today's piece of the mystery

Pathfinder, a poem from "Cosmonautica: Graphic Love Sings to God"

Niema Wilson — 2012-05-17T10:11:13-07:00

song for Sri Akhilandeshvari

Niema Wilson — 2012-04-08T04:16:15-07:00

calling for help,

but how can the never lost be found?

How to ground,

when "land" is a moving target.

Seeking ballast

when I am the one creating the storm.

I am the cacophonous thunder

and the striking lightning

and the doe huddled near the old oak tree,

when it were better I take off across the open plain,

than wait here for my own insanity to clear.

I am the last refuge of my soul.

Striving to be whole,

but even my healthiest,

my strongest is my weakest.

I am never not broken.

Riding the crocodile

as everything my mind creates

shatters into a million raindrops.

If I stare too long at what seems wrong,

I'll miss the rainbow dancing in the liquid shadows.

I fall like ash

up?

down?

defying death's gravity

to rise as phoenix

but first I must self-combust

a miniature Sun.

A last-ditch effort to remember why I churned the river in the first place.

Why I said "no" to complacency,

and called the wild winds

and wicked undulations

to turn my world upside down

and spin myself into a new manifestation.

To harmonize through chaos.

I am raging sea.

I am heaving chest.

I am ravenous crocodile.

I am roiling rumbling crumbling tapestry of reality,

shredding, sodden,

ready to be rewoven.

and I am the doe,

crouched near the old oak tree

about to leap and gallop

across the open plain,

through this storm of a lifetime.

held

Niema Wilson — 2012-04-03T04:52:21-07:00

She creaks like a ship in the deep ocean of night.

Shifting, swaying.

The rattle of twig on tin roof.

Miniature explosive raindrops

Waking me to the slip-screech of branch upon branch.

Leaves rubbed by wind,

until they sigh and murmur and whistle.

Beckoning me with an allure I can only call "green"

I can almost feel them against my skin,

soft, dry and moist all at once, so simple yet so full of life.

Watching the mangoes grow at eye-level.

Before they ripen,

I will have moved on.

Flown this nest for a whole other adventure.

But another watcher,

patient healer,

will witness this

Mother Tree's magnificence.

and I will always remember

the rising dawn,

crisp air and birdsong,

dappled Aurora dancing through those tantalizing leaves,

seen sideways from my pillow.

The vast tapestry of stars

just, just out the window

layers upon layers of self-made light

guiding me to galactic gypsy dreams.

The fertile smell of jungle

tempered by elevation

tinted by arboreal intoxication.

Like a fish in the sea

this tree I am in, no, within me.

Holds me with a gentle rocking

teaching me

viscerally

how to ride strong in the wind

Be shaken but stand firm

Singed, renewed.

How to give, and give

and grow.

Thank you MangoTreeHouse

compost

Niema Wilson — 2012-04-02T06:50:57-07:00

Healing.

Through feeling

and speaking, but more,

listening, praying, receiving.

God(dess) spoke

and the Word made Flesh.

"Let there be Light"

but sound came first

the spark, the seed

in every syllable

this little room

becomes a Temple,

our crucible.

In ages past

we knew who we were

now we strive just to remember

peering through layers of veils and poisoned spells.

Seek revision, pave continuance

of the path to our illuminance

one verse at a time.

"Great Spirit"

seems all to sum it.

"He said, She said,"

is how we plummet.

our wings singed or drowned,

by judgment,

bitterness,

broken crowns.

too many generations

of eye for an eye-ness

cultural blindness

we forgot God's in all this.

Transforming through resonance

extrapolating congruence.

through common ground

we're seen, thus found.

disarming triggers

in-turning fingers

pulling rotten roots

churning ashen soil

re leasing turmoil and toil

until fecundity returns.

and the seed,

for generations carried.

tucked deep in bosoms

hidden in dolls

and songs.

across space and time roamed.

finally, finally, has a home,

to sprout and flourish.

watered by tears of forgiveness,

made strong by tenderness,

the flower of the lotus.

our miss spellings recast

our stories made into art

blooming, as ever, from the heart of our hearts.

jungle Spring

Niema Wilson — 2012-03-05T18:50:08-08:00

Rain falls.

Moon wanes and waxes.

Another day, another month passes.

The deep inquiry of Winter,

of seeing what you truly have,

when all you have is all you are;

transforming into the gushing

urgency

of blossoming Spring.

Suddenly the long nights and loneliness

give way

to 'not enough time' to do all we have dreamed.

Rain falls.

Everything damp for so long, it seems.

Sun is but a distant memory of warmth,

light, and fullness.

Though the days are lengthening

we still must work in the muddy

trenches of our promise

if we wish fruit again this year.

Rain falls.

relentless resetting

of all our paths and patterns,

all our plans in tatters

like our pant cuffs and nails

from digging in the garden

loosening the compacted soil,

the contracted cells

of our bodies,

stretching into the dewy mourning,

of all we have buried

and all we resurrect.

as the

Rain falls.

drowning, finally, even our whirling scheming plotting minds.

Washing it all clean.

as the passionflowers again.

the rosy day breaks

me out of this poetic reverie,

reminds me it's time to do the laundry,

dig, plant, tend,

chop wood and carry water

like the

Rain that falls...

prism

Niema Wilson — 2012-02-08T00:58:38-08:00

Hawai'i is color

light green of grasses against deep green of shaded leaves and hidden nooks in watery places.

blue. the Blue that goes on forever,

sea melting into sky,

one reflecting and creating the other.

orange mango blossoms hinting at the fruit they will become,

and sweet succulent papaya flesh

Golden kissing everything at the magic hour before dusk and after dawn,

and the glisten on skin after just a little too long in the Sun

the red of the Earth

Black and Brown and so much Red dirt that reminds us of fecundity in the pungency of odor.

white clouds telling visual ephemeral stories only the Sylphs truly understand

the night sky so full of stars it would burst,

the twinkling twirling multitudes making one light of many,

with the Moon's Silver glow against an Indigo so deep

it is no wonder the ancients looked up at night and saw music,

and heard God.

and the surprising violet of raucous flowers,

and the glorious, seemingly endless symphony of sunset.

and then they all come together

the breathtaking crash of

Water against Air and Light

and the Anuenue,

the shadows turned into color

the rainbow shimmers

for a moment the bridge to eternity appears where elements meet

the magic dancing just out of reach before our eyes.

artificial light

Niema Wilson — 2012-01-04T00:40:29-08:00

Hurtling

this quest

a creature of night that ever seeks the light

"this is the One!"

stopped short by glass,

wiring and filament.

and stunned,

full of yearning,

blinded by desire,

the moth flies at the bulb again.

She cannot comprehend

she sleeps when this planet's true life Source is apparent.

For one with such longing,

day would be too much

she would fly until atmosphere gave out

her soul joining her Beloved light

as her body plummeted back to Earth.

She is given the grace of unconsciousness,

else moths would live but a single day.

Such celestial safety measures worked well

when Night was truly dark,

when Nature ruled our rhythms.

but in our manufactured whirled

Night is Day

money is wealth

plastic is permanent

and we hurl ourselves at illusion

believing the trappings

to be the essence.

my wings are tired.

my head aches.

yet it seems so real,

so bright, so close.

how do we stop chasing?

wasting our lives on artificial light?

or is that the reason we have wings?

and when we figure out how to play,

how to truly fly,

the game will end.

and we'll dissolve in the morning Sun.

Cosmonautica: Graphic Love Songs to God and New Year Blessings

Niema Wilson — 2011-12-28T02:14:14-08:00

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Lightseed Healing Arts

The Way Out is the Way Through...

Cosmonautica

Graphic Love Songs to God

I am so delighted to announce the publication of my book ~Cosmonautica:Graphic Love Songs

to God.

This collection of ecstatic poems represents nearly a decade of research into the heart of mythology, the study of Yogic and Sufi mysticism, and the revelations of my own quest for the Beloved. A visceral and vulnerable journey, I am both nervous and excited to give this offering to the world. If you receive it with even a small amount of the grace and transformation that went into creating it, I know we are both in for a treat.

You may purchase a copy online now

on this site.

I speak about the process, and offer one of the poems, "love let her," in this youtube video

And I am seeking distribution partners, if you would like to become a part of the Cosmonautica team and help this work reach a wider audience,

contact me.

"Lyrical poetry by Yoga teacher and artist

Niema Lightseed. Crafted with the bliss of the ecstatic Sufis and sages and the street rhythm of spoken word poets, this cycle that follows the monomyth model evokes the mythological imagery at the heart of all cultures, channeled into the quest for the Beloved.

Edgy and ecstatic, revelatory, joyful, and spiritually sensual ~ Cosmonautica is a sweeping, visceral

Heroine's Journey, an adventure into the soul of a lover on her way to the Divine;

through the heart, mind, body, and words."

~ 2012 ~

Happy Holy Days Beautiful Beings of Light!

What a ride, this life of deep inquiry!

I am truly amazed when I reflect on the transformation that this past Autumn, and all of 2011, has wrought upon me ~ and everyone with whom I speak. The continual reflection is that we are in the birth canal, all of us, and we have the choice to turn the pain of labor into bliss, but it is not always easy and requires constant presence, curiosity, and courage. It is so tempting in these times to shut down, to attempt to fall back on old patterns and stories, to look outside ourselves for the answers, to seek escape from the rawness of our birthing.

But "Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding."

(Kahlil Gibran)

It is by going into our ache, into our longing, into our fear, into our sadness, that we find the path that leads to our healing and growth.

The way out is the way through...

In my on-going search for my soulmate, I went through a personal romantic journey that rocked me to the core. It demanded a cathartic evolution in my concept of what love truly is, an opening up of what it means to hold space for my Beloved. It also sparked me to complete and self-published my book, a collection of sensual and sacred poems formed into a "Heroine's Journey" transpersonal quest for the Beloved. I realized in the process of editing and creating the overall arc, that my personal search for the Beloved has actually been a kind of Master's Degree education. Each time I have loved has brought me closer to God and made me a better poet, and this book is my thesis. From a step back, offering it up and watching it be received, I am recognizing the joyful responsibility of turning my heart-ache into heart-opening, to inspire others to such transformation. This book has been my "way through." Whether or not I ever find someone to share this life path with me, I can see now that

the quest itself is the gift.

For those of you on Maui, I will be having a Book Release and Birthday Party on Saturday, January 7. 8pm at Maui Yoga Shala. I do hope you will come celebrate with us.

I continue to be grateful to Mama Maui for giving me a place to nest, an abundance of food and opportunities to witness my Shadow and my Light. This Aina, this sacred land, is such a potent vortex, requiring constant vigilance and clarity of intention, and offering so much to those of us willing to do the good work.

I have begun assisting with the management of Maui Yoga Shala, a lovely space here on the island, and teaching 4 classes a week there, in addition to the 2 at Body Alive Yoga and Movement Studio.

Class schedule here.

We are open to holding workshops and trainings in Yoga and other healing modalities, if you (or your teachers) will be traveling on Maui, contact me to discuss offering at the Shala.

I will be offering a New Year's Community Cleanse with my friend and amazing sister-teacher Jen Sol� Weller, under the guidance of the Doctor Blossom team:

January 15 - 22, 2012.

I am also offering a second round of

Deep Tissue Yoga Workshops with the incredibly gifted Massage Therapist Jonath Padilla:

January 28 and 29.

And on the Sacred Adventure front, we have begun the planning process for a Journey to Mayan Temples and highlands of Central America Summer Solstice 2012. More info soon!

Gathering continues for the

Yoga and Shamanism Magical Journey

to the Sacred Valley of Peru, April 20-28, 2013. Registration is open, with great early bird prices for those of us who like to plan ahead!

I am so grateful for the beauty, challenges, soulful yearning and healing magic of this path of devotion. I can feel the gathering energies of this mythic year approaching. Whatever truth the indigenous stories and calendars may hold, 2012 promises to be a powerful time of revolution, transformation, and planetary birthing.

Thank you for holding on, letting go, and enjoying the ride with me.

With great love and gratitude,

Niema Lightseed

Lightseed Healing Arts � P.O. Box 790751 � Paia, HI 96779

http://www.lightseed.info

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bliss

Niema Wilson — 2011-12-18T23:42:32-08:00

raw

and so tender, this ache

I fear I may implode.

but shutting down just makes me colder

so I breathe into the yearning in my soul.

hollow

and so vast, this chasm

I fear I may fall forever.

but looking away just makes me weaker

so I gaze into the black hole in my heart.

the place you cannot fill,

so deep.

so hungry.

I am consumed.

the words unsaid, unsayable

ring like a cracked bell in my gaping.

your voice in my mind, so clear

almost, almost what I wanted to hear

yet so not, that it scrapes my scabs

rends my soft underbelly

cuts to the core of my longing

and lances it clean.

I let my unrefined reception

take on the shape of your silhouette.

you are here, but not here.

I can't look, but can't look away.

nothing to do but pray harder,

breathe deeper,

the way out is the way through.

dive into my own abyss

leap into my endlessness

surrender into sadness.

there is only up from here.

crawling to fly

the same opening that let you in

is the one that now lets you go.

and

raw

torn asunder

wading through bitter,

because that single taste was so

sweet.

washed clean by tears.

with my endless pounding aching yearning grieving releasing,

one gentle, nearly-steady step at time.

I said I'll come dance at your wedding,

then words failed me.

emptiness must be another kind of bliss.

this psychedelic emotional depth

bringing me closer to God.

this pain a kind of sacrament.

a key.

I am Medicine Woman

and love is my doorway of choice

my tool

my gift.

I peer deeper

swim through

to set you free.

to be free.

see you on the otherside

imperfect

Niema Wilson — 2011-12-13T04:31:23-08:00

now that the book is complete, there is space for new poems to come in. enjoy...

~:~:~

Blinded by your bright,

I could not see your shadow.

Sparkle of eyes,

curve of lip,

curl of hair, just below chin

perpetual grin,

to hide the sadness, just below iris.

the scars on hands invisible

when my full attention is given to feeling them

upon my skin.

the passionate kisses

born of pain,

hard-won abandon

to cover the taste of Death.

Blinded by my wish,

forgetting they come true,

not free.

like love itself

there is always a sacrifice

a cost

something is lost

fantasy must give way

lest it color the gift in unmet expectation

and disempower the waking dream.

Blinded by potential,

who I believe you could be,

what I choose to see.

shadow strengthens by our oblivion.

projection is my poison,

disappointment dis spells magic.

Yet I have more dimensions,

than some fairytale princess.

yes, I have pricked my own finger

by believing illusion.

even modern Maidens must visit the Underworld,

to become full women.

and somehow, still,

your kiss awakens me.

though my jaded eyes now see

the kinks in your not-so-shining armor

this too, too solid flesh is warmed

even more, by your fire

stronger than any fable.

this heart so full

flesh, and armor, and history would melt.

Bright, Dark,

Hero, Demon,

I would know the All of you.

I promise to see you.

tell me the stories of your scars.

hold me with your imperfect love.

it is enough

you are enough

requiem

Niema Wilson — 2011-11-17T01:35:02-08:00

Time passes

and still i dream of You.

my passion tempered by loyalty,

desire tamed by integrity.

so i do not call out.

dare not.

yet here you are,

my Shadow and my Light in one.

Time passes

and the twinkle in your Eyes

still illuminates my mornings.

the Mind that calculates time, speed, space

is aware of the distance between us.

the likelihood of unreality.

the danger of fantasy.

but the Heart that pounds,

when your name or favorite phrase

crosses innocent lips,

is so full

so full of you.

each chamber a vein,

a trove of possibility.

Time passes

the mixed blessing

of loving from afar

our lack of communication could be obvious separation

or simply telepathic trust.

was it a once upon a time,

or a never ending story?

the flower that blooms but once in a century,

or a nestled seed awaiting cultivation?

Time passes

and still I long for you

too sweet to let go,

however painful the touchless holding

too wise to be aching,

too saturated to call it emptiness,

but I cannot pretend I am warm tonight.

I am in paradise, it seems

yet I ponder trading this garden

to grow one with you.

the glorious Sunset comes alive

when I share it with your Shade.

the World becomes more Magical

when I feel your smile.

is this sad insanity,

or true love�s bated breath reality?

Time passes,

and you become ephemeral dream.

softening my grip a little more

and a little more

the ache in my heart breaking me

open.

the sky grows brighter

as your memory fades.

once my Lion Sun,

you had become clouds

and now, like they

you drift away

my light revealed.

my power returns,

as I stop seeking you.

All life becomes my lover.

I am vast as Ocean.

endless as horizon

in love no more

yet in love forever.

Yoga for the Fuller Figure

Niema Wilson — 2011-10-26T02:16:40-07:00

***this was written for the Body Alive Yoga and Movement Studio November newsletter ***

Yoga for the Fuller Figure

Yoga seems to be everywhere today. This specialized system of healing from ancient India has become an icon of pop culture. Toned models in various Yoga-inspired positions wearing tight designer clothes grace magazine covers, health care billboards, and even car commercials. The idea of Yoga is more popular, and in some ways less understood, than ever before.

This use of Yoga as a marketing tool has created an elitist feeling about this ancient practice. There is the pervading idea that only certain sizes and types of people can receive the benefits of these acrobatic, aerobic classes. But Yoga was originally designed to facilitate sitting in meditation and to clear the physical and energetic blockages in the body so one could be healthy, present, and comfortable.

Recently, several different scientific studies have shown that consistent Yoga practice, properly modified to the level and mobility of the participants, can help nearly every population in some way. From teenagers working with Attention Deficit Disorder to senior citizens with limited mobility, from pregnant women to soldiers recovering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder to Cancer patients undergoing chemotherapy; Yoga truly does offer relief and facilitate healing for nearly every person that practices consistently.

Personally, a decade of dedicated Yoga practice; combined with positive affirmations, prayer, exercise, and healthy eating habits; has helped me let go of 75 pounds and keep it off, given me more energy and joy, and inspired me to truly cherish my body, curves and all, more than I would have thought possible. I went from being a shy, unhappy, overweight woman to someone who truly loves my body and my life. Beyond the toning and strengthening benefits, it is the cultivation of acceptance and presence that keeps me happy and healthy, whatever the scale might read that day. Exercise alone could not have done it for me, nor any amount of imposed dieting. I can honestly say that Yoga saved my life, and helps me everyday feel healthy, empowered, and in love with my body.

I designed the Yoga for the Fuller Figure classes as an embodiment of the idea that Yoga is for everyone. They are especially for those with more generous curves, but helpful for anyone looking to experience more presence in, and appreciation for, the body~ whether it is your first time in a Yoga studio or your tenth year of practicing. The classes are a combination of Yoga Asana (held poses), flowing sequences, positive affirmations, meditation, and forgiveness/self-love exercises, I offer a non-judgmental and safe space for you to truly embrace your body, as it is, while clearing energy blockages and stagnation and developing more core awareness, flexibility, tone, focus, and presence.

Yoga for the Fuller Figure

Sundays, 11am � 12:15 pm

~:~

Muse song

Niema Wilson — 2011-10-21T05:32:32-07:00

She whispers

in this midnight hour

like so much cricket song

and toad whistle,

the drumming rain on tin roof

no match

for the roar and rush of Her enticement.

She whispers

and my thighs open

my chest heaves

my breath deepens

my eyes brighten

the pen slides across page,

more adroit than a lover's tongue,

silkier than the softest touch.

this Muse I court with greater fervor

than any human man I have yet met.

turning the hunger of my Womb

into a plea for Inspiration.

oh, how I ache,

yet another night alone and awake in the witching hours,

so I cry unto the Stars~

if I cannot have a companion in the sweet warmth of my bed,

and rest will not find me while my heart yearns so strongly,

than give me words.

let this longing not be for naught.

speak to me, sing through me

help me create beauty

from the cacophony in my mind.

give me rhythm, alliteration, meter and rhyme

elevate my imbecilic whimperings

into something worth remembering.

and She whispers...

visible curves

Niema Wilson — 2011-10-14T20:06:48-07:00

***this is not for the squeamish***

Right now, somewhere in the world a woman is being raped

subdue her tribe into mining for the minerals in my cell phone

and

I count myself lucky

because it's not me

though it could be

screaming the name of God in pain

while

my family is forced to watch in vain

no,

the last time I screamed with a man inside me was pure pleasure

Thank God

but there are so many sisters who have only known the penis as punishment

Right now, somewhere in the world a woman is being raped

retribution for showing so much as her hand or ankle

loving someone outside her clan

and

I count myself lucky

because it's not me

though it could be

I can wear hot pants and heels

and

likely make it home unmolested

~ but for damn sure it's still considered my fault if I don't

my visible curves have become a political statement

I am aware of the power of this body,

(more aware, even, then soldiers in the Congo or uncles in Afghanistan)

and

I choose to wield it in service of liberation

and

I know how tenuous my position,

how righteous the rape consciousness

the beast that takes what he thinks it wants is hiding in plain sight

and

i was nine years old

and

all he did was touch me through my clothes

but

I still smell the beer on his breath

and

ache from the injustice of it all

and

a third of the women reading this have been raped or molested

and a tenth of the men

and

I count myself lucky

because I lived through it

and

sex is now a glorious medicine

so when I orgasm

in undulating waves

pray for all the women

everywhere

to know a brand new day

~~~ YES! ~~~

and

freedom in their bodies

and

justice in their lives

and

sacred

healing

union

integration

Niema Wilson — 2011-09-23T22:19:39-07:00

As I soften into the Maui sweetness again, I feel the epic journey of the past two months settle into my being. I wonder how to make sense of it all, the wide disparity of at times feeling so adrift, and at times so on purpose, as I studied with my Yoga teacher, learned by osmosis from my priestess friends, walked the city streets, taught and danced and loved at Burning Man.

"The word "integrity" stems from the Latin adjective integer (whole, complete). In this context, integrity is the inner sense of "wholeness" deriving from qualities such as honesty and consistency of character. As such, one may... "have integrity" to the extent that they act according to the values, beliefs and principles they claim to hold." (Wikipedia)

As a part of the spiritual path, integration has come to mean returning from the mountaintop or the depths of the cave; the sometimes laborious process of making sense of the world after a paradigm-shattering peak experience and rediscovering one's place in the community.

But what to do when it is revealed that the "values, beliefs, and principles" one holds are so widely disparate? How to find the common thread when the tapestry of our moral compass is so vast and varied? When we discover that we strongly feel seemingly opposed perceptions of reality, how do we hold it all together?

The concept of integration has been a driving force in my life for some time now. I measure my success as a person by how in integrity I feel, which for me includes honor, accountability, and the feeling that I am doing in each moment what I came to this planet to do. The sense of 'wholeness,' however, is strangely elusive. There is so much that I want to do and be with this life, and some of these desires seem to contradict each other~ To be a devout spiritual practitioner; and have a life-partner and children. To have a beautiful, nurturing nest of a home; and travel internationally, teaching and dancing. To grow food and a sustainable community; and launch a book of poetry with a national speaking and teaching tour. To be alone with Nature, and to be onstage. But though these visions could pull me apart, one of the gifts of this journey was the realization that it is this very push-pull, the colorful extremity and dynamic tension of my dreams that gives me purpose and brings all my gifts out for sharing.

My recent journey is already a memory. When I first landed in Oakland, I remember feeling as a 'stranger in a strange land', smiling at passerbys and having to restrain myself from saying 'Aloha' to everyone who glanced at me. I jumped right into an intense schedule, schlepping across the Bay for my Yoga intensive, to teach, to dance, and to deal with my belongings. I taught 10 classes in 8 days, and basically attempted to recreate the life I had left in the city, without even a secure landing place to nurture me. The pollution and stress combined to knock me out with a cold for the next week or so, even as I bounced to different friends' places and tried to make the best of my trip, longing for Maui's sweetness and grace.

And then sometime during the week of the Individualized Asana course with 2 amazing teachers, it began to shift. I got very simple with my diet, and again devoted fully to the practice. This practice that at times has been my life raft and my rocket ship and my way home. The sequence designed specifically for me did it's good work to heal and empower me, and I felt myself becoming stronger. I parted ways with my teacher and my old city with gratitude and many new tools.

I enjoyed an easy week with another dear friend on the Central Coast, tasting a different lifestyle, preparing to teach and priestess at the Burn, and feeling the calm before the storm.

And Burning Man. What to say about the most beautiful, transformative, celebratory and empowering week of my life thus far?

For seven days, in my seventh year, I got to live many dreams come true: allowing the wisdom of Yoga and spirit work to come through me in ways that truly help people; holding the spiritual vision and energy of a theme camp; dancing with my rainbow flags at dawn near the golden dragon and at dusk in the Conclave before the Man burned; hugging and laughing with dear friends; knowing, seeing, that I touched hundreds of people in positive, healing and inspiring ways. And all of it balanced by the healthiest, sweetest, juiciest, most activating and most overwhelming romantic experience thus far in my life. The pieces wove together, and the whole became more than the sum of it's parts. Being a strong teacher and leader made me a better lover, and being in love made me a better teacher. It is the medicine of the winged serpent. Our seemingly opposed principles combining to propel us into our greatest effulgence.

Ah, so.

Today is the Autumnal Equinox. The day of recognition, of taking stock, of reaping the harvest. The Wheel of the Year is in perfect balance. I sit in my lovely friends' home in Haiku, the Sun has not long set with it's accompanying birdsong and cooling. I am still spinning from it all. This year was my highest peak of seven, and I feel the most 'whoa what do I do with my life now?' ever. Though my Valley Isle has welcomed me with love and abundance, I find myself missing the mountaintop and the moments of absolute clarity I felt at Burning Man. Though I had two or three obligations everyday and was often on my way from one thing to something quite different, there was never a question that I was exactly where I was meant to be, doing exactly what I was meant to be doing, the bridge between the worlds, daughter of Spirit and Earth. I miss the momentum, the sense of tribe working together to co-create something powerful, if ephemeral. I miss feeling a part of something so beautiful. I miss a few other quite personal blessings. But Burning Man is but a week, and no one can live on top of a mountain for long.

Now is the good work to build a nest, cultivate clients here, grow a garden, swim, hike, rest and heal. Attempt to make some sense of it. Appreciate that I am getting what I asked for, though now I am hungry for even more. Doh.

In art, opposing colors are called complementary, they bring out the definition and brightness in each other. And how. When we close our eyes on red, we see green. When we close our eyes on Spirit, we see Physicality. But it's the same wheel, and all is interdependence.

So I will continue my quest for wholeness, and wait for the next buzzing and yearning in my heart that says its time to live another dream, to play another color in my vast and beautiful landscape.

Thank you for listening to your heart and mine.

~ Niema Lightseed

Haiku water song

Niema Wilson — 2011-09-22T20:15:07-07:00

the roar of falling Water

ever shifting ever flowing

seeking depth in her Source

sometimes soft

a gurgle, a murmur

But oft a raging spray of foamy effulgence

rippling, murky

who knows what lies in the deep running waters?

the rush, the crush of gravity drawn element

drowns all other sounds

even my racing mind

and all illusion of time

for a moment,

it's just me with this wild liquid lifeforce

and the fairies and mosquitoes

in this grace

we are an island alone

and it just keeps flowing

like the blood from my womb

the tears from my eyes

the love from my heart

there seems no end

fears, hopes, prayers, dreams

carried along with the leaves and the foam.

Ever and anon

always different, always the same

the water falls home

Beauty is born

where Nature meets Magic

where Vision meets Presence

where Water meets Earth and stone

my happiness rules

Niema Wilson — 2011-08-14T15:34:52-07:00

This list is inspired by reading "The Happiness Project" by Gretchen Rubin It is personal to me, but I felt there might be some universal themes to inspire you. What helps you be you?

~:~

~ Be adventurous.

~ Judgement creates separation and sabotages healing, trust and connection.

~ Write it down. and share what I write.

~ Play.

~ It's probably not about me.

~ Release, receive, and live in abundance, regardless of money in hand.

~ Jealousy doesn't work.

~ Expectations are heralds of disappointment.

~Poetry is more effective than explanations.

~ Health and happiness are wealth.

~ Make art for it's own sake.

~ Walk.

~ Clean, give gifts, and share love just because I want to, not because I expect to be appreciated.

~ Sing.

~ Frame experiences and feelings in positive language without hiding the truth.

~ Look for the medicine in every circumstance.

~It doesn't matter if I am afraid. Do it anyway.

~ Take pictures.

~ Enjoy my self expression, and don't get upset if others misunderstand.

~ Call old friends.

~ Trust.

~ Illuminate Shadow.

~ Say "YES"

~ Say "Thank you"

~ Light a candle everyday.

~ One day a week, sleep in, eat whatever I want, and watch romantic comedies. The other six get up at dawn, and be mindful of healthful eating and media.

~ Play with children and dogs.

~ Work diligently. And let myself off the hook.

~ Baby steps.

~ Surround myself with life-affirming people, images and music.

~ Ask for help.

~ It's all Yoga.

~ Dance.

~ Apologize and take responsibility for mistakes, but never apologize for being true to myself.

~ Be kind, with healthy boundaries.

~ Keep it simple.

~ Forgive.

~ There is only now.

ambrosia

Niema Wilson — 2011-06-03T16:38:55-07:00

Do not eat to end hunger

Nor drink to quench your thirst

Nor even make love to stop desire

Such means lead only to folly

Having what you think you want taunts you into wanting more

and yet

but too much is never enough

For us, we who long for fullness and completion

No mere base act can give us satiation,

We are hungry for food we have never tasted

Yearn for a union beyond the hottest sex

There is a taste of the stars in our mouths from before we were born.

No full belly, no mere mortal dish can match that

but we think it must taste like chicken

or cognac

or cock

So that is what we seek

We are digging in landfills when gold is in the hills just beyond

calling facebook 'family' and concrete bound trees 'Nature' and one-night stands 'Beloved' and wondering why we can consume and consume and consume and still

never

be satisfied.

I am hungry.

tell me you have real food.

Feed me ambrosia from your heart through your words

and for a moment

let me taste God on your lips.

let me feel free of this desire

this fire that both gives and takes my life.

I can't promise I won't devour you.

But I will always come back for more.

God's in the Details

Niema Wilson — 2011-05-16T20:28:24-07:00

This Taurus time for me has been about growing roots, building relationships, and cultivating integrity.

Living on an island, in the fertile jungle, in a personal economy based on friendship and trust, I find my integrity tested in subtle yet profound ways. We share so much here, so freely, and are so emotionally and energetically sensitive. As the world spins outside, our reality here seems increasingly self-created and self-affirming. The jungle shows again and again how fecund she is, with food literally falling to the ground and laughter carrying on the wind. We share the bounty of our gardens and homes, and the beauty of our souls. For the small but large things, the day-to-day interrelationships, we are the only ones to hold ourselves and each other accountable.
Up until 2 weeks ago, I had been staying with friends for the past 3 months. So gratefully in the flows of my Beloved sisters, allowing their reality to shape my own and enjoying the deeper connection that allowed. This is the most loved and related I can remember ever feeling. In general, Maui has been very generous with me, and I feel well taken care and in right relation with my gratitude and giving of energy. I have done my best to stay in integrity with this island, and everyone I have interacted with. To do what I feel is right, even when I think no one is watching or would notice. But we can always grow more, and we all have blind spots. One of the rooms I stayed in, though I cleaned it deeply while I stayed and quickly before I left, was not as clean as the person who lives there would have liked. Little things, details I had missed, hurriedly packing up to move on to the next thing, but important to him. A few days later I scraped my friend's car on a garage, after being so careful each other time I had borrowed it, for the same reason - being in a hurry, the illusion of a lack of time.
How many of us live our entire lives that way, always in a hurry, always behind, missing the little things that are actually very important - especially to the people we love.The old phrase is 'The Devil's in the details,' which, to me, means that the small, seemingly unimportant things that we hasten over can come up later to bite us in the butt. The Shadow thrives in the places we ignore or gloss over. As we transition to new paradigm language, however, I like to say God's in the details. The attention we give to each breath, each moment, each seemingly unimportant act, is the way we feel about all of life. We make love to God when we wipe the counter with care, fold the laundry with smooth creases, and remember to leave a thank you card when we stay in someone's room. Also ~ like emptying out stagnant water caught in leaves in the garden to prevent mosquitoes ~ when we pay attention to the details we leave no room for thoughtless errors. We tell our higher selves that we really do care, and are worthy of greater trust and capable of being responsible with greater abundance, when we are care-full with what (and who) we already have.

pulse

Niema Wilson — 2011-04-23T23:57:03-07:00

Learning to drum

from the pulse of the Earth

the symphony of daybreak birds

and choruses of coqui frogs

Studying the syncopation

of falling leaves

and rushing water

and babies' laughter

the clamoring of waves

the cacophony of crickets

the music of the spheres

right here, right here

Feeling the skin

I stretched taught over wood

the sinews of Elk hide

call to the sinews of my hand

and I beat, I stroke, I play

accompaniment to the sunset

pronouncing the colors I see upon the clouds, within my soul

this rhythm, this rhythm

heart beat expressed and resonant

I am not afraid to be loud

with this bit of medicine

Once upon a time

all the drummers were women

We have always been the ones to keep time

cyclical, circular

like this hoop in my hands

I have found my instrument at last

my own voice, my own heartbeat, expressed and resonant

I am not afraid to be loud with this bit of medicine

Learning to drum

from the wild wind

and the falling rain

my pounding heart entrains with a long forgotten, unmeasurable,

perfection

my body reverberates with every strike

my pulse, my pulse, Her pulse

darrrummm