Leaving My Body

One night I fell soundly asleep next to my lover on freshly washed blue sheets.  Well after what felt like midnight, I woke up, but only halfway.  I found myself in the hypnagogic middle-world in between sleep and awake.  I was very calm and observant.  I remembered exercises I had performed in some years past in attempts to leave my body and astral travel.

In those exercises, we would allow our body to become very relaxed and fall almost asleep, but remain alert as the body shut down to rest.  Then, without moving the body, we would focus only our eyes on the corner of the ceiling, or with eyes closed, begin to feel ourselves astrally lift out of our bodies by using our astral arms to pull us up out of our bodies using a rope we visioned in the corner of the ceiling.

Lying in bed now in a quiet state I began to feel the pulling up sensation.  Suddenly my heart was racing very heavily in my chest and it felt as if all my surroundings became a whirring pool of cool feathered air and I felt lightheaded.  Faster and faster the room was whirring and my heart was thudding inside my lungs.  My body felt lighter and lighter, falling away and up I pulled out of myself.  Like plunging up out of muffled water into air and bright sunlight.

I was this silky slip of energy looking down on my sleeping body.  All the sudden I looked very strange to myself lying there.  Now that I was out of me, my body seemed...other.  My life in that body seemed much less dramatic and complicated.  I felt like a long deep sigh.

Next to my body was my lover.  Within his body I felt him gazing up at me and with a thought, I pulled him out into the room.  I can hardly describe being with him like this other than to say he was the energy of the purest sweet spring water and very noble and simple.  But also with innocence.

We looked at each other and began to rise side by side above the bed into the room in a soft cloud of effervescent light.  It felt like if cotton candy was a fluid light matrix.  Then we merged.  It's not like in the body where you think and discuss and decide.  Simply in one pulse of a heartbeat, we two coalesced into one shimmering spirit vehicle.

The trip is knowing that this memory fragment is like a nesting doll. One nested within the next and from the beginning of the story the "I" was already the "we" I now describe.

Fall into a puddle
an elastic bag of light
drop farther and farther
into the opposite of that which
we will become
in an electrical storm
magnificent and seemingly eternal
we listen to the echoes
of the soft beating of
butterfly wings
dipped in paint
gliding through a turquoise forever
hitting the roof of the bottom
of the puddle
a liquid net holds you
like a jeweled aquatic womb
released by resistance
in another direction of
free-fall
gridded star systems
recorded invisibly in the
fingerprints of the hand
of the body you just left
Why must I be there?
I ask, desperately
drunk in the awareness
of  the everythingness
Because you love this pinpoint
that you are
and you forget it is only one
stroke of the picture

Take Two:

As this combined entity, I feel the awareness that "I" is the same point for everyone.  It sits in the middle of my forehead.  I remember earlier, in a dream where there was a tonight and I was divided into two bodies asleep side by side, on blue sheets, separating me from the whole of my own thoughts, feelings, experiences.  Now I am aware of all that I have been in every body.  These gateways.  These journeys.  These vessels.  These plugins of God into the infinite God-experience.

Bowing, a golden phoenix, wings covered with eyes, splayed.  So complex it's nauseating...something's fragmenting, so many eyes, set in gold...something here is disintegrating....disoriented.  Millions of eyes in the sharpest focus.  The phoenix bowing and bowing, lower and lower, eaten by flames.  With each eye still piercing, lower and lower, burning...something is flickering in and out...

Suddenly I'm being poured into something. A mold.  I look down at myself, on blue sheets, your body beside me. Lying in our bedroom.  I'm panting as I return.  Turning to my lover, you don't remember.  Yet, your eyes.

They peer through the darkness, set in gold wings.

Hippy

Yesterday someone called me a hippy. And I said, 'thank you'. 

What does that word mean? 

You say it because I hug trees and want to be outside, because I talk to plants and the sky, because I'm an artist, because I don't pin God to one place, because I believe in love, because I believe in my power to create and commune. 

You call me a hippy and I say, 'thank you'. Because as a white American I'm re-connecting to my ancient roots in Druidic Ireland, Pagan England, to the Universal Earth Woman in me, to the bottom of the sea and the top of the stars and beyond into galactica.

You call me a hippy and I say, 'thank you'. Because I believe in that spirit. The soul rebellion. The heart warrior. The earth goddess. The mermaid. The nymph. The healer. The crone. The shaman. The visionary. The unexplainable "Hippie" in the undefinable "New Age".

You call me a hippy and I can accept that.
Because these terms are a dead lackluster label and under them I will sit creating beautiful things from the root of my soul that labels could never define.

So when you call me a hippy I thank you sincerely. Because along with all the other people of the earth whose souls are rising up, I will be the hippy standing with them changing the world.

Banana Coconut Guacamole

A girl I know told me that where she comes from in Brazil, Avocados are eaten as a sweet food or a fruit rather than with spicy foods or vegetables.This popped my avocado third eye cherry and from there I began experimenting with so many beautiful recipes featuring the precious avocado.  In fact, I eat one almost every day.  They contain an abundance of nourishing fats, good for the body, as well as amino acids and many other nutrients.

Banana Coconut Guacamole with 

Sugar Salt Fresh Fried Tortillas

The Ingredients:

The Guac:
1 Ripe Banay Nay

1 Ripe Avocado

Coconut Flakes

Cream of Coconut

Fresh Cilantro Chopped with Love 

Lime

(**Anything else creative and yummy: cucumbers, pineapple, crushed red pepper, bell peppers, honey, bee pollen, jalapeno,onion, mango, etc**)

The Chips: 
Preservative free handmade corn torillas

free range local organic butter

coconut oil

My Process:

Then I simply cut the tortillas into chip size pieces and fry in a pan of hot oil & butter until lightly browned,

drain on a plate lined with paper towel and while still hot sprinkle with raw sugar and freshly ground himalayan salt (or any salt).

Mash banana, avocado, a splash of cream of coco, some coconut flakes, lime juice, and a lil salt

then top with chopped cilantro

Next time I might make it a little more savory to satisfy my spice tooth (like a sweet tooth but for spicy food) by adding jalapeno, onion, and maybe a chopped  bell pepper...
omg...yum.
-Laura

Breakfast of Champs

The Oatmeal:

Slow cooked Irish Oats
Raw Local Honey + Bee Pollen
Raw Local Free Range Butter
Cinnamon

The Milk:

All natural almond milk

Pure Noni Juice

Sweet Buttery Honey Oats buzzing with honey-bee creative energy +

Noni Almond Milk reminding me of that strawberry nesquick you had as a kid minus the chemicals and refined sugar delivering beauitifying antioxidant power

Today is Wednesday and this is my daily food ritual. 

Thank you universe for nourishing my being.

-Laura

Marijuana Woman

artist unkown.

Marijuana,
In my experience,
is the medicine of the masters
and I'll tell you why

She is a woman.
A jealous woman.  Someone once told me that.

The trick to lulling her equally,
Sensimilla,
is to love her enough
that she feels
no jealousy over you,
that you will coax her into her
mushroom vapor
plume body

that she may yeild easily
into the yoni space

In fact,  not only has she been called jealous
she is also possessive

And she's worth it.

I always felt that if I were a plant medicine
as a female,
in my earth body
I would be marijuana

She's the only woman I write poetry to.
Why?
Because she has earned my beautiful words
on the blank pages of my mind
and through her vines and sinews
I will explore the many strokes
given by the creator

Because my mind she opened
into a thousand spaces
very gently
and for all the right reasons

I love her because she is my first love.
She taught me the love of all green loves
By never ceasing to be with me
She came to me through
a small glass aquarium of THC molecules swimming into my flesh
softly bouncing inside the walls of my cells
softening me
as I expanded
into every next me
I would ever become,

through her lightest touch.

Someone once told me,
the greatest power
is with the lightest touch

I'll tell you why.
Because she captivates you so softly
so naturally and in such a rhythmic hive
that when you realize she is there in you,
you just let go
and melt into her
softly and glowing
vibrating alone
in your heart
and everywhere else

and then once you are there,
she leaves you there.
she leaves you

And this is true love.
Don't hate her
Mari never intended to be needed
she only intended
to show you
the way
back

Don't you see?
This woman is moon medicine
earth medicine
cool water in a rivulet medicine

A silver bird
a green vine
a sticky secretion
on the side of your mouth

to always remind you
she was there
until you let her go

and that's why I never
let her go
Marijuana

Because she lets me give her my power
and she lets me take it back

so that i can make it
into this poem
on this book of plant flesh
in this wooden cave of lights

she always calls
but never seeks an answer.
she simply calls,
just to let her fluxuating voice
raise through the spiral airwave

she's calling, soft and present
quiet and pervasive
her voice always ringing
through your throat into air
released through to your limbs
into your earth and
lifting you off into the sky
to wherever else you wish

and that's why I gave into her pull
because she never lied to me
she only rose
from the ashes
of my archaic mind
into the light above
my head

marijuana

-Laura Weber

Marijuana and Sex: Another Poem about the love of lady ganja.  http://cocreatingself.blogspot.com/2013/07/marijuana.html

Marijuana & Sex

What is it about weed I find
so sexual
-ly explicit    
    (What is it about marijuana)

I like resting my face on
my hand
smell it on my fingers
like remembering touching you

It's kind of musky
like that sweet sticky
stinkiness
you know?  Like after we merge
    (What is it about marijuana)

I find it so sexy
I leave it by my pillow
smell it all night like
your neck

Wake up thinking about it
Wake up smelling like it
room smelling like it

my fingers still smelling like it
like you
like marijuana

    (what is it...) 

I find so sexual
-ly explicit
-ly
fresh
like freshly minted dollars
...a high frequency turn-on...

(wondering...what is it...about marijuana)

the slippery bowl
smoke encircling
    (marijuana...what is it...
sucking me 
into a 
soft
preferable 
oblivion

the smell
of it
sexual
-ly explicit
on my fingers
against your neck

but what is it
about
marijuana

)

-Laura
I'm not sure who the art is by, maybe Alex Grey? 

Marijana Woman: http://cocreatingself.blogspot.com/2013/07/marijuana-woman.html

The Part of You That's Soft

I really don't care

what a freak you may be

or what you’re capable of in bed.

I'm not out to prove

How wild I am

Or how powerful.

All that shit is for the birds.  

Flocks and flocks of birds.  

Flocks and flocks of flocks and flocks and flocks of...

That's not the way to my heart.  

That fizzles out in ten seconds.  

That will come soon enough

with time,

and no effort.  

There's so much more of yourself to see.

I wanna see the part of you that's soft.

I wanna sift through all the programs and

exciting

cockiness

and peel away your layers until I get

to the soft part.

The part of you that wants to shy away

and hide

that turns pulsing red when seen

if not approached

gradually

and delicately

and reverently.  

But that secretly and deeply wishes

to be seen

and experienced 

gradually, delicately, and reverently.

And I can see you

And I call upon you

now

That's the part of you I'm after.  

That's the part of you that has amnesia.  

No.  

That's the part of you that 

Never

knew.  

The part of you that never stores

heavy molecules

of

in-form-ation.  

The part of you that can never find a way to

cease

being

a virgin.  

The part that

cannot

be

adulterated.  

Here, you can be felt and seen,

but never lost.  

Not unaffected, but just so

absolutely

timeless

and secure. The part that knows it is

everything,

yet

still

wonders.  

Our vulnerability will be devoured in the

reflections of ten

thousand

mirrors.

In this place, "you" stop being,

"I" stop being.  

All there is to do is remember creation.  

To create each other,

to forget the idea,

altogether,

of

"each other".

Finally penetrating into the heart of the moment,

so deep beyond the dried out,

hardened

fixed skins

and into

the bleeding veins.

You don't even comprehend what

"wide open"

means.  

You maybe never even felt yourself

as God.  

Because you thought it would feel

so dominant

and all-powerful

Now you're here,

and instead you are surprised that you feel

like a child.  

You realize there is nothing to prove.  

You can be experienced without

trepidation,

expectations,

or bitterness.  

You feel so perfect.  

The blockiness of time disintegrates

into the high-out-of-your-mind

flowingness

of losing

yourself.

Be not worried

about

competing

  

Be not worried

about

turning out or

being turned out,

when ego interplay

ultimately

becomes

superfluous,

and will make way for the actual meaning

of the word:

Ecstatic

And I promise,

it's nothing like what you think.

Come away.  Let go of yourself.  

All that other shit is for the birds.  

Allow your layers to be peeled away,

beautiful onion that you are,

to the freshest most untouched

virgin

terrain

bringing

tears

losing

it self

with

abandon.

-Laura