Do You Still Dance?

Now that you are a mother, do you still dance?

Uh well yea, I still dance

I dance with the wave, the foam is my screen, the shadow in the water my backdrop until the next wave,

Always changing

Like instagram, paintings constantly changing

Every wave’s different so I change my movements

I dance for the ocean the surfers the fisherman the people walking by for my Self for you my family

The clouds in the sky look like waves stamped on the ocean floor wispy like the foam when the wave finishes kissing

I am not alone

I think my dead dance teacher felt he was alone, he used to say “you come alone, you go alone” a lot.

It’s OkieDokie, as they say in America, the Mushrooms will save the bees, who will save mothers, who will save the moons and the dreams

And the human race will grow tentacles into the far corners of the universe on a planet where Hollywood sci-fi screenwriters and Hippie cosmologists can create artificial realities just cuz

We think, it so we are

I think, therefore I am

I am--

Therefore I think

Someone once told me the womb of the earth and the womb of women have the same Ph level

Someone on Hash Church said that there endocannabinoids found in Breast milk

Our babies are rolling like bob Dylan’s stones

He wrote poetry, too. he just preferred to sing it

Maybe one day I can join the Beatles or Yoko or become a Dead Head and go on tour and be a wandering ghost

I know women’s spirituality will save the human race

Even the mustard seed contains the universe, this is just blah blah blah

Are you, minding the gap?

How do I finish chapter one of my debut novel when I know Murakami does it just fine already

When we get a cat we will name him Haruki, in honor of my finishing that first chapter

How do I let the writing write, itself?

How do I embody contemplative art-making,

When I am still learning to think before i speak to catch my anger, my guilt, my shame, my sadness, my grief, my fear before it spirals

Into tantric tantrums?

Parents, they are who they are, they will be who they are

You will be who you are

Will you be your true?

Or a little shadier, like gray-blue?

Sometimes. Young blood gives you energy

There must be some synergy

Pacha mama pacha mama pacha mama

Palms to the floor, dip in water

The ocean is my mother

The moon the stars the sun the fish the bears the trees they are my family, spiritually

Sometimes I’m still spiraling

I need to drink more spirulina

Do you still dance?

Hell yea, of course, what kind of fucking question is that. I’m always dancing.

I am dancing all the time, really.

Maybe not on a stage in front of a sitting audience with limelights

Maybe not with a costume and parandhi on. Make-up hairspray

Maybe not with those bells that tied me down to a corpse

(I tied them away to a tree , ritually releasing my grief , so I could speak to my deceased dance teacher’s spirit in the middle of the night while astral projecting and lucid dreaming , see your never really ever alone)

I dance with the ocean the moon the stars the sun the fish the bears the trees

With my self by self with my partner with my daughter, shaking our hips better than Shakira.

When I quit dancing

That’s when I learned how to dance

I found my own inspiration to dance, like Kiki with her broken broom

Yes, I still Dance

And sing, even if it’s with my toddler rapping with Elmo and Common

Put your hands on your belly belly breathe belly breathe belly belly belly, this is how you do it...