slow_burn tender square “old soul, waiting my turn; i know a few things, but i still got a lot to learn” —kacey musgraves i have the power to take the intensity of this flame and divide it a million different ways; a little burn to sling against the nights that string together to form a bracelet you can wear upon your wrist and channel patience. i will hold court with all the shadows, and keep each tapered glow burning in culmination, to illuminate the path for when the time comes that we may walk it. 210914 ... tender square this poem came to me in a dream. in the dream, he and i were walking towards one another as a row of candles lit a runway. we were meeting in the middle when i awoke. as i wrote the scene in my iphone from bed, pieces of the poem sprang to life. what i posted at 6 am that day had been composed in a half-awake state, i had just tweaked the lines. sharing the poem felt like i was giving this dream the ritual that it deserved to have. shortly after putting it out into the blathersphere, a panic overtook me: what if i was promising something that i couldn’t deliver on? words are powerful; words cannot be taken away. * when robert johnson talks about ritualizing a dream in “inner work” he is very adamant that the images that appear to us are symbols, they do not reflect reality. he also emphasizes that rituals are a private matter, they are not for public consumption. i did not read these warnings in his book until the day after i posted “slow_burn.” he cautions: “don’t give up on common sense. don’t give up on the courtesy or respect toward the people around you. this fourth step of dreamwork, this physical ritual, is a very powerful tool that can affect your life profoundly if it is used constructively. but it you use it in a silly or irresponsible way, it can cause you and other people a lot of grief. think twice before you do things that are too dramatic and confrontational, that will involve other people and their feelings” (108). * when i was a child, my pediatrician, dr. galiwango, used to refer to me as a witch during my appointments. he said this half-jokingly to my mother. the name cassandra means soothsayer. cassandra has the gift of prophesy in greek mythology; she foresaw the trojan war. when apollo tried to woo her, he favored her with the ability to see. but when she rejected him, he cursed her by making it so that no one would believe her visions. thinking back on this memory, i’ve wondered if i am a witch, if i possess more power than i realize, that i can’t fathom the full ramifications of this power and how it’s used to actualize what i want for my life. * the morning that i posted this poem, anxiety gnawed at me; i began a sudden shame spiral, thought that i had acted impulsively. recklessly. dangerously. i crouched low to the ground and pushed my palms into my eyes in an act of desperation to make the thoughts stop. i had a sudden vision: i saw an explosion of light—a galaxy swiftly born and scattering pixilated stars. a white heat burned through my entire system for several minutes, i felt it course through every limb and flow out from my fingers, my toes, my head. it was the most intense reaction i have ever felt in my body, it was unprecedented. i write all this to say that what’s between he and i is bigger than both of us know. 210924 what's it to you? who go blather from