The Poppy = SUCCESS âThe Loversâ âSuccessful in your eyesâ
The Poppy signifies oblivion and eternal sleep in the Language of Flowers. This source of heroin and morphine will definitely obliterate your personality, despite protecting you from pain. Does that sound like success to you?
The greatest pleasure of Soulmates is creating a world all our own, with its own rules and reality. If our Soul Unit is a success, we are a Success. The harsh judgments of the outside world, operating as it does casino-like with few winners and a vast âmajorityâ of losers, fade in impact.
All that is required for joy is that we must be a success to each other, and we must be a success together. This mandates constant soul-searching as we step through lifeâs landmines, both singly and alone. There is no more restful peace than ultimate confidence that someoneâs got your back.
Haiku: The Lovers
Falling upwards Into you My other wing, my second Clapping hand
The Tree = ENLIGHTENMENT âMy Beautiful Twin Sisterâ
âYou can if you think you canâ
Trees knit a garden together. Thy hover over us the way we remember helpful adults from childhood. They are the elders of our loving garden family.
To be âawakenedâ is to experience life as it really is. Lots of people are repelled by this notion. Why bother to wake up when the news is so bad? Remain in the happy dream state brought to you by the Sackler family or some other pharmaceutical conglomerate, or by your favorite source of baseless propaganda.
That lasts as long as you can afford their product. As every rube discovers, Happy Dreamlandâs price keeps getting steeper until one day, you canât pay it at all. Then you are awake and desperately uncomfortable, whether you like it or not, and the life around you has gone to shit. And not the helpful, fertilizing kind.
A common approach to Soulmate-seeking is to try to find someone to join you in Dreamland, or to aggressively shop for a Dreamland you want to join. What these people donât know is that Soulmates create their own world together; and this is a process that canât be rushed. Seeing yourself and life as it really is begins by being very uncomfortable, but enlightenment comes eventually, and it promises real peace.
The first improvement is to stop complaining about other people and all the things you canât fix. Look at and into each other. And then it hits you â that simple thing we always âknewâ because weâve been told over and over: Love is the answer. (âWhy Live?â is the question.) Take a walk⌠together. Look at the starsâŚtogether.
Stroll through an art galleryâŚtogether. Every joy is multiplied and magnified and now the question is, Arenât we lucky? Well, arenât you? And the gratitude for the chance to live for even a moment in this spectacular universe comes pouring out.
MY BEAUTIFUL TWIN SISTER
Twenty months Made you the boss But my twin just the same I gazed adoringly Into your dark power. You braved everything Always being first; Parting airspace with your muscle To improve my flight – you Schooled boyfriends Husbands, children Teachers Bent whole administrations to your will. For my benefit you Deconstructed history, Logic, told me Who to read and what to think; Volunteering for a better world. Protester, Marcher, you Learned Amslan Just to empathize; Conquered mountains Just for fun; Shifting derailleurs, snowshoeing Surefooted through so many Frosty seasons. Inside You were just like me; Scared, hesitant, fragile Pushing yourself out there; A revelation of Impossible courage Giving me a lifelong template To admire.
Illusions are VERY attractive. We WANT them to be true. In my childhood Superman leapt tall buildings in a single bound â all us kids could recognize the fun, the power, the joy in that.
Limitations are unpleasant. We can work to expand them, orâŚwe can dream. Every culture warns the dreamer against getting lost in fantasy. The Tulip is a historic emblem of delusion â impoverishing generations of otherwise intelligent Dutch merchants in a fruitless gamble. Now the Tulip warns that you may be counting on something – or someone – that is false.
Our society has been fueled by misinformation ever since Edward Bernays, founder of modern advertising, wrote his book Propaganda in the 1920âs. Since then legal beagles have defended the right to âpufferyâ and âspinâ, even to saying something manifestly untrue; âmiracle pills!â
Advertisers are very honest about manipulating us through wish and fear. We are eager to buy the illusions that seem to promise a warm social life, a happy home or radiating beauty. Lately misinformation has taken a distinctly evil turn as billionaires base their fortunes on convincing us that pollution isnât dangerous, the climate is fine, science is untrustworthy, the election was stolen and oligarchic rule is what we really want.
The question to consider is, what is our benefit in believing and propagating obviously harmful facts? The rifle-toting man who broke into a Washington DC pizza parlor thought he was a heroic savior of children. Heâs now serving a prison term.
Why is violence such an attractive answer? Forget stockpiling bear mace and bullets to abuse your fellow citizens. We need some other way to soothe our raggedy self-esteem apart from clinging to grifters and liars.
On the other side of illusion lies reality. We need to take a look at it, savor it. Often itâs a kid tugging at our clothes begging us to stay, focus, share; not lose ourselves in a fantasy world.
The need for illusion prevents us from finding, seeing and keeping a Soulmate. We must work to make reality less terrible, so that we donât become dependent on illusion as a pleasure source. Illusion rushes in when life seems meaningless. Joining groups of honest seekers directing their paths with love can save us. When we are surrounded by love we will attract love. Check the philosophy of the group you hang out with. Is it âLetâs you and him fight?â or âLetâs seek joy for all.â
GOTHIC NOVEL
A woman alone is open – gaping, Button hole without a button hook. She carries her muff held stiffly Out before her like an offering Flic, flic! The eyes of strangers Slit the pause like razors. This railway carriage stinks of creosote, wet fur. âI prefer the window up, thank youâ âI prefer it downâ. She lights a Sobranie to remind her Of Devon in the haying; the gentlemen Lean forward, reading the initials On her morocco case.
Orchid = UNIQUENESS âIn the Butterfly Pavilionâ
âSingletonsâ
You will never rub the edges off each other, says the Orchid â and that is a good thing. You donât want to. Weâre not here to âbland outâ or diminish each other. We are here to enhance and free each other.
We pay homage to each otherâs special qualities. Naturally it helps to know where each other is headed but not even the Self really know that. Ultimately, we are mysteries to each other.
We must be each otherâs Map and each otherâs Mirror. The challenge is to accept and honor each otherâs strangeness; singularity. You were drawn together for a reason. Sometimes it prickles and we feel ourselves shrink, or even withdraw. That is the rhythm of the tango we have undertaken.
Many Soulmates welcome costume and role play to try to express the range of interests, the force of questions, the eagerness of exploring and adventuring we will always have. The key is to be aware of the rhythms of advance, retreat, resist, re-fashion, re-remember. Expect these. They are necessary to our continued growth. Our relationship is a greenhouse and we must check constantly on the health of our tiny plants. Fill air and soil with love andâŚrelease.
In the Butterfly Pavilion
This evening you said you wished I was more conventional. I bowed my head. I did not speak. Outside the animals leaned together, Holding breath To hear my answer. The cats-tongue ferns Swelled up like swords, pushed out the stink Of possibility while The rabbit-blooded lawn curled back: Sows littered in the cyclamen Phlox flamed  Dwarf stars Broke free Spew molten ore Across a sky now Darkening to night. Nighttime is my kingdom. I fold my hands in my sleeves and Wait.
âCan you now recognize beauty where you once saw chaos?â
What if a garden yearned not for care but to be ravished by wilderness? Wildflowers donât care whether we look at them or not; they grow wherever they wish. Attempts have been made to translate this freedom into predictable practicality without success, because once a flower has been tamed it is no longer a Wildflower.
Amusingly, however, we keep trying to reproduce that magic moment when we saw them blush in wood or field and were so entranced we set ourselves to copy surprise, to reproduce astonishment. It must be something about us that we so long to mirror Godâs effects. In the meantime, Wildflowers sleep in earth and clay, and they keep coming up to gladden our hearts and surmount the sadness of all our petty certainties.
Personal, cultural and historical beauty standards evolve. Online dating apps sort by âstatusâ: not a good way to find a Soulmate. Georgia OâKeefe is famous for seeing a bleached cow skull abandoned in a desert landscape as beautiful and teaching us to see that, too.
Today we embrace the Wildflowers in our Tantric Garden, (or more truthfully, Wildflowers embrace us). Traditionally wilderness is an undervalued resource in a planned garden. Gardeners sweep them away to plant something more intentional.
The relevance to our Soulmate Quest is the question of Unintentional Beauty or Beauty Surprise. My question is, Is there any other kind? Beauty questing noisily (and showily!) for admiration is hardly as evocative as beauty that doesnât care whether we see it or not, doesnât represent an attempt to âcontrolâ or manipulate us and doesnât position itself in a trophy race.
Wildflowers remind us that we could be overlooking something natural, close at hand. That âsomething closeâ could be ourselves! Think how you undervalue your own wildness, the indigenous rather than âacquiredâ parts of your personality.
Complete the phrase: âI am a natural______.â What? Whatâs so deep and automatic about you that it seems inborn? This is the level on which you hope to connect with The Beloved. You seek not just the promise of subtler pleasure but a necessary philosophical correction granting you the relaxing peace of evolving into an effortless, endless wonderment that doesnât require a platform, management or positioning, but merely acceptance of deep joy and gratitude for lifeâs gifts.
BEAUTIFUL
He said youâre beautiful I said this carapace of flesh Is my bad fairy clamoring for attention like some approval junkie; People donât look at me they Look over me Oh well he said All of us got Some cross to bear.
The Sunflower cranes its black eye skyward. âGolden wings mirror heaven, petalled glories feed multitudes.â In the language of flowers âHelianthusâ is a symbol of wealth and success. Sunflowers bring good luck in gardens (or kept under the bed at night they provide sweet dreams); in multiples this flower must astonish, seeming to create a path to Heaven.
In the Tantric Garden the Sunflower blooms inside of YOU, expressing âspiritualityâ; your âextra dimension.â
Spirituality means accepting and exploring the non-physical world. This is where the âliving waterâ flows, the âultimate refreshmentâ that brings peace and the kind of quiet joy that looks around for someone to share. You are becoming aware that people have âaurasâ â even while sleeping, under conditions when they are not consciously sending out âsignals.â
What is your aura? Think about it. What are you projecting? And how about your Belovedâs aura? If you have negative, angry, punitive and vengeful beliefs, these will get in the way of ultimate connection.
Then there will be the aura you create together, you and your Soulmate, as you join in the life of the Spirit. Spirituality is a concept of eternality, meeting together in a world beyond your physical selves.
Sexual ecstasy offers this elevated sensation of ultimate unity. To live in this reassuring cocoon feels like heaven on earth â no wonder we all search for it. But no aggressive quest can uncover our spirit, it requires patience, time, faith and practice. Yoga and meditation are always good places to start, as is quietly being alone with the Beloved and discussing whatever bubbles up in a life-enhancing, expansive spirit of curiosity.
Curatrix
Cold lonely core I was Before you found me Freed me from Ambitionâs boundary. Now Iâm a multi facet of your stone Unlike myself when Iâm alone. Memories like stones Iâm free to choose And on lifeâs river, Blissfully, cruise.
âExpress your emotions the better to understand themâ
We are not the only Creators in the Garden. We are surrounded by nest-makers and musical artists without whose Birdsong we would be tragically impoverished. Birds sing for the same reasons we do; to celebrate, to warn, to differentiate. To bond, and for the sheer joy of being alive in the Garden. Birdsong represents the artistic collaboration and complexity without which our lives would be meaningless.
Art is our rescuer. Art forges connections at the deepest levels; preconscious & collective conscious. Art finds us when we are lost, can even locate love itself when we misplace it. Art sums up the mystery of what itâs like to be alive, questioning, yearning, negotiating, refusing, demanding.
Back when we were mute children, longing to communicate and participate in the thrilling adult world surrounding us, we figured it was just a question of acquiring the tools of language.
Education disabused us of that easy sentimentality. There will always be something within us that is wordless, a secret unknown to ourselves that we long to share. But what does it mean? Who can understand it? We artists devote our lives to fathoming these vast problems. Each question brings a new forest of questions. Each answer produces an ocean of answers.
As our life crests its rise and heads for the downslope we are forced to conclude that we wish to express nothing more than our uniqueness, our exquisite irreplaceability â just like everyone else.
The depth of the Tantric connection provides relief from the echo chamber â together we create a whole new force, immortal in feeling, universal in its application. We sing to each other in courtship, in despair, in longing, and the Soulmate sings our song back, in a different form, inviting collaborative collusion that will buttress our hopes and re-make our world.
HAIKU: Birdsong
Without your chord Duets are soulless; speechless without your harmony
Outside the carefully groomed garden lies the true Wilderness; the ungroomed terrain. At first the eye is confused by the plethora of wildflowers, the riot of wild grasses, the proliferation of low shrubs. The fallen and the dying have not even been tidied away.
Slowly our senses adjust to pick out hovering butterflies, nesting birds and evidence of even wilder visitors such as rabbits, skunks, weasels and raccoons. This is their world; they prefer it to ours.
We must admit they have a point: how can something so haphazard radiate such magnetic beauty? Sometimes weâre forced to judge their world the winner; it is definitely more intricate, majestic and evocative than our carefully raked paths. We study it to comprehend, learn, possibly mimic its effects. And as we absorb their ethos we become one of them, lowly commoners of earth, enjoying a bounty of goodness, even wealth, poured out without regard to our intent or purchasing power.
Destiny warns; âItâs not about you.â âFundamental attribution errorâ in the social sciences means confusing individual causation as determinative when mass social movements are actually predeterminative. We would like to believe that we have control over keeping our parents together, preventing war, stopping climate change, averting pandemics, getting promotions, guaranteeing the constant love of worthy Soulmates. How much control do we really have over those things?
We are tiny creatures â out of many â finding ourselves momentarily in a tiny corner of an ever-changing wilderness. This is not our âfaultâ, but still, we must live our lives as best we can. Can we guarantee our future good health? No, but we can improve it. Can we guarantee our Soulmateâs future health? No, but once again, we can lead a joint healthy life, together.
Can we avoid sorrow? Most likely not; sorrow is endemic to those who think and feel. Itâs how we manage sorrow that counts. The Dalai Lama says pain is unavoidable, but suffering is voluntary.
We are creatures of wish & fear. The wish is that we will stay alert for dangerous and destructive incidents and behaviors. Our fear is that Fate is out to get us. And in a way, it is. Age stalks us. History stalks us. But if anxiety about the future only ruins the enjoyment of today, it is not doing its job, it is sabotaging you.
With a Soulmate, you possess two souls, two futures plus a joint Soul and joint future. This gives us not just a reason but a mandate to celebrate the ecstasy, the bliss of every moment. You are Mine and I am Yours.
EVOLUTION The world that seems to us so still And echoes no reflection of our will Somehow produced the seed that in us all Resurrected us from worm to fish, to crawl Upon the earth, to stand and then Return a child to creep and crawl again In some unending pattern, sane or not Judging by the brain that this same seed begot And yet within our every cell lies curled A revolutionary flag to be unfurled To lead us on to who knows what potential end Beyond the reach of enemy or friend? Can it be that simple balls of spinning glass Possessed the strength to lift from this morass All that we are; though we donât understand This torch we pass so tenderly from hand to hand?
We were amorphous seacreatures once. We breathed liquid through our gills and rubbed our silvery sides against our mates. In the womb we roiled and reveled in our oceanic environment. Whenever we float, eyes closed, we channel what it felt like, shivering and shimmering in an upside-down world. So is the dexterity of melting into a concatenation of dizzyingly different avatars a souvenir of ancestral past or a premonition of some liquid, undiversified future? What can it tell us about recognizing our soulmate?
We are reminded of skills we havenât even tried yet, and our deep connections to inhabitants of universes we cannot even see. In the tantric garden, sex, gender, and identity are fluid; compromised constructs we create and share only with the Beloved. Let your imagination billow outwards, absorbing the Other. Our bodies express our memories, personhoods, dreams; evoke our aspirations and our lives. What does it mean to be truly open to another human? The level of trust must be so great the future vanishes into an endless present.
God knows, we are willing. To be full of another is the ultimate mindfulness; we touch brains, hopes, memories as well as skin.
I see myself in you â
Moth to flame Your meteoric dust Drips ash into my upturned mouth. I taste stars. What manner of being Have you become? I only know youâre something that I need Your mirrored endlessness partakes Of nothing human; suggests an Completion. Iâll take that promise; your shadow arches Like an angry lover Refusing satisfaction. My hunger burns more purely in the titillation of neglect. Without you Iâm just myself With you Iâm everything; God of Worlds. Anyone can be born: eternity is The loverâs privilege.
In Dawn we are between two worlds; our feet in night and our heads in the future yet to come. Sometimes we canât wait to shake off the darkness; even pretend it never happened; other times we are sluggishly unwilling to give ourselves over to the cares of daylight hours. The ancients celebrated each âreturnâ of the sunâs light as a religious and philosophical triumph; a sign that the mighty ones have forgiven us the past and will allow us to continue the grand experiment of life for another day.
There is a special quality of light to Dawn when ordinary objects look different; magical, even the air feels different, full of portent and excitement. Often we find ourselves wishing this transitional period would last forever. Dawn is the Future itself; perhaps more thrilling as we contemplate its possibilities than when we begin the hard slog of making them come true.
Dawn signals a freshening, a slackening of tension. We confronted Night alone; now we are going to get some company. We were all keyed up â now we are going to get a break. This can be interpreted as a Reward â finally! Some little crumb to keep us going. When we have been trying so hard and are allowed to relax, itâs almost as if a sense of shock sets in.
Weâre so exhausted from all our effort we donât even want to TRY to figure out whatâs REALLY going on. We just want to roll with it, for now. Get our breath back. Recover our mojo. We are plunged into a new dream-like state of particular value to Skryers hoping to Discern their future: Day Dreaming. As our ânight terrorsâ subside, we are flooded with images, ideas, memories, yearnings, disconnected at first. Go with it.
What do these visions say to you? How do you feel about it? It is in moments like these that we may get some unexpected insight. We may realize that the high-status Soulmate we THOUGHT we wanted (Financial bro! Super-model! Sports star!) is not what we want AT ALL. We feel new yearnings, for someone more in tune with our REAL lifestyle and our cherished, secret sense of self.
As dawn breaks, the game re-sets. We get to start again! Allow yourself to celebrate all the fresh possibilities suddenly poured so generously into your lap.
THE TREEHOUSE
Eager I was to initial your flesh Mark it mine forever A fairly short forever as I recall. Trilling up my drainpipe
Your hot unvaried song – âWho will know?â We were the ones who did not know. The treehouse was our yearbook â
Memoryâs coffin; there You swallowed me whole A circus act, a disappearing act None saw
Insects feasted on our Unwatched blood Bursting to the rhythm Of our bursting.
If I mistake your face these days In a flower-field of faces Shifting to moon pressure Swaying to wind pressure
Listing according to laws unknown Count me not along your abacus of traitors; I am she. The blood still flows, still glows In the treehouse.
Alysse Aallyn 