Ready to Look


       Ready to Look

       by Lindsey Vona


What Im ready to look at now is
sex with a punching bag on the side.
Unsafe edges, the rage of my resistances,
lost aspects of the self
disengaged, denied.
Im not ready for anyone to touch me.
Im not ready to hear that you love me.
This naked divide of ocean
holding my pleadings and failings.

Spider lilies
with spotted orange petals.
Unencumbered silences,
Inability to see
or think clearly in relationship to
under the covers encounters.

Jaded starlight.
Lover gone missing.
Plowed over. Underwater.
Terrible distance
and the power of my closing heart.

Laundry hanging out to dry.
Loose ends neatly tied and waved goodbye to.

Depression is not enough.
Tears are not enough. The same behavior is no
longer enough to drown in or draw from.

Black bees buzzing in my face.
little black dots with wings flying
like anchor points around my head
fueled by the many voiceless and confusing
impressions streaming through the mind.

You ask,
Why do you touch the strings
of that guitar the way you do?
And I say,
It is what I put my hands into
to feel buried
and alive in the texture of the moment,
and that is all a lover can do.

Depression is never enough.
Sweat blood tears. Its never enough.
Goodbye hounds in the night.
Good bye sad sisters eyes.

What Im ready to look at now
is a dripping faucet,
a forest of ecstasy,
and I wonder who makes this business of
unfurling the wreckage of a body?
Who made the notion of soul? 
Nothing left to run from
or fall into.
Reintroducing the truth of the self
none has ever seen.
Not just a garden of fire.  Not just a source.
There are no losers and winners, no competing.
Collected story let go.
Shear sweetness and boom sticky fingers.
Laughing.  Falling over.  Becoming a bowling ball.
Ready to be the fool again.

What Im ready to look at now
is beyond distance, status, or age,
in sheltered coves and comfort zones.
Furnaces, the color of the sun.
Kaleidoscope. Turning wheel. We are fuel for earthly fires.
Grinning. Spitting all over the place.
Wrecking ball that wants to wreck it all.
Wreak havoc. Disaster. Who cares?
Uncontrollable uncaring.

I am
caressing beneath the surface
of doubt, regret,
or juxtapositions of should or shouldn't,
to where true love resides.



Lindsey Vona lives on the Big Island of Hawaii at Earthsong Sanctuary where she practices several world-wisdom traditions based in cultivating non-dual awareness and essence. Her time is is spent writing poetry, prose and songs, helping to build houses, care for the land, nurturing her pet graphic design business, surfing, and occasionally playing with baby goats. Her poetry has also appeared in Chronogram magazine.


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