Shakti Of The Flame

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Oh Shakti, Shakti of the Flame,

I blow on your heated presence,

become entranced as you grow.

Help me to stoke your embered breath,

feel your moistened hands on my skin,

so I may stand in the middle,

the center of your lotus flames

and just melt.

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April Aronoff

Photography By April Aronoff

The Moon Was My Lover

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The moon was my lover last night.

Like ancient lore I lay at the bay,

water lapping like a drumbeat

mezmerized against the shore,

stars illuminate and so bright

their luster waxing and waning

with the trick of my eye,

the moon so plump in the sky

I could almost pluck it,

like ripe fruit from a tree,

and I beckoned the moon to be my lover.

LittleFlower

I laid on my back and spread my legs wide,

my intention clear-

open me, lavish me,

penetrate me with your liquid gold,

a halo of shimmer cascading

down, down, down,

between my folds dripping with desire,

into the nook of never ending honey elixir,

sweet, sticky, pulsing with source,

travelling up and down, in and out,

around every canal and every crease,

igniting and lighting that fire within me,

its tiny ember swelling with each touch of light,

each spicy scent of your nectar,

the jewel of my flower growing brighter and unhindered,

each facet and fractal lustrous with your shower,

its dusty veneer washed away with your mixture,

as you slide and roll and seep into me.

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Oh how we rocked and rolled and whirled this night,

the moon and I!

Sculpting and clearing like fingers run through hot wax,

dips and peaks, edges and folds,

entryways circling around and around

like the spiral of a shell,

its luminous pink melting and tenderizing

parts of me that were deadened for years,

and I came alive and unfolded wide,

my fingers aching

my insides burning

my internal flame roaring

with each pathway revived as the moon flowed through me,

until I erupted with a shudder

liquid boiled to a simmer

and I lay there gasping,

spent yet full.

All the while knowing that this beach,

this time, this night under the stars will end soon,

but the moon will always summon,

travelling thousands of miles with me,

willing to ignite my fire again

willing to be my lover once more.

BigFlower

April Aronoff

Photography By April Aronoff

July 2015 Flower Bowl/Finding My Compass

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Lion’s Tail, Azalea, Alstroemeria, Hydrangea, Osteospermum, Dianthus, Scabiosa

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Creative stagnancy-this is the shadow music that has been playing itself loud and clear these past weeks.  I have ideas, in fact I have come up with several art projects or writing topics, and good ones too.  Ones that in the past I would have jumped on and gotten to.  These ideas cycle through my head and sometimes get written down on paper, but after that nada.  Now I have little pieces of paper scattered all around my home, ideas begun but left incomplete.  And like any recipe a person endeavors to create, if you don’t complete all the steps, there ain’t no pie for dessert.

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I really want my dessert.  Getting a handle on my addictions has had an inverse relationship to my creative output.  I was truly the tortured artist who produced copious amounts of work while under the influence of this, that or the other.  Now that I have been living life with more balance (I have not become a nun, I assure you), it’s been difficult to access that passion that jump started my limbs to make, create, do.  It’s there, but it’s roaming around without a compass.  “Which way is writing?” it says. “Which way to free form art?”  So it goes around in circles, bumping inside me.  And the longer it moves without direction, without release, the greater the pressure build.

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Stagnancy makes me prone to triggers.  With so much pent up energy and emotion, the smallest thing makes me irritated, while bigger things push me over the edge.  In fact, the whole experience of stagnancy is actually not stagnant, as I have come close to blowing my lid a few times.  Writing and creating art, this is half of what keeps me sane.  The longer I wait to initiate, the harder it feels to start.  Like putting off homework or exercise.  The initial period of just doing it is excruciating.

I need my compass calibrated.  Any compass calibrators out there looking for a job?

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Yet I think…as I redefine my life on different terms than I have lived previously, perhaps my compass will magically calibrate on its own?  Is it not new patterns that are established once those that no longer serve are let go?  Does this not take time to create and become comfortable with?  So perhaps my stagnancy is really just transition, which can feel pretty lousy as neither the old or the new is firmly in place.  Like being pregnant or planting seeds in a garden.  Growth that happens on the inside, not yet manifest in the external world.  In fact, being in transition is one of the final phases before birth actually takes place, and is one of the most painful.  We are living beings after all, nothing is ever permanent or without movement.  Change is inevitable.  Even as I write this, I see a tiny, faint arrow beginning to appear on my compass.  It’s flickering and flashing, becoming stronger with each word I write and each moment I take to continue, stay with it, not give up.  I have needed to remember this!  I don’t think I will need that compass calibrator after all.

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April Aronoff

Photography by April Aronoff