tulips to the sun.

tulips to the sun.
by K Mills
i put myself on an island (in my mind envisioned)
and everyone i knew
who knew me
including all my family
had to disappear one night so
i could fully concentrate one night so
in unincorporated martinez one night so
so long ago so long long ago so so so so so so
in twenty oh five so
two thousand five the way we pronounced it…
only then
could i see what i needed i thought i wanted….
i thought i just really wanted it real bad i thought
so now so i knew so so much
who i was in a becoming kinda way
any and all fears discarded
anxieties known only by the open hearted
abandonment & shame & hate?
 all shelved…
i could see where the pull
pulled
the force!
 as great as dear god – gravity
and then i knew
dear light in the darkness
getting brighter like new
and i knew!
what i had to do… into the jetstream
breathe into the pull
let the pull pull
pull pulls i breathe breaths
relax into this dream
on my breath this goodness
this peppermint seed
moved back
made roots
back deep in my bones
through softwood of bones
collar down to femur
this seeing! this vision
moved muscle moved marrow
radiated out some source
divine vibration!
i cannot right explain!
sorry…
she
filled the swept hardwood floor
of dust she swept aside
for hope to rest
and gain strength
get roots
to its length its entirety
as tulips to the sun
i became who i was
always meant to be
you see
with patience
love of self
summoning of courage
to stay true
then
just after
follows levity
like that ritalinkid
unable if not unwilling
to stay in single file
lags back away…
awhile
admission of faith
spun as silk
by simple action
simple
self-representation
simple was painful
painful-times-ten
dont get it twisted
suffering out on the ledge
close to character assassination…
by self
 if not
other!
i then yes then!
then did i discover
faith !
faith and at times
exponential!
up through the rafters!
toward the stars
the dying stars so bright
they comfort
the system
the solar system surrounding
damn shooting stars!
not every other but every
meteor shower
i got under to look up at yeah
looked up and could not see
what they all said they saw
these stars burning dying emulsifying
in our skyview mirrors oh the horror!
i guess its experience
no you cannot get a witness
hard work indeed
spiritual physical mental fitness
to you to me for anyone
 to stay true now
confession of a girl
who long ago
lost her way
who still had
who still has
who still will have
today
to you to me for anyone
to stay true now
stay true

sacred ground rising, Tibet

Photograph by Karen Garman. Permissions granted for Edit by Katya Mills

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this loves for real .no stopping. all green some whole some lights

Raccoon in box

Photographed and Edited by Katya Mills

fuck I have been cold. I have been frightening cold, I have. until some small smile some sarah somewhere in this place post punk and petrified with perfect well wishing winning new paradigm nod to the North. if north is astral. if north is known by certain colors that stand out like a football I mean soccer jersey that’s brilliant yellow lighter than gold yet darker than lemon and loved even lusted after between air steam rising top of the crucial team consciousness on soft ground with soft ball and hard hand shakes the rising roof of random screaming. a world of color. a world of meaning. for most this was not so. but they backed on the tidal wave like the undertow. the passion of the few was where was sourced there you know. the masses go and they flow. the masses go with the flow with the go with the flow. sometimes this was impressive. other times stupid. because one circled roped in focus can distract from well you know, the life your wife around you. your son who packs a gun. and maybe boy or maybe girl, the foil wrapped careful cut icebergs or powders or icicles or dubsides, come half baked with home fries. for the waiting guys waiting sometimes impatient waiting. sent. sent by that curiosity fills the soul. just before you don’t know now you know part. the grow on you street that your feet touch and meet there. pavement so hard. killed fred astaire. or would have if he had only. like no bread just bologna, with capers and mozzarella, white wet from the homeland. alive and kicking. kicking down the doors to your taste buds. touches memory deeper than sentimental songs you know. by heart. don’t start cause im not finished,