very essence of our souls.

Are we willing to step in and be witnessed? Can we accept another’s hard truth and our own as well? Are we willing to live everyday uncovered, unprotected? 

RAW

I live raw

In a world of well cooked souls.

My children run barefoot thru the town, through the fields,

Hair long in fiddlehead tendrils,

I rest my face close and inhale

Their tantalizing scent.

In my world, my heart lies tenderized,

Always on the edge,

Waiting for the next knife blade,

To pierce, so the river of tears

Sets free.

People watch, with sideway eyes,

And I allow, I welcome.

Expanding now, the cuts fill,

With sacred water,

With the embrace of others,

With eyes that see my wounds,

Who are not afraid, in fact relieved.

'Come and let us tend them together', you say?

Yes, Let them be laid out before the world

So you can see and feel us,

All the same, we are.

I live raw,

And I am not afraid of the simmering,

Not afraid of what will become of me,

Or whether as my father told me,

Time and again,

'You will be eaten by wolves'.

Instead, I lay here,

Half eaten,

Surrendered to the fight,

the covering up of pain,

The things we think we have to hide,

For some false sense of belonging,

In this world of pretend and fairy tales,

The truth seeping and running

Down the table,

And from my mouth to the ears,

Of those who listen with

The ears of their hearts.

'Consume me', I howl,

So I'm sure they hear me,

Smell my decay of old ways,

Shredding all I am,

So that nothing is left

But a space for what's new

To arise.

To live in the open truth of

Your own deepest longing,

In a constant sensitivity

To all that surrounds,

Noise, laughter, fighting, love,

The feeling of all of it,

Threatening to take you under,

Leave you helpless by the shore,

Cast about by life's relentless waves.

Yet, what more is there,

Than your truth?

Your longing,

your own knowing of what is real.

Are you willing to lay yourself down,

Not knowing what will become

Of everything you think you are?

Raw, and placing your soul,

In the hands of a mysterious

Box of seasonings,

Your own particular mix,

That over time will render the juices,

Of what's really inside,

And has been scratching to come out?

Release and exhale,

and fill the world with your

Undying beauty,

Which only you can radiate,

Your whole long life.

We are all waiting with bated breath,

For its' unfolding.

The wolves are hungry,

Let them eat.

-Artemis Mandala