Tag Archives: becoming myself

The Game of ‘Make a Day’

Why do we rip?
Why do we tear?
Why do we crack?
When there is nothing there?
Nothing but a glare
Let it slip
Fall thru the lip
Of the lie
The tattered scattered
Wounded sense of Why…
Ms.Intense and her
Defence is writing
Down her
W
O
R
L
D
I forgot that
Would-be humans
Should be fuming
Like factories unsatisfactory
Failings
Watching the mass
Slaughter the lass
Who saw thru the
Ailings…
She weeps aloud
Her tears her turns
Her aching burns
Learns to break away
Peel like clay
From the potters hands
Pieces of thoughts of
Creation of good and evil
All dripping down
Thru my crown
Into her
Into her
Hanging onto the sides
Of my smile
And pulling it down
Into frown
The weight of the
Hate of the town
Where once she slept
Upon the
Face of the beast
Facing east
Placing the casing
Over the peace
The fleece
Of which I strove
Down she dove
Into ground she drove
Out the demons
That found her
Hosting,
Like Semen
They swam into her,
Scanned her for
A place to hide,
To ride and wait
Till the light abades
And here it comes!
Uh oh, another day!
Another game to be played
I crack
Addict did too…
What was that I tried to do?
Words are swords
To sharpen and
Splinter
And spank
And spit, her bossman
Has had enough of it
A tough lil bit
Of skin
To sink into
To think it through
To become the show
Behind the ego
To placate and dislocate
And anticipate
The dissolution
Of that mask
We made
To play
The game of
‘make a day’
Into the same old
Give and take.
Jump up and give
A shout a shot
A short salute
To the
World we pollute
Before
You crack
And I crack
And we lay
Together
Dreaming of fleeing
Dreaming of feeling
Dreaming of peeling
The rots
Off our dealings
Till we can
Still stand
And look
Thru swollen eyes
And broken lips
To rise
Each morning,
And to shake loose
That grave grip
And let slip the noose
Of that pimp
We call the Ego…

Charleen Johnston 2002

Wakings that come like Storms

There are some Wakings that come like storms
Electro-swarms in magnetic forms
Dancing
On the tips of Hathor’s Horns
The Temple Priestess 
ReBorn
WideEyed and Me-oh-my
How Time Flies inside the Mind
Wandering Womb 
releasing
Blind sides of Ancient crimes
Buried within these patient Tombs
There are some Wakings that scream like pain
Neurolinguistic nails impaled in veins
Bleeding
And Seeding Stories in silent Shame
The Holy Harlot
Risen
OpenHearted as freedom Parts
The Seas of Self and Dwells in the Art
Of Body’s Bliss 
Burning
The rotting dross from the Fixed Cross
As the Flame is taught to rekindle the Kiss
As Magdalenes  Grail
Returns 
Opens the Urn
Blood flooding in rivers of nerves
As the Impaled Heart
And Mind
Are Healed and Heard….
The Chironic Wound sutured 
With the Salve of Spoken Words
As Pluto and Venus
 Sharing the Shroud
Awake and merge….
Heiros Gamos
Blessed and Bound
In Sacred Sound 
Dance
In Red Velvet
Underground
As 
New Life 
Stirs. 

Charleen Johnston
11-25-21

a crack in the sky

I slipped through a crack in the sky
Tripped right over my own silly I
And plummeted
Through the atmosphere
Of dancing atomsHere 
Mapping tears as Phos Fears
Wrath and mirrors
 Refracting Errors
As Eros Arrows begin to fly 
Aimed at Body as Blind Mind tries
To hold on
Hold out
Hold still as Tempest rages about
Weightless Images in cages
Break the lock
And find their way out, in…
Eyes of Mages and Pupils 
And Sages
Wake with the shock 
Of the skin 
As it begins to peel
Away from the clock tocking within
The rhythm of Opening
And closing
Pounding it’s poultice and pouring
Its Salve at ions Dreaming
As men
And women
Dressed as Time
Spiral path in precious Flesh
Dancing thru the Annals of Spine
My oh my
The journey tries my Patience
As I Let Go, satiated by the Doctors
Cosmic Order….the Flow
Aeons of tight fisted History
I now come to Grips With…
I hit the Smooth surface 
Of my Mothers Womb…. 
Taste the salty brine and prepare
To slip through  
SineWave Lips
Soft as sultry hips that shimmy
And shimmer as Soul unfolds in bloom
A Sacred Intention to Serve This
Body of Being 
As I am Birthed from the Dark Deep See
Into the Light of a New Me 
that Bleeds 
Stories and Deeds filled with the Perfume
Of the Divine embrace
Shiva and Shaktis infinite Delight
Making Love from the Loom
Of Time and Space. 

Charleen Johnston 
10-25-21

The Vestement

Model Reese Miller/Couture Fashion Charleen Johnston/Photography Charleen Johnston 
I make my way inside, the tomb
and rise
again
from feelings that flew too close
to you,

torn from the womb, tethered hands
sworn to illumine weathered lands

and i crash again
back into 
seed

full thrust while blossoms
bleed
life into the few
of the
new breed

that makes its way thru density
seizing sight, thru intensity
of light
that makes it all grow

up and away from the roots that 
know...

breaking tearing swearing making
moods that fade too soon
foods that make new moon

out of fragments that form too loose
sometimes

to hold the rhyme inside,
tucked beneath the rising tide
of things we share
and things we hide

waiting for the revelation
to seep up from our pores
into our mind
tending the sores that
stifle the times which await birth
here 
in the name of earth
in the name of the mother
in the name of the bearing 
and the burdens of Other
ways

to see here, to know here, to feel 
hear and peel clear
of stagnant flesh

saturation 

the sudden dawning
e v o l u t i o n
and 
i n v o l u t i o n

POISED

between worlds in balance
minds of latency
bending and twisting

and T
U 
R 
N
I
N
G
back
upon
itself

remembering the white shroud which once it wore
swore to remain unstained
but the blackened charred robe of the stars
of the wisdom of moments 
tore thru that fantasy
to create a dream
so real
it s e e m s to feel
its own thrust 
in the darkness
of the blinding light 
beckoning sight
into
existence.

Resistance repeats 
cyclic defeats
and victories 

mysteries mana urging us on
toward the breathing pull
of the sun
as it
rocks
a n d
cradles
its child
gently beneath the vestment
of LIFE.

Charleen Johnston  2004

⌛️✨🃏 Time is Now Is Time 🃏✨⌛️

Daimons Embrace

In the in Between 
Before the dream
Overtook me...
That effervescent beam 
that clings
Like dew to my 
Mindscreen
After the dark night has risen
Like yeast inside of me
Shone Daimonic face
The trickster dressed in lace
And leather
And choking on feathers 
From my Flock
Mocked me
Pointed to the clock
And shook me from complacency
The Red Tale of Fires embrace
Rose like dawn
And threatened my Face
With scabs of disGrace
 from legions 
Spawn
Fighting for ascendancy
As I silenced the grim
Grip
Of their insistent
Whims 
And kept right on
The same old track
Of dependency
Ignoring the tortured truth
That swarmed my limbs 
And swore to remain imprisoned
Within...
Spoken to me in a cross
Between
Whisper and Scream
As I lay
Trapped in stasis
Peering at faces 
Whose skin
peeled like panic
From the ancient Dream...
 ...Worry of whether
I'm worthy of the flame
Grateful for the shocks
And the shards and the pain
That lodge within
The neural Stains
And strains of my heaving Heart...
"Stop Showing off...
And Make Real Art"
....and in a flash
The great Rash of
Impulsive Inaction 
Flickered in the Smile 
Of the Vixen who agreed
To stop feeding
On my flesh
If I vowed
To rise from the bowels
Of this Blessed Test
Of Will
And say Goodbye
To Patterns that Shatter
The Sanctity of Time
Trapped within loops
Of Mind...
As I Bleed within 
Mother Matter in
Fractal Flowers that Unfold
In Sacred Sines.

Charleen Johnston 
10-2-21

Bond of Breath

Photo by me/Charleen Johnston. Models Reese Miller & Drea Bleu Good-Brown
A counterBalance ...perhaps....
When the chasm beckons
And the perilous chapel 
Seeks it's reckoning 
Thru maladies and maniacal 
Mishaps
That overlap Present & Past Times
That threaten to Bind
Tight
The blind spots with tangled knots
In games of Daimonic power
Buried
In unfolding fractal flowers
Of 'Sight 
   Or
     Blind DeLight '
As the shattered Tower 
Falls
 And Offers its gift 

A suture to bridge the rift

Shall i Fly from this precipice
Or fall to my Death
As the urge to transcend
The Bond of Breath

Charleen Johnston
9-30-21

Paradox of Paradise

The waking awoke me from the broken spokes
Paradox in playful parade of fire and smoke
Of wise and fool and flaming jewels 
Paradise and Purgatory and Names and Tools
Of wandering Souls paying the Toll
Knowing the Self at the center of it All 
The dream of darkness as Journey unFolds
Beloved Becoming the Beauty and Awe
The whispered twist in the Story descends
Terror within the minds of men
Of magic and moments and omens of death
Immortality shatters the body with breath 
Alone on the throne Alive in the brine
In the womb of the mother I Rise and Shine
Heaven a garden And Earth a Shrine
The Wandering Soul Awakens in Time
Bondage only a Self Inflicted Game
Broken shards that long for the Kiss
The denial of Desire that Dampens the Flame
Turn Gods into Men and Mind into Mist
Of mourning Suns and evening stars
The patterns of Matter mirror the Heart
Wheel of Wonder in Wandering Space  
The Time is at Hand in the gathering place
Magic surrounds the opening of I's
Mirror of mystery masks the disguise
Of the Beloved in Form in Finite Flesh
The surrendering renders me bright & blessed
Self A Pointed Purpose inside the sphere
As projections of Light that Turn the Gears
It spins the Fractal and Loops the Feed
Heals the Tears as Fleshbody Bleeds

Charleen Johnston
9-19-21

First word in each line makes a fractal of my rhyme

~Waves Crashing Me By~

Portrait San Francisco 2001

You thought you could hide
from the whisper
you fought the Call
and you tore thru the blister
where time falls away

crashing

crashing thru mind
and dreams
and things too small to find

dont you see them shining
dont you hear them
 beating
  
     heartbeat
       breathing deep
      drumbeats

waves crashing me by
waves taking my eyes
  thru symphonies of light
penetrating 
  undulating
   beginning the tale
 Life
starts circulating

You thought you could hide
from the screams
you chased the miseries
and ripped thru the seams
where life fades away

dissolving

dissolving thru fantasy
and silence
and moments of insanity

dont you see them dancing
dont you feel them
hovering
  
   hovering 
     invisible wings
   mediating

waves crashing me by
waves taking my eyes 
  thru symphonies of light
penetrating
  undulating
   beginning the tale
Life
 starts circulating

Charleen Johnston 
Circa 2007

We Think In Between The Joints

“We think in between the joints”
Entire universes spread out like Time
As Space hides Selves lost in sockets
And held in rhyme, woven…wrenched
From the mind and hidden in pockets
Within the spine, the hips,
The Shouldered relationships
That bear the burden of Other
Ways, to know here, to feel, hear
And peel clear of stagnant flesh…
Just one. More.Deep. Breath.
Laying prone in a sea of flesh
Held together by pure force of Will
In a dance with past Feels and Reels
That loop and tangle and twist
As The feedback strangles the bliss
Of Letting Go into the abyss
Of the Space between
The floor
and Me
As Self is reCentered in between
The open Doors and open Seams
Of I and Thou
And dancing dreams.
I release…. The tight grip
That has ripped me apart
For 41 years
Held together by pure force of Will
In a shifting atmosphere
Of dizzy atoms here
Playing tricks of light
In a mind held so tight
The body rebels…
Swelling with the trapped rage
In masked pages of the Word
That Stages the painful dichotomy…
Seams so loose
It all spills out of me
Chaotically
I seem to lose autonomy
Christened by the insistence
Of my Fascial Lobotomy incised
By internal programs
That overRide
Who I Am
And climb thru the cavernous
Space
Between the Fleshy Creed
That plays at Being Me….
It Dawns so suddenly
The force of Feeling bleeds
As pounding Heart Seeds frequencies
Illuminating
The maze that traps me….
Dramatic release….
A lifetimes unEase freed
As the iron grip can no longer hold
I leak right out of the mould
And gather
In a puddle of matter
And Mater and Mother
And matrix
Of Self & Other
And Open to the Fugue
As the Swoon subsides….
And There
I Am
Peering In
From Outside the Lines
Where Dark matter
Claims the Mind
And Patterns
The Play
Of Somas Shame
As it falls into the rhythm
Of psyches Game.

Charleen Johnston
5-14-22

Inspired by Sophie’s Strands fb post below

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10228554482073707&set=a.1499832382446&type=3

A visceral reflection of how over muscled and controlled my Soma has been
as a lifetime of the threat of puddling right out of my skin
Has overcompensated
To keep the chaos out( or in?)
Hippos are meant to be soft
And buoyant
As they navigate the waters
Of the emotional realm
But mine has crystallized
And been trained
By the Martian masculine
To grip so tight
There is no room
For darkness
In the light
Of Being.
This I Know
And See
As I Do
Now
What is beginning
To come
Naturally.
Let Go
Into the Flow
Of the See of Me
Sew Seamingly slow
And free.