My Body, My Temple of the Future is Female

Roevember - Day of the Dead. An Incantation of embodyment.

Ceremony of she, her, they and them, one body in union at the alter, the four of wands.

A Remembrance of What is, What was, and What could have been. 

A sacred temple reborn she was meant to adorn them with illumination. 

The narration of she/her/they/them. The cuddly quest edition with this addition of memories and facts, I’m still intact. Though never invited to the disco, I will joy through me as I dance in my room to entrance, enhance and advance the spirits at the altitude of light and higher order. 

Perhaps he likes sushi or a salty fish, or the fish before the fish, the orange egg. He tried to catfish me like a baby bear trying his paw at catching salmon upstream, without development, without the prorprioception, without the muscles well developed, without much will or skill, flaccid conversations without solutions, dead on arrival, without awaress or reflectivity, valued, honest awareness based connectivity. Some days I’m salty but I’m mostly sweet, with a tinge of bitter, like the best dark chocolate bar, yet embodied in a well read wedding dress, married to the muse, lucid dreaming with creator spirits only. The flow of endless inspirations, creations and ideas keeps me far from feeling lonely. 

More Specifically:  I am Woman, firstly, they and them, secondly. I move my energy from two to eight and continue to create new psalms, written at birth from the lines on my palms, an oracle spill to will beauty, compassion, empathy from the ether to the ground, like a mixture of lightning, fire, rain and enlightenment. My heart thunders, reverberates and expands and it goes on and on and on and on cycles and cyphers till the break of dawn, a new dawn, a first light, a self love at the junction of wayseeing sight meets the end of a plight, adorned with the spirit of a rainbow warrior, shining so bright. A hero’s journey that only follows the long and winding intensive and seemingly endless dark night.

I'm like a broken down palace of the arts that can't be permanently subdued but can be endlessly renewed from the inside out. I’m like a poet without a map or pages or a book or a script, scroll or  papayrus knowing the future is female anyway and it’s how we all arrived, carried in the ovulations, the original cycles and sundials of our grandmothers grandmothers who persisted through the pendulum swings both subtle, extreme and supreme far way back when and then and so shall we she, her too, again and again. 

The publishing house called me too controversial and their attempted reversals on my nature failed to the 10th power of an F bomb unleashed nuclearly on the polite evening news. I was Self made by making lemonade with maple syrup and cayenne, no one’s master, with no handler,  I stand alone. Call me the cheese, I keep rolling down the road, changing shape. I am sacred land, regardless of how many times I’ve been disgraced and displaced, soul fragmented and disbanded and endlessly reprimanded by those who speak in half truths behind the masks and seals of institutional approval and verification. I am on a permanent vacation from all that, until further notice there is no vacancy here for poorly postured b.s. looking down upon me, repositioning me recklessly during v.i.p. vipassana without my knowledge, input or informed consent.

I heard from the whispers of a little bird they hired a frattourney that seems significantly like one body storing up a cult of lost souls and reticent of his and hers and their endless petty arguments, lasting my lifetime, an oddity odyssey of 44 years and a trip in progress around the sun, of that length at least. 

The he said she said of the millennia where millennials refuse to sustain the injuries of more authoritarian abuse from atop the pyramid of the god of the trust, federally funded.  Now I will myself to take up more space.

I’ll write my way out from the dealings with the devils, as I’ve done before, not made hollow nor stagnated by their under stories of dawgs not yet domesticated, like a mycellial network blessed with the intelligence of the full spectrum light code activations meeting the rising up layered microcosm of soils and networks underneath the canopies of tree spirits reaching for the light. 

I shall Never be regretting the exile of those who came before me selfishly, every time, shall they be stricken from the circle game records of my life. And the seasons of their past, they go round and round in an endless dawg meets pony show, with a perfectly constructed male bun on top. Yet still he/him/they/them wanted to use my residence just for making me show up in the first place. With a big top three ring circus to boot me out of my own power and ownership over my own domain like doc martians with the nerves to tell me I was in too deep, yet never feeling my pain or wearing my soles. Still my song goes on, refrains remain but the melodies have changed. 

I hold on to no disdain and release the past into the wind like the ashes and sand of buddhas, dropping tiny pearls of wisdom for the spirit seeking scavengers, post phoenix rising. Reclaiming my bodhisattva vows was the best thing I ever did, as well as trying to end the bullying of the most awkward kid, who eventually will become the goat, born out of the sheep who we all know was once ostracized and exiled to the edge of the woods to discover a mystical soul within, becoming kin with nature, and nurturing self first, and others later on down the path of life. 

He and His Attempting to keep Using spaces in my body to secure their own real estate for the future ones they never wanted in the first place, sold to the highest corner stoned builder, made of cheap and decomposing plastic the dolphins are now forced to eat with each meal. Splicing atoms and tiny particulates in petri dishes playing in labs.  

Waht Waht Waht could go wrong? We all wear the mark of the crown as corporate royals march us into the brave new unknown to meet a new world just discovered with a more factual history not sold by the aggressors, authoritarians, and dominant paradigm. Subvert the colonialists' lies and realize there’s a better way forward, that’s the rewritten plan. Lest we are doomed to repeat an endless spin cycle of foolery and clowinish dictators reeking havok upon us all.  I sing my own songs and lyrically relate to negotiate facts from malarky, like a bard borne identity, yet of my own commoner ancestry. 

Fools without paws be trying to get to my ancestors through me, never knowing I was put here to break the chain and break bread apart outside the halls of power, and never in the sanctuaries of churches and temples, only to be found in groves of trees and on small beaches by rivers, lakes, oceans and seas. 

Brought back here again and again only to impart new arts upon the old spells and rewrite things with all my breath and breadth moving forward never second best out of order in order to proceed in a new way,  a new day, put here to right the wrongs of the things the elders did, yet did not yet understand, while their attempts towards me to be used only towards their benefits and coffers continued to fail miserably. 

I keep digressing and forging my own path without wrath or the disillusionment of Sylvia plath. He thought he knew me better than me yet it turns out he knew me not at all, for I am she/her they/them containing multitudes of attitudes, fortitudes, visions and revisions. 

Now I Am For The New Me. A Mash Up of Glee, Wisdom, knowledge and common sense courageousness.  Plotting for the good of all and deliverance for and from evil, universally released into ether to burn off steam on a path towards mars, from whence it came, planet of sex and greed and warfare and toxic masculinity too close to home when it’s left to it’s own billionaires vices and devices, playboys seeking other planets, a result of being too hot and unchecked. I am Venusian, full blooded.

I checked all his boxes, yet he checked few of mine. That story is as old as time, the origins of snakes, apples, gardens and new sneakers for the runners and the chasers, never able to keep up with themselves or their secret society foils and fables. I toil on and persist, I just do it, as all the she, hers, they, themes etched in balance of x and y = z  before me, going back to Lucy of mother Africa. Like Charlie Brown with the football, I’ve earned my stripes, yet without letting it bother me. I can’t afford to. 

Those endless green eyed coughfers think I don’t read or rewrite their signals, or hear the truths spoken under their breath, or still feel their hands around my wasting away waist line or neck.  Silly souls tried to use my body to drop anchor and incel into a family even I do not belong to, exiled long ago, nearly after inception. Dark Knights and Jokers must eat 3 square meals of nyquil chicken a day, in order to enter the kingdom of the dream state ever since st. pete locked them out. I drive through hellish hilltown snowstorms to find inspirations in remote places of inquiry. Can’t stop and I will not. 

I have no regrets, there are more sunsets to come. No wishes aside from hoping to become less awkward or to channel that attribute for awakening and some change enough to move and shake off the past in order to survive, flourish and thrive. Darth Bader Ginsburg could never alone save us from within the temples of unchecked robed and power robbed from the masses. 

The Ivy Cult does not offer deliverance to justice from behind the curtain of their internal wizard net worths hooded fraternities and sourceororities funded by the most well endowed investments and golden boy bars and coins. I am living proof of that though we may be created equally, some benefit more than others within the secret hierarchies and family constellation dynamics. There’s a correlation between those with direct lines to god and womanizers, now we are all the wiser. 

A lot of people these days believe in pseudo science and use persuade-oh science to try and prove their false beliefs. So grateful for you, you taught me self love fits more like a glove than your love ever has, Sir. 

Dear Jokers and Dark Knights of Your Souls, 

Respectfully, I reclaim my time, energy, mind, body and soul, taking myself out of the realms of your unaccountings for and the endless monied equations and overarching attempts at control. I don’t fall for the okie doke no more.

Diana Eileen Delaney 10/1/22-10/2/22 - Blessed with more fortitude than you will ever wrap your head around, sir mother wounded. Here’s one last view and a tata, cherio! goodbye to the male gaze & gazers. Photos circa 2020.