#spontaneouscompositions

When the Bird Bowed

Sun, 03 May 2026 15:33:28 GMT

I am ready
to loosen my grip
on the illusions I carried

though these arms
grew strong
dragging every fear
that named itself love

Still
something ancient calls me
to make room
for the tools
a crone requires

She asks me
to set down
that carbon-copy collection
of who I was supposed to marry

refuse the costumes
I was taught to tally

seductress
saviour
silenced witness
whore

the scorned woman
still sharpening her sword
against herself

But these hands now
forged through fire and blood
hold a softer thing

a soul
stitched from silk and mud

called from dark rooms
where grief learned
how to sing

Still the maiden asks
why this path chose her

the mother bleeds
without a child to name

the longing woman
still trembles
at the rescuers song

But no one is coming now

and strangely
that truth has become holy

because the story keeps unfolding
beyond romance
beyond survival

into something vast enough
to hold all of me

Last night
I dreamt in full colour

birds everywhere
winged messengers
crossing impossible skies

gone were the men
who betrayed me

gone were the women
who vanished
when I needed them most

I stood alone
among rot
ruin
and medicine

Then the great white bird came

massive
silent
radiant

it stepped toward me
without fear

as if it already knew me

You are free
it said without speaking

You are clean
You are ready

And then

the bird bowed

slowly
deliberately

to me

My body filled with tears

old instinct reached outward
searching for someone
to witness this holiness

but something wiser
returned me
to the feathers
to the moment

I fell to my knees

not in shame

in recognition

And the great bird
still bowing

gave its final breath

as though surrender itself
had come
to feed me

and suddenly I understood

some things must die
so the soul can start kneeling
before its own Mastery

-MIRA

Lost & Found

Sat, 07 Jun 2025 14:25:02 GMT

It’s always been a lot of Work to be me.

To see these trigger warnings constantly flowing, breaking the boundaries of this terrified little girl inside my head who just won’t listen to a word I’ve said.

A vigilant visceral victim holding onto each bit of chaos Life handed disabled by trauma bonding to broken men. Forgiving them and taking the blame for how they abused her very being.

This morning while storming the terrible castle I built for her, I noticed something new. The view through the other side of these brittle broken hearts we toss between us she and I became clear. I noticed how well I can take on the demons drawn to my lap and pet them and feed them even though they attack and leave me bleeding out on whichever floor they happen to abandon me on. The one I swept each and every day, moping up the footprints of my father muddying the face of my lover, forgetting I was never meant to save any of them.

Today I gave back the guilt I swallowed and told that little girl she was done holding on to evil.

I got this, I told her and knew it as Truth then felt her finally believe in the proof of my presence.

You don’t have to fight for love anymore. Let go of the fever forged in the darkness that left you alone in the sadness as though there was only the choice to be used for your magic until your witchery lay dried up with nothing left for you.

Stop hurting yourself for a muse.

I found you my dear. 50 years seeking real love, you can return to my arms and step into the freedoms with which you were born. Nothing broken only buried, nothing taken only carried for far too long. Set down the idea that you don’t belong.

I am here, my daughter, my best friend my song. Shine even stronger than ever before because somebody out there forgot they were strong. Then open again to the moment you can feel My Soul.

Turn away from the lie that you are alone.

You are whole.

~Mira

The Shift

Sat, 07 Jun 2025 14:23:02 GMT

The shift.

The turn.

The changing of the guard from

red ruminations of regret and denial

slowing the world down

and turning the veil on

holding space for the trauma in its wild unruly ravenous tunnelling

through my guts,

to a pitch dark room

wretched and wrecked

each and every time a thought

of being loved arrived and then

here in this presence I notice

a space of fragility open

clean pain rearranging the window

of a new gratitude which I had bet my life would no longer hold me close.

The shift

The claiming

The very book of naming what is no longer True but held such depth of truth

in a love story where even Love could be proud.

Reality can not be fought. I tried. Keeping my eyes shut though my mind wakes up and I bargain and plot remembering what was what on the morning my life shattered.

Let me go back, I spattered through tears.

And then and then poor little Me must be held by my tribe while I cannot feel another feel or take another breath. I believed I would not survive.

The shift

The glow

There is only this unknown.

What is here and then here and then here? Now. What will I choose inside and how to create something to weave together these shards of time before the thousand little cuts grow stronger than I?

One. Then another. Milliseconds tied and trained after every patch comes untamed to find a quilting of patterns renamed so that I can finally understand why God left me here suffering like the pleas in Gesthimani.

My blood wasn’t enough to keep death at bay.

Today. And then another and try to love each other. That’s all I’ve discovered so far on this trepidatious path. The he’s journey just blasphemy.

The shift

The flow.

Somehow Ive grown

new muscles to carry the gifts of grief across town and into new fields where something magical wishes me to sing again with no promise the opening will keep me from harm but asked me to do it anyway.

~Mira

Pray For Grace

Sat, 07 Jun 2025 14:16:31 GMT

My left hand

clenched in a fist,

the grip around my love

feverish.

This cliff of presence

with my experience

skillfully jabs into my chest

wrestling my heart

forced to persist

by the hope promised me.

Promised. Me.

My right hand stretches out

as far as it can,

waving up and down

mocking itself with images

of magpies and

dreams I

can fly.

These legs peddle, paddle

as waves unpredictably cast shadows changing just as I start to understand.

My back arching cat-like

against patterns revolving around my memories, while thousands of pure white puzzle pieces taunt my command, beckoning wholeness

though I don’t know

this design.

My eyes, long for a God

who refused to show up

because the longing only occurs

in the assumptions there was

an absence.

So I can see it when I believe in it

but then I’m caught in a storm only salved by the trust

I lost

a long time ago.

The mind. Oh fuck. There’s a terrible cost when the body’s tormented by broken promises while visions of trust get tossed into quicksand.

But my feet

seem to be

getting what it needs

from me.

One step.

Another.

Back step

then forwards.

The cool grass wiggles between tired toes and then this shattering aloneness and practiced panic has something else to show.

Walking around the darkest forest,

open to the ghosts who wanted

to have me, singing through the birds above me, hopes of spring already wondering

what the winter will want from me

And though I can’t quite feel it yet,

I believe in the coming warmth of summer.

Still, these morning musings

while the lake quits its freezing,

cool breezes take over the fire of this year’s grieving allowing the steamy dreams of peace to touch my face

as I continue to

pray

for

grace.

~Mira

photo by Darshan Stevens

A GIRL LIKE ME

Sun, 11 Feb 2024 00:11:55 GMT

Remember me, dancing, imagining the way the whole world would love me, silly little periwinkle flowers in my eyes reflected by the wonders of my imagination but so afraid to fly, unprepared, unaware. Remember me, so pretty. Cleaning the burgundy trail made from minutes that defined my understanding of love. Bruises branded on a tiny throat. A little voice choked as my innocence woke while I am only witnessed by my baby brown bear burned with bedtime stories you’re not suppose to tell. Remember me, limping from your room the first time your buggery bloody the back of that crinoline dress daddy picked because he loves me best. Sanity happily snapping at this rainbows end and I learn to imagine. I am Doris Day, Sophia Loren Marilyn Monroe breaking the bow in a new beau as if his love could cure the curdled pages of my happily forever after. Remember me sisters. Broken bones building empty homes eyes closed more afraid to cry than hide. The way of it scraping virgin flesh made whorish by knifepoint with words I used to cut myself. Presence foggy and abandoned in the rain. Remember me brothers. A juggernaut boring through powerless pink pyjamas to drink the drama like a bottomless dirty martini. Like you could save me. I can't even hear the poetry whispering as the deafening dream clouds over as I’m pretending I'm OK every time I take off my clothes. The smell of my self loathing perfumed by breakfast kept secret, separate, festering underneath Disney bedsheets. The idea of me out of focus as I numbly chase the dizzying voices of God. Who was that who witnessed that who said that and then that who is that in my mind? The sacred left it in the chamber like so many bullets. I can’t remember when I began this tragic game of roulette. My most delicious dreams sent to me by angles cooing, “patience, patience you are loved”. And though I hate them, I heard them, and memorize the melody they call to me nightly, “Sing. Sing! Sing to me.” Remember me flying past surviving. I Am victorious. The tests of fire bring whole again my puzzle pieces perfected before I was born and then I am showed a new painting. Colours free all across that once retched sky while I shake them awake with my Grimms lullaby. They want to hide from the dark, want to justify the ugly slugging round my belly but I will show them anyway! I’m protected by those ancient poets placing saffron in the moonlight to make fragrant this fight for truth. I am merely collateral light, in case She is gazing at me looking for proof that love can win. We can stare together at the stars and pray for a prize, a clue, a rescue, for the ancient wounds wound around a girl like me.

Roly poly

Thu, 10 Aug 2023 21:13:32 GMT

When I was a kid, the fat, roly-poly, insecure kid in class who was always picked last, I wanted a dancers body. Sleek, lean, strong, proud.

But now I can see those women who fought for their dreams of dance, nurturing their broken toes and battered knees, bounded breasts, made to stay skinny. I hear the ache in their bones, unwound, *what could have been?* bursting at the seams of best intentions.

When I was 20 there were these flirty, confident girlies, dancing on stages that terrified me. And speaking their experience so deeply, eloquently, that I longed to know their pain just so maybe I'd weight in the same rank as they. I got sick with envy.

Then my 30’s noticed these soul sisters, longing to be misters, who came to feel the world in their fingertips and notice every movement like nobody was watching. Telling the Truth a mortal fear but doing it anyway. They had to. I wanted to be different just like them. They might have understood the crazy that boiled inside me. But now I see the struggle, the beatings the political muddle, their fight in the muggle mortal world rejected where I stand so comfortably cis.

When I turned 40 I wanted to find myself in the body of a younger girl. I’d give anything in the world for the skin in their prime. Unencombered by time. So much left ahead. The freedom to redefine again and again. The freedom to change their mind. Change the bed they'd made.

But now in my 50's I long for the wisdom of my elders. The freedom of those sisters who show me compassion for my angst in the chaos of a wild woman. They know the shadows that show up in the fires of menopause, understanding the hights of the mystic in the knowing of who they are really are.

I think my 60s will show me a path of God so bright it could shine through the dark to all the little girls who don’t know their own beautiful, powerful beating heart .

Love

Mira

Mental health shmental health

Sun, 09 Jul 2023 14:23:26 GMT

I've been studying for my Child and Youth Care Counsellor Certification after 25 years of working in residential and shelter treatment centres for kids. I'm beefing up my application for acceptace into a Masters degree program.

Something I read this morning hit me personally.

That is to say that I've been reading for over an hour about all the traits and concurrent or co morbid disorders like "mental health & addiction" and the research, unsurprisingly and generally, speaks to the function of healthy consistent and postive relationships being the first line of defense and recovery for survivors.

So, there's the thought I took sorta personally. As a survivor myself #metoox11years as well as a mental health worker, I can see that all of my intimate and dare I say even most of my closest friends, all have a history of trauma. Abuse being so very prevalent in a society which believes itself to be informed while perpetuating ignorance combined with my own specific spice and type of abuse history and healing modalities....

Well, I just don't date happy go lucky, trauma free, conscious since birth due to solid family and educational systems, well adapted simply happy shiny people. I like me some broody artisitc deep philosophical slighty damaged friends...because they GET ME. It's a very specific kind of passion and energy and art and conversation when survivors who dedicate themselves to recovery get together.

It's an exclusive club of several billion.

And yet, even in the health care system there is a stigma about survivors. Our brains and our genes evolved or withered in accordance to the abuse, especially trauma occuring before the age of 4. "We" developed differently.

And yet.

How do we break this cycle? Not just *me* and *my* family but globally? Why do the kids addictions wilderness camp funding become the first to be cut, again, when we shift governments? What hashtag actually changes systemic toxicity? Why do high school teachers make less than .0008% of those who put a cylander inside a basket for a living?

Where is my rainbow parade?

Do you know how long it takes to be given addictions and mental health treatment in an average Canadian hospital post suicide attempt?

You don't get mental health support once you are medically stabel. They send you home with a referal for some group treatment or other which in Alberta has a waiting list of 3 months to 2 years depending on how valid and functional the treatment.

Unless of course you are psychotic or homicidal in which case..lithium and an overworked under paid social worker's telephone number, then they send you home

Do you know what education is required to work in a kids crisis line? None. What experience and training is required to get a job as a relief worker for a Youth behavioural treatment or addictions centre? High school - it's generally a minimum wage job. What formal degree is required for someone in Canada to take on and offer treatment to clients with a history of violent sexual trauma of more than a decade? None.

The complexities and limitations and separateness of humanity is to blame in my humble, albeit vocal, opinion. We are arrogant and selfish and how I raise my child is none of your f'n business. It does not take a village so piss off with your perspective.

We worry more about our social media algorythms and bank statements than we do about the next generation of leaders who are currently hiding in treatment centres for annorexic 11 years olds or drug detox.

Oh. Not You of course. Not me.

(yes, you and also me)

And so what can *I* do other than complain and make a post that ten people will read?

I do not know.

Keep healing myself and supporting the healing of others.

Vote very carefully.

Volunteer and donate resources to mental health and social support agencies as best I can.

Continue to speak my truth even if unpopular.

Keep my own learning, mental health practices and tools sharp.

Forgive them for everything.

Love with all my heart.

Thank you for listening.

Love,

Mira

Mira Black

#mentalhealth #recoveryispossible #survivor #LoveChallenge #traumainformed #trauma #strengthbased #wildwomanrising

Authoriphobia

Wed, 05 Apr 2023 17:59:11 GMT

OMG.
For the last several kms a police car has been following me.

I noticed it three cars behind me but as I took my exit Mr policeman took it too placing him right behind me.

My mind pulled the fire alarm,

“Do I have any weed in my car??!!
Oh wait, weed’s legal. And I’m on a cleanse so haven’t bought any for over a month.”

I changed lanes.
Police car changed lanes.
Mind scrambling for the correct answer,

“I’m not speeding. Used my turning signal. Seatbelt on. Didn’t cut anyone off. No lights or stop signs to run. Registration is paid. Licence clear. Pretty sure no warrants out for my arrest…”

My heart was pounding as I turned off the main road onto a side road which would lead to a gas station.

Police car turned onto the same side road and now very close behind me.

“Wtf did I do wrong??
Oh God I can’t afford a fine!
Please don’t do this to me!”

Turning onto the Shell station lot, police car also turned into the gas station and remained on my tail.

“I took a deep breath and then another and surrendered, a bit, mentally although my heart was still fighting to leap out of my chest as I parked next to the Shell convenience store.

But where was my hounding cop about to send me into some nightmare fate unfolding in my imagination? What if my mother was hurt and needed me and the hospital sent a car to find me? Do they do that? Oh mommy! Okay copper, come and get me.

Oh.

Seems he needed gas too.

Breathe.

Good grief Mira Black.#authoriphobia
#drama#queen#mindsetiseverything
��

LoL

What about the Men?

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Thu, 19 May 2022 15:32:56 GMT

#weshouldtalk photo of Jason McLean author of "One drop of Water"

There's a *thing* , or so it seems, rising more strongly than the forces of compassion or tendencies towards connection and hope...

Hate.

Most specifically the hatred of "the patriarch" which notably is deeply wounded and dysfunctiona, we can find evil there. Yet this choice to dam and blame and villainize "Men" has become such a gapping, seeping, festering, vengeful thing,

I fear the infection will become terminal.

We have turned "feminism" into glorified rage and scream and vey to chop off the damaged limb of social conditions born to the world as a Man.

Is it fair to say, "the white man"? Muslim? Rich man ..poor?

How do we teach what healing is for when as we spit hate? Will more venom spat into salty lacerations of our broken masculine be the correct source of cauterization? How? The divinity of our fellows have fallen, I can see this too and too many little sisters feeds the foe. Perhaps cutting off the decay is the only road. But what of the babes born into the world created by a reverence for power over and a culture honoured by rape and dominance...what came first the infant or the hate?

And what of the conscious brothers? What of the little boys, blond and blue eyed and ..privileged? Boo them as they turn to listen? Punch them when they ask to understand? Shut the door on the damaged masculine weeping alone in his room because boys don't cry you fucking pussy? How does that help heal the Masculine Divine? How do we remove the barriers and blame and boys will be boys from the framework of their conditioning?

Ah yes, it's not the job of the oppressed to teach their tormentors so best we degrade and push them all into the same punitive room with some sort of hope they'll sort it out themselves.

What of their mothers? Teachers? What have you done, what have I? There are important questions asking us to honestly, vulnerably look inside.

Help me understand...if not the one who truly understand then whose heart can make them stand up like a real Man? Like a good King? Like the lover who forges tools in support of the path beside and behind and inside and within? How does that begin?

Women must rise, you know my dear reader, I know. I hear the call for good brothers to help their kin, stand up and face themselves and their broken bits and tell the tales of healing and awakened bliss found only through their owns hero's journey through the darkest night.

But then who will offer the very first Joe step into the Light? Leaving them to bleed alone until they fight the good fight ...well, do we have time for that?

Truth is we do have a patriarch and the energies of toxic masculine (including billions of women feeding this fire of hate) are in still in charge if only by the habits of awakening we're only starting to start.

I'm not a change maker, politician, doctor, healer, or even much of a leader and I do not have THE answer. I'm a woman with allot of questions and a have found my own way through the chaos. What I am is a messenger and mystic and though no less powerful for my small size my voice can only reach so far.

I also know for a fact, Love is required.

Maybe, just maybe, my tiny flame can ignite yours and yours his and this then hers and theirs and then them and once we light the world on fire with so much fierce Love even the darkest shadows will reign down embers to burn a path big enough to change how we raise our babes so much so that one day the someday of conscious Leadership and Love will become stronger than hate.

Now that's a dream I can believe in.

Homeless and Hungry

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Wed, 10 Nov 2021 18:54:28 GMT

Story Time

Stopped at a red light after a very long and seemingly fruitless day, I noticed a dishevelled looking man standing on the sidewalk with a sign that said "homeless and hungry". I quickly averted my eyes, habitually perhaps, suddenly riveted by the car in front of me. Discomfort spread across my brow and I felt a shadow of resentment pointed at this man who contributed to my already furrowed brow. I disconnected. Too easily.

I thought about the coins near my radio sitting in what would have been an ashtray if I still smoked cigarettes. But, well that's for emergencies especially since I often forget to bring change for the old school parking meter outside my yoga shala. As my stealthy avoidance reminiscening reminded me of my yoga practice, I felt how grateful I am for the privilege and opportunity to train. My heart opened. Then I noticed a guilt rise like a slow burn up my spine and I bowed my head fidgeting with the car radio I never use.

Hidding in plain sight.

Looking down, anywhere but out though somewhat in, I saw my lunch bag and my mind recalled the freshly roasted, organic, grain fed, humanely raised chicken leg and thigh fried with fresh herbs which I had packed up this morning for work. Such a conscious, healthy meal good for me! But I'd just had a large Tim Hortons double double coffee so wasn't hungry.

That's when it hit me. Like a slap across my face:

I'm not hungry.

I've never been truly heartbreakingly unavoidably hungry.

Never.

I pulled out my freshly roasted humanely raised, grain fed chicken, rolled down my window and beckoned the homeless man over. He stood up and walked towards my now smiling face with trepidation.

"Would you like some freshly roasted chicken? I cooked it myself."

He walked towards my car still idling at the red light and stopped an arms length from my open window, careful, I noticed, not to get too close. This was a gesture obviously for me with the practised boundary He's honed. He took the chicken gently from my hand, stepped back again and with a ragged but clear voice he looked into my now unhidden eyes and said,

"Thank you, yes. By all means yes! Thank you."

I felt good. Of course I did. Was it because I released the guilt by taking action as I took my foot off the break and memorized this man now sitting back with his sign, devouring my chicken? Sure, that makes sense. Was it because I wanted to act like a good person, to be liked and post my good deed on Facebook? Why not? Was it because I wanted this Other, this Man, with his own story and suffering and lessons and grief and obvious loss to have some reprieve even for a moment, even with what ever barriers and pummelling Life has given him to face? Certainly. Arrogant of me to think this tiny contribution will be oh so very important, but certainly a factor in my good feels.

Truth is though, it was the contact. The moment he took the food from my outstretched hand there was a connection between two souls. Seems maybe the connection actually occured the moment my heart opened. A common place between us where this human experience can be salved and goodness might be validated. Nothing else. A moment of true contact between brothers in arms on this earth plane. He bowed his head slightly backing away to the sidewalk and I placed my two palms together in front of my chest and silently blessed him.

Neither of us will recognize each other in a crowd. But we had an intimate moment of open hearts. Gratitude from both of us pointed at the other. Our eyes were locked in a brief moment of grace. And it changed us in a micro m oment of shared experience here on the street.

It strikes me now, driving off to my cozy little apartment sublet, heading home from my sustainable job, full belly, cold coffee and a voice memo of love from my best friend saved on this phone I'm writing you from, that I had just been given a great gift.

The gift of remembering with gratitude the Truth of Who I Am when I choose Love:

I Am That.

I Am Love.

Death Defying

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Mon, 10 May 2021 16:31:25 GMT

It's days like today

when the sun shines too brightly

for what the heart is finding

inside the moments

I'm not sure I've said I

what I need to say.

Looking in,

instead of back

the forward seems to lack

a fullness and it keeps

holding on

to what's gone.

And yet

all along the way I can paint

the smiles which warmed me in the darkest corners,

surround my self with that which calms me

in the space between honest friendship

and love.

You know who you are.

But have I told you the passion your teachings invited,

or of the wisdom which ignited a flame

now wandering through the

halls of my Life?

Have I mentioned the boisterous laughter

echoing through this

minstrels mind

meandering across the miles

between us?

What if I’ve got it wrong

and all along you’ve held onto the things that needed clearing and sharing and loving?

I'm ready to hear your wanting.

Would you tell me your heart if I had asked from mine

opened by the days we held each other through the night dark?

It's plausible the cause of poetry I have written you will

frighten the kind of child running amok in us both

while running harder towards the rift memorized by God.

It doesn't matter.

If I never see you again my friend these lives left behind or yet to become a binding thread,

the blood line of depth created a death defying connection between

the authenticity of who we are beyond the ideas scarred in the mind.

And still,

here in the infinite Divine

distance infested with resistance

and all kinds of scary bedtime stories but

there is no worry or miscommunication even inside the cryptic way I say this,

because I know you know

and I remember that dazzling smile unconsciously spreading across that wizened body telling me how proud you are of me

and I holding you tightly opening your heart around you in a way neither of us knew existed.

Who knows when our eyes will lock again but then

will you remember the Truth of me

when the fears in me

collide with those things in you

wounded through the very core

while this sentence might go on and on and still not find the point of connection required to convey how much

I love You.

But I do.

That Sticky place in my heart

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Wed, 05 May 2021 15:42:36 GMT

It’s like I’m

squeezed into a box

I didn’t chose.

I get grief is something to surrender to

but this place remakes the very fabric

I’ve clung to since I was child

dreaming of music.

I’m a certain kind of creature.

Cut from the molds of bards and mistrals.

Troubadours.

Shining light in the shadows.

Sound medicine spreading wisdoms down the path through ancestral vibration which connect you.

Word smiths of culture we are your shamans and such

the healers, magicians and the muse but .

though I do this for my Soul but mostly I do this for truth.

I still get surprised that I’m surprised

at Life unfolding without my permission.

No hero jumping through my door. So much never comes to fruition even for the very best of Us.

And yet we still get right back up.

No control here.

Lessons made to grow me.

Making me face that sticky place I know well.

See, my heart’s still bent

from that last good beating.

She must have her own say.

Ignoring the brand new way new love waits for me

to show up completely.

But I am addicted to the tears.

Then I am suddenly groundless,

singing out into the silence

alone in my room

and these days without the freedom to be with all of You

seems to be burrowing through my soft underbelly

which someone else has carved into.

The governmental through and through.

And still, more than anything,

I forge new work in the dark,

seeking a new spark, anything to warm the virus of separation doing my part.

this hopeful little heart,

send out a wish

You are still listening.

Humanity glistening in my memory locked in the scene of my best slow dance. I find tender salves in the moments I notice how we all find our way back to each other time and time again.

Then how quickly to get lost in the game.

We’re survivors after all and above all the same. Somewhere inside beyond the things easily named.

At the cells our energies dwell between

your inhale and mine.

Energy entwined if only for the time of this song.

What’s even stronger than war and greed and loss and desire:

the fundamental principle and absolute fire inside all of us?

*Love.

We just keep forgetting.

~Mira

#inthistogether

#lockd

CENSORED

Wed, 21 Apr 2021 15:04:20 GMT

CENSORED

*an opinion piece

Trigger warning:

authentic communication

“ I think because we are forced to focus on covid 24/7 for over a year there is a hyperventilating on all fronts.

Fear breeding fear. Not a new aspect of humans but certainly a pointed energy with each and every human being made to focus on this one thing

all

the

time.

I’m doing it right now.

If we as a global tribe talked about the science and facts about anything that is killing us we would see this degree of fear pushing us together and then we exert individuality, and externalizers, we implode and fight. We seem to do that again and again until one side overpowers the other.

Some are tired of the conversation. Fear and a ‘power over’ mentality is in fact happening and it’s happening around something that one “side” feels should not have this much focus and money poured into it. The other side dismissed and foolish children. Neither truly, actively, reflectively listening to each other.

Some are huddling towards elected leadership and traditional beliefs around science and media structures with trust and adherence to what overtly or inadvertently we agreed upon as a society. I pay my taxes and enjoy most of the benefits. I can’t take only what I want and refuse that of what my people want or need. Democracy doesn’t work that way. I do not have a “right” to do say or act in what ever way I, I, mine, me, my wish.

It is the most powerful current conversation trumping all others.

Covid.

I get both sides. I really think I’m getting both sides. I, like most, long for balance.

That’s not new of course.

The need for Balance.

We could have chosen to focus on the death toll from sugar and we could have banned it or socially punished those who disagree...those who choose to feed their children very little else. And there are sides here. Those who believe it is our right. Those who ignore the facts over industry. Those who chose one scientific journal over another. Those who don’t care and fill in line “oh live a little, it’s a special occasion” and those who start organic raw food gluten free vegan groceries. And about the shit in Splenda or Aspartame we feed each other and our kids? I mean pick a global catastrophe and make the world ...the whole world ...focus directly on that all the time for a year? Cancer. Rape. Indigenous rights. Domestic violence. Read the science there and tell me we ought not be hiding in our homes in protest!

All the fuss about this *one* is confusing for some when there are actually much more deadly issues. I am sad for those who’ve lost loved ones from this disease. Also for those killled from being beaten to death or from starvation or religious persecution. My heart truly truly breaks for all the grieving.

And yet. Have we stopped talking about human sex trafficking or the massively rising death toll of men over 50 by suicide, or the human rights atrocities of pharmaceutical industry, climate change,black lives, Asian lives, lgbtq2 lives...

#musicianslife

“Pandemic” all day long.

Some are trying to be heard around the trillions of dollars being made by some others, directly related to this pandemic...and think specifically about which aspects of culture are morphing to its ultimate extinction. Which one do you prefer to have thrive?

Okay, I’m trying to have balance but I guess there is a bias towards, something fishy’s going on in the castle but us villagers are too tired and being rated by dragons to fight back.

I do not wish my 70 something mother to die. I really don’t. I love her viscerally and will be lost without her for a long time.

But I’m truly not certain that this global lockdown and culture fear mongering pointing trillions of dollars towards the purchase of an indispensable corporations chemicals while so much goodness withers, is worth even her beloved and precious life.

I do not know.

Im not making a statements for or against the vaccine here. I wear a medical mask and sterile gloves and special protective goggles and sometimes full medical smocks for 9 hour shifts. And then masked to the store on the way home, may as well keep on the gear, then mask to do my laundry or meet a friend. I do the do’s. I’m worn down by the cultural expectations and will get the vaccine myself. Even if it’s a horrid long term thing or the only way to get some sense of normal connection again. I certainly don’t want to be left behind either way!

This is only an observance from my personal study and perspective. No scientists or anti maskers were directly harmed in my contemplation even though I have often been told my words and questions are “killing someone’s grandma”

I do have to note that humanity are making choices inside elements of torture (isolation, restrictions, loss of culture and mandating or denying spiritual gathering, negative messaging and fear battered across a blue screen designed to create dependency, rationing of resources and financial ruin for some etc). Lock the doors to the police and social services but open the mall. Forbid live music and nurture Facebook. Walmart and Amazon over local anything. I can sit in a large room full of people without a mask while I eat and drink and laugh but most can not, even in full medical coverings, visit their frightened or injured parents. Masked children growing up without the smiles and cooing and social teachings of their tribe.

And yes. We will evolve and we can live and re create and we do. We adapt. And some still spend their days helping each other.

I get we have been fighting for a covid vaccine since SARS and we have cured many many things w the right drugs. Insuline, methimozile, antibiotics and on and on drugs can prevent imminent death and suffering.

And yet there is a way in which we too often do not do the harder work underlying the disease but flail around with toxic responses. Some are asking if this might be one of those times where we are missing the point.

I do not know the absolute true. Of course I can’t yet know. But all of it does give me cause to question. Most pointedly the current disallowance to question.

Censorship is deep right now.

There are of course those who need a cure and some semblance of a return to the world of connection and commerce. Some kind of felt normalcy perhaps. Some way, any way of stopping this shift weather it be a massive loss of humans or of spirit or of music or of...or of...loss loss and change. So hard! Longing and craving and loss on all fronts.

I also want a fix to be realized and activated ASAP.

Still, there are those who feel freedom and personal choice over ride even death.

War. Genicide. Police and military brutality. Alcoholism. Misogyny.

We kill each other. We do do that. The question now might be ..could be...what is truly where we, as a global race, are focusing all our resources towards and is that fundamentally the correct choice.

We tend to fight for the quick fix; the short term salve, rather than choose to do the hard work for a long term collective solution.

We also have a deep capacity for great love and compassion and connection. How do we focus the whole world on that?

I feel from my witnessing, from my corner of the world, that talking about the down side and potential long term effects while we are in the act of putting the chemical inside peoples bodies across the planet is a worthwhile conversion to nurture.

It’s about the freedoms to question and disagree and make educated informed consensual choices. Can we do that while in the elements of crisis, trauma and distress? I’m not yet clear on that.

The hardest part for me I think is the *logical* integration of information while there is so much conflict and contradictions and false news. Even what looks to be real is not and all sides feel “there” side is the right and just and real and factual scientific and philosophical stance. But only a very very small portion of humanity have and understand the absolute Truth and even smaller portion of those might be acting altruistically and the very best they can with what they’ve got.

I am not one who knows the actual truth about this yet.

I do not think anyone on my page is either.

So what’s the point of this letter?

I guess all I can really ask is that you speak to me and my mind offerings here with gentle respect. Refrain from assuming I am just like anyone else who has done you harm and give me the chance to be me, and to communicate and question and to listen to your respectful communications even if we disagree.

Especially if we disagree.

All I can do now is fight for authentic connection in what ever way is offered.

I’m not allowed to sit with you or sing to you or hold you and often there is no tone or eyes or heart beat to guide our connection.

My intention is always pointed towards love even when that love feels flaccid, impotent or so tried I need reminding of my capacity to Love even when bleeding beside you in the trenches of Life.

Thank you for listening.”

Love,

MIRA BLACK

Compost

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Sun, 10 Jan 2021 15:45:10 GMT

COMPOST

There's something forced in the smile I once flaunted taking for granted the movement of love through the notions I once held to my chest, light as a feather. Rooms full of chairs filled with ears eager to hear what I have to say the music magic medicine in those moments we were together. I remember singing you to sleep resting in my arms to awake to the words getting under your skin.

There's a new kind of hardness in my eyes this morning blinking in the mirror ever since the world turned inside out. The easy rhyme next to my mouth as no one seems to understand the Truth of my guts opening wide to this unnatural hiding in my room. And too soon someone will shame me to say something happy because my grief is too close to their own or maybe the sun that shone on their day isn't the same as mine today and it's time to take a different side of the fork sharply carved between us. That's fine. Just don't try to shut down the vein bleeding out as the poison must be lanced. Someone else will understand and then neither of us have to be alone.

The sombre tone mistaken by the masses as they shout at me to dig for happiness and do what they do to get through what only I know how to hold onto. Like I don't know how to love myself as I do what I do to love myself you curse me for the loving of myself with words that burst forth from my hurt. And so as I open my heart to my needs I must take care of their need for how I take care of my needs. It's exhausting.

Maybe it's foolish. Trusting the forces of humanity to take care of me like the child rising inside to see if it's safe. To take a great leap back into a place I have not known since I was a kid and make the woman in me pretend I know what I'm doing in case I need to help another through it. Because that's what I do. And hear me. I do it.

Front lines and barb wired minds unfold in my arms everyday. Death tolls rise inside my tribe and it's on me to hold the children as they cry. You can't know the sound of a youth moving through the news that their brother has just died. Like something wild tearing at its own bear trap confused and screaming "why?".

Bravery comes in all sorts of colours but I bet you didn't know the end of each rainbow has its own daggers digging into the ground. Underneath the jagged edges are shades you've never imagined oozing into your garden. It's amazing to taste what grows in the unknown when I can open to what the Gods want to show.

I have no answers though. Not really. I can only try and meet another morning warning me to keep getting up before I atrophy succumbing to another catastrophe. I'm getting old in this pandemic watching the majestic echoes of music squash into a tiny metal screen. I'm waiting for wisdom to glean while I go deaf in the silence between us.

Everything changes, yes, but the silly assumptions I just have to mention is that change isn't necessarily sweet. And I know you want me to end this with something glittery and soft just because it's too much to hold onto the flame. And that's okay. You can pray for a better day while I stay witness to decay cleaning up the mess that's left when the compost of life is left unchecked under the bed waiting to be planted in the flowerbeds next Spring.

Life Long

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Mon, 04 Jan 2021 16:50:17 GMT

Dedicated to Anil Sahay

Storytime.

Once upon a time there was a little girl with a little curl right in the middle of her forehead. This is a part of her tale very few know. She had 13 brothers and sisters, she the 10th in that row. And yet the only child from the coupling of parents and certainly raised alone. Words like half and step step between them see and none of them came with her each time she had to leave.

There are angels who flew in and out of life each choosing to include she: mothers, sisters, brothers and one who once made her his wife.

The Mother did chase, for years after Daddy’s escape. He chose to steal what Mother’s body did created. His fear overtook logic then logic hid love, the burden too much for a man on the run. Boarding schools and hotel rooms became more familiar than any homeland and though that man was her hero he kept downcast eyes with zero knowing of what it means to leave a baby all on her own.

She was so very small.

Country to country, bed to bed the little one’s scenery shifted and bled and shifted again into the unknown. Decade to decade, no solid ground.

And yet

she learned

to surf

the sky.

There is grief there but also magic here as she claims the true nature of a Warrior. That troubadour's stance became a traveling musician like the Gods were preparing for war.

Dear reader don't fret,

she learned where home truly led.

A valiant place inside.

Before tears come into play it's important to relay, The Mother calls her little girl daily today.

That heroin found her. Hidden well in golden blankets, ferrel foreign oceans cleansing memories frozen in an infants sigh. Their voices have the very same ring, the very same song to each chime.

But that one's a tale for another time.

Our fable unravels nigh the end as the eldest of brothers dies leaving suffering behind. He was the one who looks just like the Father but with far softer eyes.

Fifteen years her senior she never truly knew him but his gentle nature haunts the place where big brothers reside. The loss was sudden because the girl turned a woman, wasn't paying enough attention to the tribe.

She didn't get to say goodbye.

The heartache did surprise her since, as I've shared, he was a stranger but there's something hard about the words that now arise. Words like "family", "tradition" and "home" make a guttural sound from her throat and she notices moments her own

mind strains but gets it wrong

and she cries for the father yet again.

There is a quote, new paint on my soap box, ready for any challenge that comes open. It's from a dying man I barely knew though he touched me through and through.

Oh, He died this Christmas eve with a threat that he can't leave us in truth with words of wisdom said as words of wisdom flew off his hearted sleeve warmed by the hearth of his last breath.

Love.

"Don't put things off and love each other with grace and tenderness".

Yes, these are the notions of a man who knew oceans of devotion for I watched his clan gather him towards heaven with hearts in hands and Light shining bright along his path.

And so as they virtually bury the biggest brother, the little girl has called all the others who she knows will still answer her cry. They are stars disconnected across worlds yet reflected in a manifested, wanton heart of their pride.

I noticed an ancient thread, bare to the bone, holding them together in a collective tone of loss and love and history in a way I can make up stories of these days those hapless poets can finally come

home.

Love,

Mira Black (nee Sahay)

"...love each other tenderly and with grace." G. Curley

#FUCKUCOVID

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Sat, 05 Dec 2020 14:44:04 GMT

*an opinion piece

Another word about COViD-19 by Mira Black

#FUCOVID

This thing that’s happening has nefarious roots. Something rottens going on. No conspiracy theory here. It’s a fact that time and time and time again humanity wakes up to something wicked going on all around them that they didn’t quite see was wrong the day before.

Here we are in another test of humanity’s integrity and character.

I can really only know my own perspective and so with as much contemplation and inquiry as I’ve mustered so far

here’s what I see:

We must do Everything:

all the things we can to

protect and replenish -

Our health and social systems we need.

Our local homegrown businesses.

Our arts and our cultures.

Our humanity.

Slow down the rate of contagion in all the ways possible.

And as always has been required but too often forgotten -

*protect the vulnerable.

This is a viral fire

spreading too fast across

the forest of humanity.

Death toll still rising.

Suffering and new sanctuary birthing.

Collateral damage.

Evolutionary transitions.

These social system need nurturing.

They have often been neglected and abandoned and used and abused.

And still they run to the front line when we fall.

Question:

our leaders.

our media.

our royalty.

our warriors.

our corporations.

our influencers.

our conditioned

ideas of what we thought was

True.

Stay safe:

And keep each other safe.

And help your neighbour.

And love your brother.

And ask your sister what you can do.

And ask yourself what kind of future

your powerful energy

is feeding into.

Love.

Mira.

Thank you.

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Thu, 20 Aug 2020 19:30:08 GMT

THANK YOU.

Thank you so much,

everyone,

for showing up in your Truth as best you can

with what you have learned

and with where you stand.

Thank you

for your compassion

experience

and for your passion.

Thank you for the fervent detail to be sure I understand.

Thank you for listening perfectly or imperfectly.

Thank for trying to be heard.

Thank you for caring and daring for placing your voice out in the storms,

your words connecting

these conversations

this shared experience.

Please forgive my learning today

turvy and topsy

and if I’m lucky

maybe you'll even forgive my

mis steps and misunderstandings

but I hope most especially for grace in the miscommunications

especially if they may have

hurt you.

Thank you for staying.

For being here now

inside this moment ,

my words pointed at you.

Thank you for the mirror in the moments I am foolish and for the warmth when I’m vulnerable

when I’m triggered and scared

and when I’m wrong.

Thank you from the other side of some fallible understanding between us

but at least we’re together

and real

serving love ..

that’s all that really matters

in the end.

“I’m sorry

Please forgive me

Thank you

I love You.”

Mira

I Am Enough

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Wed, 05 Aug 2020 14:00:57 GMT

Recently I once gain changed the views out my window. Shifting the perspective of my tragedies and trajectories to see what more I could see.

The change of ground under me again mixed with my over developed talent to cliff dive through life has not always been for “the best”. But very often necessary for the greater good in the end.

Once the dirt of my existence becomes dry I will til the soil of my Life over and over to check out the seeds and manure and worms.

To know what *this* is.

Tell what Life is?

I’ve notice, in the past few months, a very new learning and capacity to love my Self and listen to the requirements of my little self - my inner child and humanity. Learning to put the oxygen mask on me first when the plane is about to crash. Learning that others opinions have very little to do with my own truth or even the absolute Truth and that flailing loudly around the room for others to help me has only created more chaos rather than balance and autonomy and peace and true Love.

I am enough.

This is my most recent knowing. My most recent download. There is nothing more required. I need not add or remove anything for peace and love to arise. I am a Master (as we all are in our own colour palates and spices and experiences)

and I Love Me just as I am.

I am.

Also learning that while this personality is very unique and there is something about What I Am outside my personality that isn't quite like the norm, I've always felt badly about that. That I'm "too much". Too big, to loud, too opinionated, too dancy, too flowy, too messy...unwanted and fundamentally unlovable.

To fully embrace my own power and knowing and let go of what the world might say is "right" doesn't serve my highest potential or my Mastery. Even to tell someone I trust and adore a raw truth about my feelings or choices or wantings or potentialities feels like I will be judged as crazy or broken. Another woman once referred to me as “being *that* girl while I had fallen down unable yet to rise because my soul mate kept running away from the intensity of my love.

Ouchies all the way around.

I need to let that shit go!

Loving myself.

This is still very challenging and for me to nurture unconditional Love requires a daily discipline; a moment to moment practice.

And loving Life? That's the loftiest goal and one I'm just beginning to understand. Accepting myself as I am can fall into suffering and self inquiry into victim ..and yet I rise again and again.

And again.

One thing I know for certain is that I really am a warrior. I really am. I’ve been searching for my King, knight in shiny steal when I was carrying that sword all along.

The shadows and dark nights my Soul rides through, the draw to and through the burning fire of another and staying while they ride through their own dark nights creating a molten blaze between the two of us, or opening my heart so wide that music flows out like the dancing of moonlight through the grieving of humanity, my truth moving into you with such vulnerability I wonder each time if I will return from that place back to this one.

I now know that even the sharpest pain can not break me. Beyond the demands of death, my Life will not break me. Life has room for all of me. All of me. And I have the capacity to hold space for all of you. All of you. If you let me. If I let me.

And finally, though my mind enjoys my suffering and my ego hates my plans, I will honour the metaphors of my beloved Phoenix and Butterly knowing the pain of transformation can feel like dying and with patience and presence and devotion to my humanity and divinity both, Love will be served to its highest levels. Then I will find my new wings and fly.

This is my job here and I and I chose to walk that path for better or worse but always for Love.

Love,

Mira

Somedays

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Thu, 30 Jul 2020 02:23:56 GMT

Somedays, I wake with the fakery of smiles I learned to wear as child.

This kind of face takes so little to replace the moment of grace

that shimmered before my hearts opening

…just a day before.

Lines of hope drawn upon the shades of grey

underline the lies I tell myself about Love.

About trust.

About all the ways He must be dreaming of only my touch because

he needs me that much.

Knows that this embrace is so rare and so scarce, borne by all the times our eyes connected like those beams of

Light which started to ignite the Fire we were called to bare.

The burning of bridges between here and where we must go

can only be so tethered by the depths of gratitude

resurrected every time we choose the white hats of heroes.

We know the Truth and still jump the line towards heaven trying to cheat the game of Life. Futile exercises done in the theme of sacrifice. There is no beating down the price of ascension by hiding from the trenches of evolution. If we continue to do the things we're used to we can't expect something new.

The wreckage of my inspiration fades each time I sink into those ghostly memories of that little broken girl running amok in my mind.

I find my Monster waiting to chase me from the glorious places promised by every story book I've ever read.

Fate may be pushing me along a path by the scruff of my neck,

aside Gods who call me back to the sky.

My pleading

“why?”, won't wake wizardry waiting with wanting wear we wind

up making the same mistake lifetime after lifetime stuck in the same moment each time we find that stolen rabbit hole we used to play inside.

An Eye for an Eye

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Sat, 27 Jun 2020 14:55:20 GMT

#blacklivesmatter

I just saw this pic in someone’s story.

My heart broke.

Like, of all the horror surrounding this week, this month, this year, this life, this humanity, this was somehow the last straw and my tender heart burst.

I get this is part of a series which is a powerful artist rendition of an atrocity, a paradoxical reflection of a horror. I had an extremely intelligent reply from the person who posted it when I asked some (hopefully) intelligent questions. The biggest take away was a share of their feeling, as a “dark skinned person” (their words) of a deep catharsis.

I saw the value in that for sure!

It’s a moving piece of art.

But then I watched my mind move towards a noticing of an increasing call towards violence in the world right now. An "us & them" mentality ever increasing and being fed that I think takes away from the intelligent refocus of ignorance toward Truth. The riots taking up space where news of global protests should have prime time. #blacklivesmatter. It's important.

What will actually help to create the desired change?

The original poster of this pic offered that it should make people uncomfortable because that was the experience of a whole race of those forced here from Africa and we all deserve better. So true. #intelligent

I see the capital t Truth in all of that.

Intelligent ways of making us think! Passionate and even expressions of personal pain raged out for the world to here from a place of absolute Truth. Yes!!

I’ve also seen the worst of humanity in my two decades working for social services and in the news today. Evil from all sides of a battle I don’t know how to effect.

How do we change the world?

I am oh so very behind equiniminty. I am clear that now is the time for us to have real conversations about injustices done to our fellow humans. I have been following magical posts from deeply intelligent and admirable experts and leaders current and historical.

#thankyouinternet

I’ve learned so much and also know there is so much I do not know.

I think we could and should have debates about how police forces need more funding and training and mentorship to create drastic changes and deeper supports and educations so we can attract and ensure the *right* people are on the job and behind the political podium.

Being half “brown” and half “white”, a child advocate, a survivor, a woman and compassionate human, I have a deep investment in humanity’s conscious evolutions towards love and understanding and equality...and away from more harm.

Speak to me of functional change.

I truly understand the rage. I have my own places of revolutionary screams and action oriented choices. I have been the untouchable and the royalty both.

I know the need to rally the forces of change around us if only for the power in numbers but also to hold sacred space for each other.

I too have spoken with deep rage into places where my tribe can hear. I know the value of singing to the choir so that they learn the tune and join voices and shake the banisters. Yes! Spread the Truth. Peaceful protest on!

I'm there with you.

I also have ancestors who were enslaved and though this is not an all lives matter post, I have to let my voice ring out to say that I really don’t think more violence will help anything but create more violence. An incitement towards evil, as too many are propagating, because of evils done seems like it can only result in chaos.

How can it be otherwise?

To those who are making claims that all whites are racist, all blacks are one way or asian are another one certain way, that all social workers are harmful, all muslims are violent, all of one religion or gender or political stance are evil or perfect, all policeman are assholes beating up people of colour...this is just not true. Nor will it help to perpetuate love.

Only more hate.

How can the message of solidarity and equality be heard?

A wonderful friend and beautiful intelligent black woman bade me to be very clear that "protesters" and "rioters/looters/hate mongers" ought not be put in the same category. There’s is a way to gather the forces of good and light.

It’s not by hating.

One side has tried to force people of the “other” side to do what *we* want over and over and over. I have not seen that result in anything good. Wishing harm on each other, condemnation of a whole race of people, because of their ancestors or because of the contemporary ignorance of too many, won’t make positive changes.

Yes!

We must make changes but I don't see how more violence will help. Revolutions need not be with fists and guns but rather with the powerful collaboration, communication, inner fortitude, information sharing and unity of the whole. If we are the 99% then there is hope in community.

Maybe I’m wrong. But I don’t think so.

I do know that anger can have such depth of meaning and value as does expressions of real pain so need to be received and understood. Maybe this picture is just a good way of holding up a mirror. We must all look and inquire and learn and awaken. I do know that.

This is a time to demand change! And I also have a concern that such massive negative energy, magnified by social media and popular news outlets, is being placed towards rallying with hate against real and also perceived mutual enemies with elements of revenge and rioting and destruction resulting in the harming of innocent people - which is hard enough- but also I truly feel it won’t work. The message of will fail.

Killing them because they’re killing us won’t work.

Violence begetting violence won’t actually make the desired change for equality and love which I have to have hope is the ultimate goal.

Isn’t it??

Love,

Mira

“And eye for an eye makes the whole world blind” Gandhi Ji

Photographer Chris Buck

What would my daddy say?

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Wed, 10 Jun 2020 16:20:55 GMT

]

It's just around the corner. "Fathers Day".

What would he say now with all the killing of brown skinned people no longer being hid in back alleys and lack of iphones. What would he say about the political gangster growing more and more powerful in the world? What would he tell me to do?

He worked so deeply to make me an educated powerful woman identifying as and grateful to be Canadian.

And I am. So grateful.

As my PM takes a knee and sends me a check during the chaos. As my tribe gather in the thousands all across the land in solidarity with the pain our black brothers and sisters are moving through now. As my country looks at what is right and just to correct the wrongs done to our Indigenous people. Imperfectly yes. But still doing more and more. As the world turns to know that the love, heart, nurturing of our little girls must be moved from #metoo to #loverules keeping them safe and guided towards self love and powerful autonomy. I'm grateful as our Men stand up to fight for right and conscious leadership, listening to the matriarch rising all around them, teaching our boys how to allow and be with their feelings and express them inside knowledge and contemporary communications, tearing down the face of privileged patriarch and opening to a circle of trustworthy communication..

I am grateful.

These are the focus of my Soul. Supporting the rise of conscious warriors is my truest path. Even when I fall down. Especially then.

Yes hate and selfishness and laziness and greedy luxury and stupidly still prevail as predominate in our global culture. Children starve to their suffering death on one side of the world as others die of sugar and fat on the other. Rape and torture and murders done by those meant to protect us...Etc etc.

I am very aware of evil.

And still. I must come back to LOVE.

I must.

Today is a day that I too must honour my fathers legacy and find even more gratitude for his fight out of a 3rd world country to becoming a head of the Cardiology dept and professorship at Harvard and more. Today I must honour my mother as her decades of uphill climbing and heartbreaking inquiry towards the kind of depth and autonomy found in the greatest of Sages inspires me still. Today I must remember my powerful fellow brown skinned sister who showed me women can truly work hard towards having a successful career and an amazing family. Today I must honour my Men who stand in circle around a raging fire in even the depths of prairie winter to honour the need for heart based leadership. My sisters, showing up grey hair shining through the disparaging lenses of a harmful commercialized weaponized marketing plan - they work to keep on keeping on with the flow of connection, inspirations, creativity and entrepreneurial magic. Today I honour my brothers, my Women, my poets my musicians my team who will keep their eyes open and bare witness to the bloody battle and speak what needs to be spoken in spite of the fire power pointed at their hearts. Today I honour my fellow seekers, even now they are sitting in meditation, sending their highest Truth and spiritual love to the ether so it might do what the Universal love wants of it.

Today I must honour all those who have loved me so dearly and believed in my ability to be a change maker even though I fear I've let them down. Today I must set down this weepy frightened little girl inside me, with a gentle kiss on her forehead followed by my dearest Love and support. Today I must honour the elements of Mother and let the glory days of my maiden fuel my coming Crone.

What is next for me? What will post COVid life look like? What is my new *normal*, today. Setting music down and Mastering retreats until there is another call to be of service in that way - but what is NOW?

I just can't help but wonder what my Father, if he were alive today, would have said could I ask him. I might just ask him anyway.

You never know.

Love,

Mira Black

This is your lesson!

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Sat, 06 Jun 2020 19:06:37 GMT

This lesson,

you earned it!

I see the fresh scar from its sword

impaling your left rib

it’s yours now

to tend to as you will

Pain a spice of ancestry

whose story was never understood

Not enough

not to change the dressing,

lance the infection

and treat

the fucking problem.

This lesson,

you burned for it!

Sick about adopted & adapted ignorances

of privileges,

the scenery speculative

boring into terrors

grown too used to errors

hold your breath

dive deep and tear off

forgiveness from these nurtured landscapes

of oppression and hate.

No body wants to take responsibility or give up luxuries

attached to being right

But the stench of it will draw Truth out from the darknesses ill from defences still doing the Work to evolve

remembering

Truth can only abide the Light.

The journey through is sharp

like a drowning kitten opens your skin pushing against

instinctive conditions

that just might save you both.

It’s your lesson

so Live it!

Embody it! Dance it!

Celebrate with each and every aspect of this

body

locking horns but licking wounds.

You know so them well.

Can I stay warm in your eyes, connected to mine another minute

as the Divine

and Love each other

as Gods want to be Loved.

These are your lessons

You earned it!

Walk with your

head held

mercifully high,

shame resisted in the breath of a sigh

exhaled with the flowers of a crab apple tree.

Steady fists

now ready in prayer

now easing each layer

now waiting to fly.

At least we’re all finally on the same ride.

Love,

Mira

To porn or not to porn

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Mon, 25 May 2020 20:03:08 GMT

Trigger warning: rape culture

I know some think, hey there’s good aspects or positive versions but I’m not talking about a healthy erotica practice or consensual voyeurism or a sexy photo or watching a burlesque show or stimulation for a paraplegic's sex therapy . And before anyone calls me a prude, ya’ll gotta know by now I’m one of most sex positive women you know... so don’t go there. Gaslighting bores me so move on.

The issue is about high speed porn and what that does to the brain and it’s capacity to evolve. Most statistics on pornography use say the average age of a child's first exposure to pornography is 11 years old. Stop and think about an 11 year old in your life. New research from the security technology company Bitdefender, has reported children under the age of 10 now account for 22% of online porn. Children's exposure to porn increases exponentially and drastically. And it's on the internet that kids now learn about what seems to be quite accurate to them according to new studies. Sex education in school is impotent. We can't say anything that might be construed as "religious" and we certainly can not say anything that might be construed as against religion. My friends 11 year old son came home one day after the day he had a sex education class calling out "Vulvua, I know what a vulva is!" and shared his new medical knowledge of a girls body and female biological cycles. Medical in school with adults and psychological on the internet alone in their rooms or between children. They do not learn about communication with their objects of sexual attraction or most importantly with their own bodies. We do not teach about consent as their bodies start to change and grow and we do not teach our children about how hormones effect their brain, how words matter, how touch matters. They do not learn anything real about how sexual bodies work together, personal preferences and how to navigate the urges and potential fear or shame or confusions. We do not warn them of the perils of chemical attachments or of the deep grief of heartbreak. We do not prepare them for the terrible ride being different can take them on. We do not teach the what really matters about sex.

Boys will be boys eh? The literal effect on a little boys brain from a habit of watching high speed internet porn and the ease of habituation and obsession is heartbreaking for me to learn. The actual thoughts and conclusions pornography has on a little girls brain and what she thinks about herself inside the realm of sex and sensuality and how she needs to look has a death toll now. There are foundations and specialized treatment centres to help 10 to 13 year old girls learn to eat after learning what they learn about how they are supposed to look on tv.

There is a sickening global acceptance of the damages and indeed the very slippery slopes as adults ignore the realties. Maybe it’s not a problem for "you". But for millions and millions there is deep suffering and suffering for a product we do not actually need for anything other than making money.

Others might say it’s harmless or even it’s a matter of freedom for businesses but now we are getting clear about what it does to the brain and most specifically to a developing brain and dare I say on a developing culture.

(the science is clear - go google medical and neurological journals on these tests before starting a debate with me please - the only glitch historically is that it was challenging to find a large enough control group of boys that hadn’t watched porn)

I want to have a global ....okay, asking too much? Perhaps just starting with Canada? ....a Canadian public and political conversation about how best to teach our children about healthy sex and communication in a real world way or helping our girls to be sex positive while also self respecting and self loving, or teaching our masculine about the same as well as educating them on the great variations of women and sexual preferences and about aging bodies etc ...

...instead of teaching and mentoring and giving easily accessible, functional supports and education tools.....we spend billions on viagra and put stripper poles on the dance floor of public bars and aerobic studios.

Food for thought: is it consensual sex when a 6 year old discovers porn on his laptop? Generic Parental controls don’t filter it all out alas.

And yes, stats say most boys are exposed to porn as young as elementary. The cartoon porn and CGI graphics with added element of a violent video game...where the woman might die bc of the arc being portrayed...is too violent for me to feel comfortable to describe here.

I just felt so grateful to see we might be shifting the paradigm around this super charged topic. It’s a tiny shift shown here but it caught my attention and also my trigger so here I am with my opinionated self to speak my mind on my page.

Times might be changing after all.

#metooActually

Jordan Peterson: https://youtu.be/1h2hQwK7sJw

Russel Brandt: https://youtu.be/WsjJZgz9mx0

Ted Talk: https://youtu.be/wSF82AwSDiU

Learning Curve

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Sat, 23 May 2020 16:26:44 GMT

#socialdistancing

There is a feeling of self betrayal that can arise when I spend conscious time with myself. When I notice all the choices that have not been aligned with my own values and truth. I feel hurt and abandoned by myself.

It can also be a beautiful part of tapping into my worth as I continue to awaken through this shift.

There is an opportunity to grow inside self reflection and also a darkness which can frighten me into shutting down and turning back and collapsing into what is familiar.

But it's inside the unknown and the change is where I always find the absolute truth of who I am. It is there I can plug into my own highest self worth and knowledge. Honouring my Self and my Truth with the gift of my own presence and comfort and mothering. I can ask myself what it would take for me to allow all of me, how does my own sense of Divinity (or highest conscious self) wish to express itself through me, how can I be so very honest in the way I meet myself moment to moment, how can I best hold myself when I feel abandoned for misunderstood? No matter the storm around me, * I* remain, the truth of me remains and I am whole even in those moments of desperation or craving or loss. I am. I am the vastness of the sky which holds this mind and beyond the trappings of thought I am pure spaciousness and presence. I deserve nothing less than the depth of my own love and presence. I am precious and I willing to be intimate with myself. I am strong enough to hold myself in the raging chaos if only I can remember my own power and know that I am free to fully and authentically express that Divinity which wants to be known! It is there I can shine true unconditional love for myself. ♥️

My face is changing.

Tue, 31 Dec 2019 22:41:34 GMT

New years eve 2019

My face is changing making me embrace this way I attached to an amazing dream.

You see I never expected to live this long. Though I knew all along life was passing, I didn't pay attention to warning or the lacking of love for my Life.

I whisper from the corner of my room

and wonder about what's coming to

change me again.

Where do I being to walk away from the stages I've been fighting to stand upon?

Which path do I choose to move through the tide

throwing me into the

unknown.

I never envisioned this far.

There was only one part to play

but nobody warned me about the hangover

from time.

Or more true is that I didn't believe them

when I could see the game so clearly

and refused to play. It cost me dearly.

The task of gathering the stuff of life passed me by

while I kept my eye on this fantasy.

And here is this reality confounding me.

What are the directions to stepping into my Mastery? Who can tell me the specificities of how *I* am meant to be a leader? Will I learn to be a mother even though I've never born a child?

Can I carry this body through the next onslaught of trials?

Must I?

These are the musing of my new years resolutions. So let's end my poem with a wish.

This year I will mother my young heart

singing softly into a silken pillow,

resting furrowed brows, pushing against a cloud of aspirations, soon easing my eyes to the present, in this body, nurturing this life, loving and receiving, in service as I can be and resting wisely when I can't. Gathering clan. Music. Love,

Mira.

photo circa 1992 photographer unknown

Kissed by the angel

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Thu, 12 Dec 2019 16:22:30 GMT

I miss you too much tonight.

I know I'm supposed to stop grieving

and stand up right

be a grown up and believe in the light which once shone

in the nights we could be together.

But while families plan their family plans

my heart reaches to the ether

wondering where you are

and if you're finally resting in a star

with your dreams at last at peace

and the striving bested by a brief

kiss of the angle who took you from me.

Still, I see you every day in the mirror

and on the tiny mole on my hand

exactly like you had.

I hear it in my unconscious voice telling me

there should be nothing in my way

nothing but "I can".

And then I feel you in my heart on Christmas morning.

Each tragic moment you missed

and for every single time you danced like this

beautiful butterfly, back into my life

I am changed, effected, made to notice the best of

myself.

And know that I have the best of you too.

I love you.

Merry Christmas daddy.

Love,

Mira

The Others

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Wed, 14 Aug 2019 19:26:01 GMT

I woke up at the airport. I was conscious but in this moment I realized I had been on automatic

pilot flowing through my morning with my skill set as a traveller and of all the things I am, I am

a traveller. Once through all the tasks from packing to taxi, check in to security, board and

buckled in, I woke up as if I’d been dreaming about taking a trip. Here, now, I remembered

what I am doing and began to watch the current moment. I began listening to instructions flow

through my mind without attaching or making a story about those thoughts.

I become sharply aware of my body. This is another reason why I’ve been on auto-pilot. The

injury spasming in my back is soothed best when I am connected. Heels. Toes. Arches. Pinky.

Index. Thumb. All the way up to and through the crown of my head. So there is away the

actions of my external body is on auto pilot while my inner world is absolutely focused on

maintaining the proper posture required to carry luggage, walk through an airport and sit in on

an aeroplane. In a singe moment both those things, the subject and object, collide. There’s that

rubber band snapping my attention, waking me to presence, to the truth of who I am.

I am this one, yes of course. However, there is a deeper truth I find when I can take a step back

from this physical experience, take a clear view past my conditioned mind. In these moments,

there is only what is directly in front of me. This vehicle called body currently set with a kind of

alarm system. Searing pain shoot up my back and across my waist if I should become

distracted from the practice of internally connecting. I pull everything to my core and find

balance there. I soften my eyes and relax into this moment. Then I notice with a bright contrast

that though I am surrounded by others there is no connection between us.

Heels. Toes. Arches. I am drawn in and upright. My eyes now open scanning the airport full of

people. Full of people and yet no one is speaking to each other except the few who are in a

group and still only speak to another inside their group. We stand huddled by coffee shop

counter tops and blandly express how we take our coffee. There isn’t even an auto-pilot

greeting between them. Just coffee talk. Then money talk. Sometimes I hear someone say

“thank you” however I do not sense gratitude but instead a feeling they might just think “thank

you” is merely something you’re supposed to say when someone gives you what you’ve asked

for. Walking slowly and mindfully I sometimes catch someone’s eye who is sitting on a bench

with no expression on their face. No predictive indication of their inner experience other than

an energy of “waiting”. The airport is literally the space between where you were and where

you are going both sides having it’s own story. I smile to another and see a surprised

expression cross their face as though they’ve been caught doing something they ought not be

doing.

In this mid morning atmosphere I notice next how quiet the airport seems to me right now. For

the amount of people bustling here and there, back and forth, there is very little engagement

between and so very little noise. Everyone is very polite. But not connected. The loudspeaker

bellows out instructions and requests from time to time in distracted tones. The

announcement, even if calling out for someone specific, is disconnected from the space that

voice is flowing through. We are together and still remain completely apart.

It’s time to board the plane. Standing in a very long line, (heels, toes arches) I look around, Im

at a basic centre of a crowd. I think three hundred people, standing or sitting all glazed eyes.

No one is connecting even when I try. In fact there seems to be some sort of protective force

field when I smile at a stranger. Their head bowed. Physically I notice this bowed head over

and over usually staring at a phone or computer screen. Back bend awkwardly under a

wretched neck.

Here at the end of this communication about my observing others at the airport, I notice that

though i believe myself to have been awake and present, I was also someone not talking or

making efforts to connect or speak to another. Walking slow and orderly down the block

between the gate and the plane, there is an eery silence. We all sit and buckle in sometimes

saying hello to the stranger in the same aisle but mostly not. Mostly no eye contact. Head

down, eyes averted, dis engaged. Un connected. So I chose to break the silence and start a

conversation with the women next to me. She turned her head as though to look at me but her

eyes didn’t leave her iPad. “Do you have internet?” I ask. “No, not yet”. Silence. Cabin crew

make noise but it’s again auto pilot. The plane moves down the runway and I can here pages

turning from some oddity sitting somewhere on the plane, I mean who has paper anymore?

Blah blah auto announcements about safety and timing and flight expectations. Then we

ascend. Still in silence. The plane lifts off and I think to myself, with no charge or trigger at all,

“We could crash”. It does happen. Higher we go, nose up and up towards it’s destination and I

wonder who these others are sitting in this machine with me. Its seems to me this is an

extremely intimate experience but we have desensitized and become accustomed to this.

Elevators, cars, busses, schools, office buildings, or at home, we could die at any moment.

This is the one thing, the one every human being shares. We are all dying. If we’re all dying

then its fare to say we are all facing the barriers, challenges and triumphs of Life. We all

contend with emotions like love and loss. Through the specifically varied elements between

each human being, there is a concept that we are all one. We are all connected through air and

light and the spinning of the earth.

In this morning of disconnect and auto pilot I notice my own sense of withholding and so

choose to ground and connect in a more internal way, past the course connect to the sublet

and hold space for the room with my attention. My eyes sweep across the rows, wrenched

neck towards those in “preferred seating”, the cabin crew in their own kind of auto pilot mode.

Before returning to the man sitting beside me with his headphones on and eyes glued to his

phone with not one word to me since I said hello and pushed my things under and over my

seat, I see a child peering over her mothers shoulder watching me. Her gaze glued to mine as I

my attention deepens inside this contact. She is unafraid and also uninhibited. She is points at

me and asks her mother what is on my forehead. Id forgotten about the bindi I placed mid

forehead from the package my aunty send from India. No judgment or ill intent, none at all,

simple curiosity and wonder. She stands and sits again, crawls unabashedly across her father

sitting next to them. Her parents look and quickly turn away embarrassed by my eyes in their

direction. I am close enough to answer her and so i simply say, “It’s to help me remember what

I’m doing right now, in this moment.” The little girl smiled but at the same time hides her head

slightly confused, I think, about my speaking directly. Perhaps strangers don’t usually pay

close attention to her like I was. I smile here, satisfied with this small triumph of connection, I

waited until the child had found some other spontaneous new discovery and turned my

attention back to my seat, back to my self, by back pain (heels, toes, arches), my retreat, my

destination which will finally re-unite me with my fiancé, took out my computer to begin my

assignment and so disconnected with all these others for the remainder of the journey.

That I do.

Sun, 04 Aug 2019 17:22:10 GMT

Dedicated to Jonathan Austman

It's days like today

when the sun shines too brightly

for what the heart is finding

inside the moments

I'm not sure I've said I need to say.

Looking in

instead of back

the forward seems to lack

a fullness about it's

holding on to

what's gone.

And yet

all along the way I can paint

the smiles which warmed me in the darkest corners.

You know who you are.

But have I told you the passion your teachings invited,

or of the wisdom which ignited a flame

now wandering through the halls of my Life?

Have I mentioned the boisterous laughter

echoing through this

minstrels mind meandering across the miles

between us?

Maybe we haven't held space in reality for a century of moments I can never understand. What if I’ve got it wrong and all along you’ve held onto the things that needed clearing and sharing and loving and knowing and wanting from me, would you tell me your heart if I asked from mine, opened by the days we held each other through fear?

It's plausible the cause and muse of poetry I have written you will frighten the kind of child running amok in us both

while running harder for the gift that destiny memorized by God.

It doesn't matter.

If I never see you again my friend these honest lives left behind or yet to become a binding thread,

the blood line of depth created a death defying connection between

the authenticity of who we are beyond the ideas scarred by the mind.

And still,

here in the infinite distance infested with resistance

and all kinds of scary bedtime stories

there is no worry or miscommunication even inside the cryptic way I say this,

because somehow I know you know.

I remember that dazzling smile unconsciously spreading wide across a wizened body

telling me how proud you are of me

and I holding you tightly

spreading more devotion around you than either of us knew existed.

Who knows when our eyes will lock again but then

will you remember the Truth of me

when the lies in me

collide with those things in you

wounded through the very core of existence

while this sentence might go on and on and still not find the point of connection required to convey how much

I love You.

In the end I guess you'd say the more important thing is

that I do.

My Voice in These Words On Your Screen

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Wed, 09 Jan 2019 16:22:42 GMT

This morning I place my hands on these keys waiting for inspiration to flow in the knowledge of my willingness to bleed for the channel that opens when hearts overpower fear and disbelief.

Here, in the blur of eyes just opened, skin still yearning for sleep, I long for contact. I look for peace. Spontaneous compositions reach inside your computer, fogging up with the space between us.

Do you hear my voice in these words on your screen and can you sense my devotion to your wishes for change, pleadings for joy, hopes for victory?

It is in the knowing of my Divinity which holds tightly to yours while it carries the truth of who we are across the fields of dreaming to the concrete nature of your consciousness.

Remember You are never alone, especially when shaking in the fear of defeat and disappoint or as you weep for comfort in the storm of your greatest disillusionment.

I am here. I am listening. I am loving you. I Am.

Love,

Mira

Jan 9 2018

Be pretty

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Wed, 05 Dec 2018 16:54:59 GMT

It's interesting how I grew up believing I would have this deeply meaningful Life, that all the struggle would amount to something. Not that *my* struggles were more special than anyone else, just that I come to a knowing that the experiences I experienced as a child and shadows of same through adulthood had meaning and would lead to something maybe beautiful or at least powerful in end.

I searched for the "Why?", diving deeply into this inquiry and coming out with a viable answer. I was meant to shine the light in the darkness so that others might find their way out. This, I thought was my purpose. Add my light to those other pathfinders wandering around in the dark near me. I have seen things that few have seen and come out able to discuss, describe and even come to love. Dark, dirty, violent things as well as the Absolute Truth of Universal Source. It might frighten or even take me down for a bit but I can take it. I can hold space for your demons and your Gods. I can lend you my blade or at least my shoulder. I can. I will.

But now doubt, that forbidding mind trick, has taken hold of my throat and hurt me in an effort to shut me up.

Someone I care so very much about told me that my behaviour on line made him "sick". That my extroverted open and public expressions were equal to even the most perverse addictions. That I take personally the evils in the world and that this is too heavy for him to support. That my writing hurt him and other in it’s inferred judgments through opining and unraveling.There was darkness in his eyes as he looked at me in those moments and though he vowed he was not "mad" at me but in fact loved me, I can still taste his derision for a piece of what I am.

What I Am.

I have heard rumours of others chastising me behind my back for "airing my dirty laundry" in public. For triggering them. I have watched people I love walk away in judgement for my showing of vulnerability and dark grief and even for my honesty about suicide attempts and descriptive prose about my time spend in mental institutions. I have touched the insanity.

Do that quietly and only inside the secret places of close friends.

Shhh, don't tell.

#metoox11yearsplus

In the light of day, after yet another sleepless night wrestling with monsters alone in the closet of my mind, I fight to lean my attention towards those amazing hearts that have come to me with gratitude for my vivid truths and poetry and music. I find comfort in the memories of tearful breakthroughs to awakened states because of my words. I move my mind from fear of being a problem, of being too much, of being a vile judger and of being a social media addict back to the perspective of my dear ones who understand this Messenger. I hear the voice of the Queens in my life, "Forget about the haters” and of the Kings who look at me with pride. I feel those who identify as neither but embrace royalty in their own way, egging me on to be true to myself. My Self.

I re focus on the ones who need me to keep speaking the secrets culture has told us not to show. Stay cordial and socially acceptable and don't rock the boat unless it's a really trendy part of a revolution. Be Spiritual but only with the loving bits. Don’t talk about *that* Mira, geez that's so ugly.

Be pretty.

I get it. The messages of “don’t say that” and “don’t share this” because words have power. What are the phrases I place after “I AM…”? What am I manifesting. What am I collecting between my readers/listeners and myself while I’m nimbly expressing words about the bloody places on my path? I believe in the energy between “us”. The space that carries the thoughts between us. I know that we are creators and enablers of manifestation.

And yet,

what about the love that rises when we understand that even in our darkest spaces we are not alone. What about the truth as it arises in my personal experience which must be acknowledged before the capital T truth can be known? How does one make it through the real truth if there is no map through? What if in my open process I have a piece of the puzzle that heals another? What if openly communicating even that which others shame might shift that very same shame? What if inside my poetry I find the metaphor that breaks through to your own healing and that healing moves forward to another and another. What if I have a key?

I can seek comfort within the few personal friends I have and the a couple of family members I trust. And I do that as well, believe me. What you read is well processed through powerful, masterful people I’m connected to in real time. Sure, I can show a facade of positivity in my art world and only speak to the nice, keeping those naughty negative mind messages and hurt feelings breasted. I could lie or keep quiet when I’m in pain. Paint only love and light. I could do that. But I chose to ride the wave of pain to its core and take an honest look around, find the mysterious keys to locked doors in the labyrinth of blackened spaces so that maybe I can help another find their way through the maze of confusion that often comes with facing ones own conditioning. Then they might in turn be available to me with what ever clue they have found. This is a selfish act because once I come through each dark night to take a deep cleansing breath, there I can find a multitude of energetic connections and expression of support washing over me. We are together even in the most jagged moments.

We.

All.

One.

So to those who don’t want to see my dirty laundry I gracefully accept your leave from my energy. I love you and know your departure need not connote any love loss between us. I understand that you have your journey and personal beliefs. I respect your space but please respect my choice. Im not saying I’m right, I’m saying I am called to speak out and I know I am still learning.

To those who are willing to take this ride with me and can even see the value in telling the secrets we were frightened into keeping, I say thank you. Thank you for staying with me through thick and thin, better or worse. When I fall into victim and baring witness as I rise to victorious. Thank you for listening to the poetry both light and dark. Thank you for the energetic love sent through cyberspace. Thank you for doing your work. And most of all thank you for giving me the space to share the messages of my personal truth.

I love you,

even when I’m being an asshole.

Pesky Old Mind Game

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Tue, 27 Nov 2018 16:46:11 GMT

OLD PESKY MIND GAME

I’ve been challenged lately with that old pesky mind game of external validation and in my case through the fear of others “liking” me or more specifically not liking me.

Not a Facebook like but actually like Me...wanting to be my friend. There are so many who find my open hearted vulnerable communicative nature annoying or ingenuous.

In my contemplation I come to a place of knowing that not everyone will like me nor should they. No one but me (and maybe my Mother) will care about my personal manifestations of “daddy issue”. There are times when I can re focus away from the people I come to understand do not care for my particular spice, back to those who get me and dig who I am and what I have to say. Back to Me.
However this moment is not one of those times.

I’ve recently discovered some who I believed were loving friends but are actually negatively gossiping behind my back and yet smiling or even hugging me when I’m in the room while ignoring my hopeful wish for truth and clarity.
And Love. Always that.

But this full moon is bringing up my conditioning around safety and family and connection. I seek change. Who do I wish to surround myself with? How do I wish to spend my Energy?

I feel a call to introvert again like 2016-2017 to spend more time with the Truth of What I am. I fight serges of energy that push me towards ideas about shutting down all online connection and hide for a while. A long while. Maybe for good. India calls me back. Long term retreat centres call to me. Anonymity. Retirement. Seclusion.

Lately I get dressed up to go out...jazz jams, birthday parties, concert invites, community gatherings and then sit down, draw a bath and snuggle down into my cocoon.

Drive disappears but not like in a state of burn out or distraction but from a place of surrender. Then I leap up with the fire of artistry and messenger and Kali energy pointing me towards revolution and I try try again. And again.

Even now I fear posting this. Not because I fear speaking my experience but because of this morbid distraction to who will like and comment and who will be offended. Who will misunderstand and not care enough to seek clarity. I’m an energetic creature sensitive to vibrations of those around me. This is wonderful for creativity but leaves me drained when I fight to be in life. I don’t yet know how to turn off the suffering of this manifestion.

We can all spew “spiritual growth” comments about what I should or should not do but in reality there is a deeply individual nuance to balancing the humanity and the Soul. I long for peace and acceptance while also remaining connected.

I get the deepest truth is to get back to the basic lesson of self acceptance. Ah yes there it is again. Self love.

Deep breath. Contemplate. Get back in to this game of Life. Back into the doing of it. I’m r perhaps there is truth to my letting go completely and just resting in silence and comforts of the illusion. Red pill or
Blue?

Either way I want to find my way back to Me. Back to the heart and to love. Yeah, always that.

Thank you for listening.

This Messenger

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Wed, 14 Nov 2018 16:32:14 GMT

I woke up in hope,
shaking off the habit of choking on
the fading run of dreams I thought were meant to save me.
This moment of bravery shining through the glass as I swipe open windows once broken,
now at last bright with poetry and the knowing these
fearful droplets of sweat clung through the darkest night,
are illusion.

The need for diffusing silent pleas for my father to finally rescue me
from the fantasies of family he kept setting me down inside,
as if my tiny patent leather shoes would hide the bruise of destiny.
He didn't know how to devote himself to the needs of infancy
or the desires of
a Goddess.

My life has been messy.
Like yours but mine has lorded under Hades waiting for the right key to open the flood gates of Kali hiding under my ribs.

I live under the microscope of Gods questioning what can be done
as they dream of conscious friends arriving above slaves deriding their
greed for true Love.

We conceive the moments of separation because it's so much harder to allow the knowing
we are all One.
We are undone by the notions of grandeur
and so cozy up in the smallest parts of our own hearts,
closing our eyes as though this would hide us from
the mouth of the Universe.

This messenger holds her heart out to the guillotine of what is known between humanity, divinity and Truth.
I do it for you.
But mostly for proof of why my mind cries out for Life to wrap its arms around my battered wings and help me sound the right ring to save the bright thing my Soul needs to fly.

This morning I beg my Self to stop asking why these words flow though the hints of arthritic fingers crawling inside skin which yet cradles the child it grew up in,
but rather open and open again to the pen scribbling
cryptic messages of war
and trumpeting the call to unite the troops of heaven,
wandering amnesiacs on this triage planet
wondering what they came down here for
in the first place.

Love,
Mira Black
November 2018
"Remembrance Day"

Gods @ Play

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Wed, 07 Nov 2018 19:46:57 GMT

I want to say something comforting;
something encouraging.
Something to prove without a doubt
all your worries will melt in the moment
we are holding hands
without demands
of being anything other that just as we are.

I wish upon stars to find the right rhyme
to show us both there's nothing more Divine
than sets of open eyes holding space for the rising of devotion
no mater how that shows up.

The only requirements are in the Truth of what shines between the lines of lives connected by humanity,
too often cruelty,
but sometimes in the
Light of Love.

It is here,
in midnight weepings
or morning teachings
of joy
which bond the skin we're in
to all that we are too busy to know as

True.

It's in the moments of pure presence
that the dissolution of fear,
the triumphant leaps here,
now,
reigns over any dark creation hate might try to convince us of.

When we can drop the illusions that separate
and know ourselves as consummate
creators of each others destiny,
we might then fly together, connected,
through this crazy ride called Life.

I still think,
after years of abuses and confusions and
abandoning myself in the mess of my mind,
that there is hope for these creatures we move around in to find the essence of what we've always been.

So maybe that's all there is so say,
believed or decided,
I have met my Self in the widest parts of my heart and saw You there too.

We are magic.
We are magnificent.
And we are so often lost in the mind that even in this minute together wishes you hadn't wasted minutes on my muses
because it's too hard to embrace what I know.

But this is all I have left for us.

My Love for the God I know you are.
Not because you need to be any different
but because I want us to play together in the fields of manifesting dreams.

Love,

Mira Black
November 7th, 2018
*Diwali

The Same Victory Song

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Sun, 21 Oct 2018 15:48:09 GMT

Truth is I’ve been haunted because I’d always wanted the body of a classical dancer. Their lean powerful grace so much closer to the place of ideal physical form than my own. I’ve starved and pushed and prodded my body to be better than what I saw in my reflection: the imperfections of Me I didn’t know then how to Love. But tonight, as I pass by my mirror, moments before sliding under a steaming salty, meditative midnight bath, I realize with a calm know ing bliss this is the body of a warrior. I live now in the frame of a soldier at rest between battles, softer perhaps than wartime but ready for a fight none the less. Proud of the scars that each tell a tale of triumphant journeys home. This resting hero, perhaps licking her wounds at times, though so much less these days, can focus now on rest and nurturing in ways which focus on Love. This knight is readying to be of service to the greater good which has purpose and hope still in this rising dawn of consciousness. Listen as the muse in you sings of battles infused through hues of sacred battles so we might together hear the same victory song.

I Am that I Am that I Am.

Love,

Mira Black

Bleeding Vaginas

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Wed, 03 Oct 2018 14:50:20 GMT

"Tampons are not Luxuries"

https://cnn.it/2O2r6s2

I get it and want to support and yet...

I need some education about the finer details here. The under current of messaging that seems to, once again, categorize women "victims" pointing out on the one hand how being a cis gendered woman is a "problem" for society. But if we do other things for the betterment of society like give away needles to support heroine addiction/crime and run marathons to raise money for those who struggle with disease it seems right that this subject ought to be out there in the open and thus what ever support towards balance is possible seems fair. Right? And the pendulum swings again...did I just equate a goddess bleeding as a sign of fertility with addiction and illness? Ought not we honour female menses and be certain it's a supported subject on all fronts? What am I missing here?

We could move the conversation towards the old adage of giving fishes vs. teaching functional skills and yet...my heart knows that the topic of a women's mensural cycle is still taboo in the main stream. The thought of a girl, even in 1st world nations, being too poor to have tampons or simply too embarrassed to seek support for menstrual pads breaks my heart. Even the marketing about "feminine products" focus on how the life creating element of a woman ought to be hidden and perfumed and gee if we just bought the right product no one would know and we can keep moving through life as if we didn't have painful abdominal spasms and bleeding for a week from our vaginas. Yes, I said "bleeding vagina" in a public place.

My head has been swimming in these murky waters of feminine equanimity and balance of power. We need to balance our budgets to create funding for our periods, yes. This woman didn't do that from her welfare check and still is that the correct angle? Shame and lack doesn't create a more powerful person we know that. Do we judge her for buying a tattoo or eyeshadow when that money ought to have gone to her pads? Or do we find a way to change the system? She can't learn to fish very well when she needs to be next to a bathroom, embarrasses about her wad of toilet pater stuffed precariously in her panties. All women have had to do it from time to time in emergencies but imagine it being the go to? I know this is just not something most think about however this is a big subject for a large portion of the public. How much money is simply thrown away by the masses on frivolity when we as a culture could support our women in a very functional way? A sock filled with toilet paper is sometimes the go to?? No. Not my sisters!

My inquiry is as alway this...what can I do to functionally support real and positive change?

#freeperiods

To Douglas

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Sun, 30 Sep 2018 15:56:20 GMT

“Majestic” is a word I have heard and used often in life, but it is here, among the lush forests of British Columbia, where I learned it’s true meaning. Magic lives in this place. For all the moments I have been covered with the energetic forces of Life, friend or foe, basking or drowning it the glow of reality, it is while lost in the solid presence of an ancient Douglas Fir, I can find Truth. It doesn’t mind how ever I show up to its girth, giddy with new ideas, oxygenated by fresh forest air or weeping, lost again in the notion that I am small and unworthy. It does not change it’s stance against me as I wrap my tiny arms around the bark and moss, facing the branches above like a child at prayer.

This pure moment resonates my soul with an earthy tether then latches me to the roots of my adoptive father tree. An ear now folded against the hugged trunk, I hear whispers of these woodland ghosts begging me to know My Self. Wake up, they ask somewhere between gentle and foreboding, just left of centre where silence will rest. Hold on, they invite as my knees want to buckle and drop to the ground with dreams of falling under the flora to the earths core and gone. Some days there are impressions in my heart that if I am still, long enough, breathing slowly only, needing nothing, comely, I might rise to the tip among the sweet scent of pine and fly home. These thoughts of ascension tickle my tummy, new energy recalibrating the flow of my own blood but instinct grinds my toes into the mud floor reminding me there is work to be done.

Tears creep down my face in resistance, please, I ask this sixty foot green God, please. Your daughter has grown old, her dreams worn and tattered her story untold. The jagged sails of Life have sold her out. This soldier did not reach the kingdom set for her as a child, the crown rusted on her dusty thrown, please. There is no reply. Douglas stays simply solid standing still until I break down in the Truth of my experience. The longing burned in my gut churns up to muted throat, sullied by the soot of discontentment and disbelief. Who am I to carry these grand dreams of speaking to the hearts of my people? I am just a tiny girl enduring this existence, resistance and heart break shredding my resolve. Please. Help your sister see the path, light the way with these fragrant needles blessing the head of your angel left unsung, unadorned, unprepared. Why do these melodies move me nightly? Words jumbled too tightly, I can not read the signs. Knuckles begin to bleed from the unconscious battering they give to bark in the dark of its vision. Though I know it does not change anything, I am sorry for the mess I’ve made of this wood.

Look up child. Do not get lost in the breezy temptation of false promises, the aroma of greatness unfulfilled means nothing! The oppressive populace would rather kill their Gods than give up the lush, luxurious lasciviousness offered from that which does not wish them to thrive. The darkness loves greed and rape, keep it up til is too late so you are too weak when the war begins. These perspectives hurt me as I know I can hardly see the choice to give up my own cravings: desire for comfort and protection from the battle ahead. Please. Because they murder your massagers, I scream to stars hidden by dead light. The wind unattached only murmurs, Yes.

I begin to babble quickly as if I might parley the terms of fate. There is a frantic shudder and I am once again splayed across the woody chest as the familiar awakening to My Self rears up through my being and I am afraid. I am alone in the daunt. I have no claim to a King who might ride beside me to the front. There is no escape. There is no promised prize. Just as this plant must reach for a sky it will never touch, so must I to the unknown. Both of us being what we are.

There is a matriarch waiting for me to arrive inside the power simmering in boiling oil. We can not yet touch the fragile idea crushed again and again by evil but we can try. Not because we can win but because that is what an awakened woman does; find the most nurturing touch in the chaos. Please. The heart of Her can withstand more battering than imagined around the Presidential war tribunal and still rise up to Love. From Kali to Venus the genius of Divinity will hold the juggernaut of Man, thorns punching and fucking and flailing in their denial of tender mothering they tear at her clothes for mercy as if the domination might salve the wounded calling of their own royalty. Our warriors are enslaved by the orgasm we sell them. The Masculine Divine buried and shackled, suffocated and distracted for profit, we train them from when they are just a little boy. T.V. abuses until we can no longer hear the songs of tantric devotion and true love for each other.

My left cheek now bruised from the shaking of my weary head against forest floor. I have let go. Hit hard. Winded but as yet conscious. Thoughts of my Beloved, trembling under the sword of Mara, break my back. I see my mother forging through frostbiting winters as guilt splits her bones, she can not carry me alone. My fathers limbs torn from flesh under the Koenigsegg he dreamt of all his life and thought I find I can forgive them all I can not do so for myself.

Nausea threatens to sully fauna paths and I swallow hard. My head throbbing as news casts and marketing ads cut my heart in half. Please. I want to go home, is met with a dissonant note from invisible nectar fallen from its place in the sun pleading to me, Sing. Sing if only for us. Like the moment when Tibetan bells can no longer register in the ears of monks, your voice will carry even if you never know it’s weight. Open your wounds to the light and shine. Open your light to the dark and heal. Open your healing to the people and there will be hope. Please.

Breath returns to lungs before I have realized the suffocation of my fear. Standing I am again greeted by Douglas like a steady Christmas morning baked fresh with the devotion of family and friends. Forest becomes tribe and I am struck with the knowing that my out breath is their in breath in this furry fairytale. Their exhale the fuel to feed my way, warming me as the sun sets, beckoning me onward. I instinctively bow my head not in deference but in gratitude for we are equals on this quest for Elysium. Gathering my thoughts and packing my lessons I turn to face Life again, walking through the twittering twilight glade towards those dazzling city limits,

I notice there’s a new song dancing in my head.

Love & Envy

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Sat, 18 Aug 2018 17:31:47 GMT

The case for commitment

I was surfing Instagram this morning and I came across woman I met over a decade ago when in fact I can honestly say she was a child. I heard her at a local jam bringing her typical Aretha Franklin-esk style to the traditions of jazz, showing her range and vocal acrobatics to be base. She was a woman of colour and had that enviable 'black womans' tone and certainly traditional curves of her clan and yet she obviously had no formal training or theory or particularly healthy lifestyle. She wailed her way through yet another version of Summertime, we clapped because that's what Prairie folk do and she sat down. Her instrument was okay. She would have not been memorable at all had I not ran into her online this morning.

Bam! This girl had kicked and punched and trailblazed her way through a University jazz program (#uofm), starting with no theory and graduating a formidable musician. Dance classes added to recitals added to big band added to small ensemble and gig after gig after gig created a new animal all together from the one I saw at that little jam. From Winnipeg, to Toronto to New York and as of this morning...Tokyo and though I am such a Queen of wanderlust it was not the exposure or travel or even the fact that she worked off her baby fat into that of a hot dancer level body, it was the music. This woman moved me to tears with her sense of tone and choice of notes. She improvised from a place of magic.

Magic.

I'm writing here to clarify and solidify my hearts depth of joy for the warrior I witnessed in this Feminine Divine but also to salve the envy. I watch my mind wonder how I can possible catch up to her decades of battle over the deeply challenging language of music. Then I remembered my fiancé, one day as I lay on the kitchen floor whining about the errors I had made on my last show and why oh why am I still suffering a day job and not living as a successful musician...he chose that moment to challenge my commitment. Not to him (that's another blog post all together) but to myself. I was so hurt and didn't talk to him for hours in true Ying style. But the truth is the truth.

I do not live a life committed to my art.

I live in fear. I live in the struggle. I live in the lack. I do not fight through the pain of injury that allows me to practice my instruments only 10 mins at a time (#excusesrbull). I do not push forward when I fall down. I do get up but it's slow and with trepidation. I wail out to the Universe for help and yet ...hey Mira buy a ticket!

Discipline and love combined is what it takes. Yes, play music for the love of the music and still focus on manifesting the stages I dream about; Monterey, Bombay, Toronto, Spain. So then how do I take responsibility for my destiny? What is the next step? First, set down the comparative thinking. She is she and you are you. Love her. Second, if it' sonly ten minutes you can do then do it and then do it again and again. And again. Falling down is just the yang of rising from the ashes and forget about the Hollywood versions of how my life "should" look. Ask for help. Not as a victim but as a leader. Take more chances and drop any ideas of how you did it wrong. Move forward in mindful presence and let go of past and future (that's really hard said Capt. Obvious)

Change my mind. I think that's the final step. More than "believe in" or "love myself" I must learn to corral the asshole in my mind that punches the seeping wound on my heart which longs for the music in my Soul to shine forth. Commit to my Self. That's the deal. I can talk all day long about how to and not to commit to a partner but how to commit to my Self. This is my challenge today.

The Cis Gender Blues

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Mon, 13 Aug 2018 18:16:21 GMT

Where's my colour on the rainbow?

I remember asking my social media tribe, "How do I stand in my privilege with grace and my disempowerment with hope?". I'm a bi-sexual women of colour marrying a heterosexual cis gender white man. I am also cis-gendered and look pretty Caucasian much of the time. I have a deeply violent childhood and deal with ptsd, but I'm also highly educated with a degree in developmental psychology and training in supporting and healing trauma. I identify in fact as a musician and travel in an industry that has extreme imbalances when comes to gender - lets just say it...the music industry treats women like crap. And also, I was trained for decades by powerful and loving masculine musicians and techs. In my heart simmers rage about the oppression and subjugation of women and also there is deep respect and love for the Men in my life. Still, on forums and debates about sexuality, I am dismissed for my privilege on one thread and then dismissed on another because of my gender and yet another because of my gender orientation. It's confusing to say the least. Being blamed for the mistakes of my ancestors seems to me as logical and hating someone because an person that is the same as theirs...a colour different than yours, did damaged to you. I get that hundreds of years of slavery and war can not be compared to my upset at being made the bad guy when I had nothing to do with my "white" great great great grandfather's generation of idiots who pillaged and plundered. Counter racism is a small price to pay for the war for liberation and equality. The pendulum is swinging hard my friends and collateral damage is piling up.

My question is, will it work? Will it work to rage and spit fire when, for example, a white man asked why he is considered "privileged"? When someone who personifies the normative majority becomes triggered inside their own abuse history or even their own struggle to survive in this chaos we call a society then asked what is meant by "privilege" how will it help to tell them they should already know and it's not your job to teach them? Will that work to effect positive change? Or will it just make them harden their hearts and think you're being a whiny baby? Who can better teach "them" than someone who has lived it? I don't understand how it serves the goal of equality to shut out the conversation? Will it be hard? Dam right? War is hard. Get in the game for real. Teach someone who is ignorant if you can or let them alone as each situation is, um...situated. Breath and work through your own trigger so that you can be heard and understood. What if loving each other, each one of the others even the assholes, is the way to create equanimity? What if..?

I think by the way things are unfolding right now, we are in a war that no one will win. Well, big pharma will certainly continue to make billions from our separation and misery. But I want to know, in this current climate of dedicated separation where each of us must be labeled specifically before we can feel accepted, when it comes to human rights, how do I continue to effect positive change when the very nature of how I was born and ultimately how I was conditioned, is the most negative category of human being next to a white straight man. Holy run on sentence!

My point? There is an energy of dismissive upset towards anyone who exemplifies normative culture. The rebellious teen ager has in it's grasp not merely rock & roll or sex & drug or running away with the circus. Now, the trend is about rejecting the normative sexual categories set in place by the majority. Genuine sexual confusion is pretty standard it's true and we have been dicks about the rights and privileges of those who are not white, cis gender, male and heterosexual. And yet. How do we make room for those who are inside the normative to learn, evolve, support and effect positive change. If "we" are the ones in places of power and who dictate the norm...shouldn't we find a way to create connection? All I'm seeing these days is anger.

On the dangers of Jordan Peterson

mira@mirablack.com (Mira Black) — Sat, 28 Jul 2018 19:57:48 GMT

I agree most everyone is taking Peterson out of context and become either triggered or validated as they see fit. Yet, I offer you Men the inquiry into the possibility that it’s very hard (perhaps too hard) for you to see the perspective that sees the danger in his work. Yes logic. Yes data. Yes solid philosophical argument. Yet the nuances and implications and indelicate disrespect to the vulnerable and oppressed sectors of humanity is doing deep harm culturally and against the efforts of warriors fighting for equanimity.

I know he makes some heady academic points and is highly educated. But he is very ill informed when it comes to how it is to be like an ant fighting uphill against lions. There are very few times he speaks when he doesn’t have to follow up in the next interview with, “That’s not what I meant” and clarifies. However his damage is done. His clarifications imply others didn't get it rather than owning his own communication errors. Men who are less intelligent take what they want from what he said and do not seek clarity and in this case those are the men perpetuating misogyny and oppression. The current Patriarchy is massively broken: this is a sad truth of our world! Our actual leaders, aka Trump, do not and have not lived a life of respect and compassion for all. Then there's Trudeau being a "yes man" and who hasn't found his own depth of masculine energy and powerful leadership. That’s just a fact.

Peterson’s victim blaming and righteous indignation seems to be causing more harm than good. *You* may not be that man but there are millions. Millions upon millions. He has a skewed demographic.

To quote my fiancé: “To use a metaphor to make a point: there is a well known saying, “Guns do not kill people. People kill people.”...there is truth in that. However when considering the danger in a circumstance one needs to consider more than just the intention of the man holding the gun ...one also needs to consider the size of the gun the man is holding. Peterson, as the international icon that he is, is holding a very very big gun.” Trevor Thibodeau

And the same occurs on the “other” side. Someone who has been fighting for their right to simply be who they are without being painfully punished become the butt of philosophical rhetoric and they are triggered often beyond the ability to debate rationally. And when rational, are too often just one in a hundred fighting to be understood and received.

We speak and are dismissed even when presenting solid responses. It’s hard enough to be received without a big gun like Peterson burning down our efforts. I see something else. Correct me if I'm wrong but..it looks like a fundamental flaw on the side of the left in terms of the first and seemingly most contentious point. The rights of trans gender people. The Canadian law has added to it's human rights bill the point that you can not discrimination against someone because of their gender orientation. Race, tender, religion, sexual orientation....and now gender orientation. There is a sub section speaking about discrimination against a trans gender person is exemplified when someone refuses to use the chosen pronoun taken by the trans gender individual. Dr Peterson spoke about the slippery slopes in this addendum. He has a kind of thought experiment. A "what if" argument. He proposes and offers his thoughts about this law threatening our freedom of speech. What if someone makes a mistake? What if this becomes an example of president such that the government can create more laws effecting how we speak? This point of debate has been translated with a very wide brush and interpreted as Dr P being a trans-phobe white privileged ass. He has become every trans persons bad daddy. He may be an arrogant privileged man who can't know the struggle. But the left isn't going to make any gains in their war by spewing their own illogical hate speeches. Get the fact down solid and then speak with eloquence. Its seems to me that is the only way you will be heard on any stages of power.

Personally, inside my own trigger is the very moment I need my community to hold space for me. Duh.

Now everyone is coming from their personal triggers and no one, least of all Peterson, is speaking of connection and community. I have heard Peterson point out the limitation and even address the actions of asshole immature men however one has to dig to catch those small moments.

My wish is that he slow down, stop the arrogant speeches as though he is the expert on everything, consider his power and influence more deeply and take time to act responsibly.

Free Love

Sun, 12 Nov 2017 16:05:00 GMT

*dedicated to Trevor-Michael

My Voice

Wed, 20 Sep 2017 14:01:00 GMT

I heard my voice joking with the woman who served me coffee this morning. I heard my voice laugh and it surprised me. I heard my voice like it was some old friend I’d forgotten. I heard my voice like a spectre moving through me from some memory of this warrior I watched stride from room to room holding space for hearts witnessing my voice. I heard my voice forgive me for the stuttering stumbling sounds I have hated myself for when I wake screaming in the middle of the night. I heard my voice disappear as I walked out of the cafe wondering if I’ll ever hear my voice again. Smiling to myself, in the sunshine, walking near the ocean by my new home, I thought of my voice and all the things it’s said, never said, has yet to say. Maybe there will be a new voice, she and I. Maybe not. In the meantime, I’ll be listening.

Radio Interview: NEW SHOW LAUNCH “fearless”

Sat, 05 Aug 2017 18:22:00 GMT

Be well sister

Wed, 12 Jul 2017 23:01:00 GMT

Sometimes,
when I see a woman
walking down the street,
I think I can feel her sadness.
Sometimes,
in that
moment,
I close my eyes,
open my heart
to tenderly, silently say,
“Be well sister.”
It seems small
though full of love
and a little bit of colour
and little more of power
What ever I may have to share at this
moment.
We need you awake and alive
in this matriarch
because our men
are so tired
our leaders confounded
they need us to stand up
need us to show up
and be grounded.
The patriarch is pained and afraid.
Our little boys shown sensuality as porn
while little girls learn of love through
His eyes
looking at Her.
If all I can do is love her
silently as I drive by
it is a
moment
of another
then another
begets more.
I am awake and shining through Divinity
moment,
then another.
Then two more minutes
begets more.
And if by any chance she can feel our
love
as we love her in the places
she’s forgotten how to love herself.
“Be well sister.”
Love,
Mira Black

I am loved

Sat, 08 Jul 2017 19:29:00 GMT

I can feel vignetted edges
 of broken promises 
claw and climb out from my mouth.
They leap like little larks  needing nourishment
 craving ease from this punishment
of separation from my Divinity.

I am wrapped in a hunger I don’t fully comprehend
but fly around the fairy tales I thought I’d eventually find.
 Wake up this time! 

No need to make up reasons, 
shut out the raging tease i
n your belly
craving
drama  
diving
deeper in the trauma
of addicted connection.

These juicy moments distract me fully
even though you could never really love me.
There are fantasies clinging to these  clotted heart beats
 hidden in the closet of my older brothers room.

That’s a story Im pushing through.

I thought he hurt me because he hated me but I can see
 in these reforming memories,
 it was his way of
stealthily
stealing
something
he did not understand but needed none the less.
So he basked freely in the golden Light,
once pure presence,
shining from my eyes
without my permission.

Stories of my King held me upright through years of lies.
I stand on broken limbs, here, wanting something I have not yet earned
and yet yearned for from those moments of safety usually conditioned daily as a baby
but my father kept forgetting where he set me down.

 Beloved,
believe me,
where ever you are,
I’m fighting to be the best of Me.
Giving to this Life all I can be,
returning, ruthless , relentless
 towards the sunrise 
each time the moon’s trickery
did some pretty shitty things to me.
I will still fall in love,
just in case.

It takes a powerful heart to stay in these moments of grace.
Sunset trusting,
maybe
this time,
that reflecting globe shining Light mercilessly
on my skin,
can heal the half of me whole.
Here, in this moment
as my realities destiny unfolds
and I open to the unknown,
what I I do know,

I am Love.
I am Lovable.
I am Loved.

Inside this firing line

Fri, 02 Jun 2017 12:30:00 GMT

http://mirablack.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/06/Inside-the-firing-line.mp3
This moment,
here,
the one crept up from behind the rear
view
drop kicked me
awake,
through my fate
finger painted by the child
inside my mind.

I notice some kind of
faded memory
biting
gnawing
nagging
severing
stealing real affections
serving left over predictions
of betrayal
and though my heart’s
overcooked and spoilt
the gorging is unavoidable now.
This is an echo of an ancient wound
personified by the depth of
love songs
sung from
across oceans of awareness,
blocked by the multitude of stars
failing their wishes
hidden in dark shadow of light.

But I won’t stop wishing
for You tonight.

Inside this firing line
the only witness
blind men who say everything’s just fine,
scraping rabidly behind their eyes
at the beauty of remembered connection.
Their writhing weeping a Truth of loneliness
in the middle of the night,
only rise with the fakery of lies
bought on credit.

My longing’s laughing at
these ridiculous tears
of imagined loss
searching the sky for God
screaming of my broken bones
burning like phantom pain.

I have no evidence of injury
only the memory of hearing my name
once called across our home
with Real
joy.

I’ll put my pen down here
with that sound
blissfully near
before I remember
just what it was I fear.

Mira Black
June 1st 4:09pm

Cheeky showmanship

Fri, 19 May 2017 17:21:00 GMT

I can feel the “old” cheeky showmanship returning yet the costume is not as I remembered;
the hat too tight
the dress too loose
and those colours clash with my skin.
There’s something new here,
changed so near the aftermath of battle, shattered in the false chatter of addiction
I am remembering something which fed my ego in a tantalizing mirage on which to I attache.
Dust off the little black dress
and highest of high heels
those little girls I shoved to the very back of my closet
They help me shine on the dance floor of my femininity dashingly familiar, the music fills my mind with times of triumph. I will her to smile above the roar of insecurities.
And yet,
these newly found moments of elder and Crone call to my maiden
“Breathe”
and be in the reality of what you’ve seen.
Tell the Truth of these gritty school girl dreams as they collide with what has been and now arrived.
Open your eyes.
Will I pass this test passed down through the lines of my sisters?
Sung praises of mercy for the passion and chaos of my brothers?
Forgive my Father and Mother for what they did to me?
Yes. In this moment until the next.
So, I am learning to dance barefoot on the floor of my own Life.
Love begotten from the barrels of the heart beating too fast in my chest,
pointing me home.

Love,
Mira Black

Wake Up You Slumbering Life

Mon, 15 May 2017 13:49:00 GMT

http://mirablack.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/Wake-up-you-slumbering-Life.mp3
wake up,
you slumbering Life
too accustomed to the status quo!
Like the first time your lover smiles
so alive, allowing the affair to unfold
shuddering souls
between tender words
and sacred space.

i taste the sound of your voice
between my lips
as if
you might finally
kiss me.
make a wish of me,
make a choice
make a move
make mention and prove
me wrong for believing I am unlovable,
as if you could.
yet it’s in the trying that we find the
delicacy of connection.

we can confine the screaming muscles of a mind
which work through muzzles
to unravel thoughts
we find
caught in a
conundrum
confusing conscious efforts
for some
happiness,
with a quest for The Truth.

empty hands reach to a sky
misunderstanding why
that early morning moment makes us cry out
for new love
when the one in front of you lay,
a true love,
nestled on your chest.
when will the present
be enough to salve your wounded heart?

but those eyes that doubt and shroud belief
really don’t want to be seen
and so focus on the bloody contrast between
what is
and the way we think it should be.

the changeable pulse runs amok
rattling teeth
until the next mirage bequeaths hope.
grasp to the last procession that pokes
a deep lumbering state,
drop kicked into the fire of
grace.

don’t mistake a fantasy for beauty
or play the fool when it comes to duty.
let the truth be reflected and bred,
un-mute the song you hear in your head
and sing out so loud even
God begins to dance.

at least your feet know what to do
one and then the next in front of you
one more test of passion
a lesson
too few have the courage to
brave.
breath in.
out.
in.
there is only this.

the quest to know just what to do
distracts the mind cursing through
doldrums days denied dreams we don’t need.
still the loss keeps us weeping for a savour
and all we know for certain,
and this I know for certain,
is you can know nothing
for certain.

Mira Black
May 14th 2017

Soul To Soul

Wed, 26 Apr 2017 16:32:00 GMT

http://mirablack.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/Soul-to-Soul.mp3
There are too few times in life
when souls are given their reflection.
The fear and attraction
combined creates a distraction from any kind of
safety,
the fate we
find forging frailty,
nudges us towards

reality.

We crawl
over mountains,
bare foot over thorns,
to bare crosses we swore did not exist.

Denial persists
pretending we are solid
while destiny has plotted
placing your twin flame,
that juicy heart,
to shine brightly
at your darkest parts.

There is no logic or containment that can slow our stride,
running head first into tempered glass,
and crash
and stand
and dive

and fly.

This device of Universal ties between us two,
is consciously created to make us face what breaks us
through and through.

The sacrifice the point!

The blaze
burning bearers and illusions of invulnerability
with a choke hold
manifesting growth
only those
willing to face the spokes of
manifestos
gifted from the Gods,
will survive.

We have been bought and sold,
dancing to Disney delusions,
the insurmountable tale
promising perfection.

Too late we learn
forever after does not
come inside a box.
And true love
is more uncommon than you think.

The loss of such a twin ember
sears through remembered trauma
cleansing karma,
and I am sorry for the drama
but never for the depth.

Some may doubt,
spinning in rejective,
grieving waves
which punish.

Still,

I call to each moonlit night,
for Him to have his way with me again.
And then,
I hold myself and cry a bit,
hearing my voice sing new melodies
mooring Mara’s spell
allowing desire to melt,
I talk to my self,
letting lonely out for a walk.
Then climbing, crawling, brawling
up and though stepping bravely back into…

Life.

Today,
when I sit still amidst the chaos,
broken bones,
sticks and stones
thrown by the banter of my mind,
I notice,
I’ve learned love of a different kind.

That Soul who crossed across my path,
razoring past and through and gone, and gone
again gone,
my Beloved’s gone,
returns from time to time whispering,

“Love.”

True love becomes its own reward.
Music muses moments mentioned only in undefinable rhyme.
Days and years may pass with no reason
but the season between them
carved in soft cement.

It’s only now
at dawn,
after fighting through the storms of our imaginations,
that we can see through the wicked shadows of naivety.

“Goodbye” the only words we cannot say.
So, instead we grasp hands for one last stand,
rocking slowly back and forth before the end.
Remembered friends forged from the playground of possibility.

Soul to soul flying free,
to be reborn on the next movie screen.
I think we two will meet again

inside Divinity.

Homeward Bound

Sun, 23 Apr 2017 18:13:00 GMT

It’s time to go home. The chapter between my fathers death years ago and this moment now, and now and then again now, takes me back to you through the vortex of my “Dark Night of the Soul”.

This heart has reached for the Sun and burned to the core of it’s own true nature for the simple devotion toTruth. It takes the whole of you. The longing of a love song in which I grew into my Beloved’s symphony. This is the Phoenix journey back to Me. The way home.

There is a path revealing it’s self, in technicolor and still murky in the pre dawn light of it’s own desires. Surrendering opens an unfamiliar rhythm dancing to my fire. Though my limbs are brand new, brandishing, giving up the fight, I fall inside a precarious parachute, opening with purpose and delight.

Music. My grounding stone. I am coming home to a brotherhood. I seek to be reminded of what it means to be “a good Man”. My sisters bid me, stand. I am tickled by renewed friendships and clan. I gather my Tribe inside sacred space.

I am.

Step in, show up and bare my soul to the unknown forces that bite and beguile me. That place of spontaneous composition and the evocation of creation reminding me of who we really are. A band of merry messengers travelling through our lives in search of meaning, purpose, reverberation, conscious rectification. And play. Most of all, let us play.

Winnipeg, MB

CCFM

September 10th 2017

That is the very first clue of a scavenger hunt for my new show in development. Mark it on your calendar to check back here for details then book your time, your flight, your energy, your sitter, watcher, witness, driver, partners and friends. We gather at this rainbows end to discover new lessons and beauty, test of fire and duty brought to the stage by this Muse.

Talk to you soon.

Love,

Mira Black

Live @ Lolita’s Lounge “Just Jazz Friday” series

Wed, 12 Apr 2017 21:36:00 GMT

I am pleased to announce my return to the stage, after a year sabbatical, with the support of my Calgary band and crew. The venue is the same stage I last performed on a year ago and it’s the most romantic room in Calgary akin to cabarets and nightclubs from my grandfather’s time.

Joining will be the indefatigable Robbin Harris, the invincible Neil McVey and a new face to my show, the fuck-o-liciousness of Lisa Jacob. What? It’s a word…

Lolita’s Lounge

www.lolitaslounge.ca

1413 – 9th Ave. S.E., Calgary AB

9pm

tickets at the door $15

*dinner reservations recommended