You started me off
with the whip,
just tickling me
with the leather strands,
the licks felt like feathers,
like whispers.

Then you drizzled almond oil
down my backside,
warm and viscous,
honey oozing over a peach;
dew seeped from the delicate blossoms
inside of me
and I craved
your sting,
your hardness.

So you gave me my treat.
You parted my flesh,
cleaved me
again and again,
taking me apart
until you touched the deepest part of me,
where past and present merge in a crescendo
of pleasure,
hallowing and restoring me,
and I took the guise
of the goddess
you have made me:
Pua Nani.

Baring My Soul For NaBloPoMo

my latest confessional on my prose blog, Inner Life of Pua Nani

Inner Life of Pua Nani

I have been longing to connect with you, dear reader. I have been thinking of you. Of what I would say to you when next I wrote. There is so much. So much has happened. It feels like it’s been a long time since you’ve heard from me.

I thought of you most at the time that I was at my most vulnerable. That was very recently. I know I should have started writing then. I wanted to. But I suppose now is a good time too; I plan to participate in NaBloPoMo and November is only a few days away.

I initially started this blog because I wanted to share the things that I experience deep within myself. I find that the inner world, much like the outer one, is amazingly multifaceted in its landscape. Some places are so beautiful…yet some so ugly. I have developed a sensitive, delicate…

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Mother of the Moon

At night
I enter the liminal realms,
this wild jungle of dreams,
and forget
who I am.

I wake to the thought
of you.
Insistent pain,
the sting of my life’s wounds,
reminds me,
in a way
that comforts.

I do not want to lose this world,
her days,
her nights,
her majestic cycles.

I want to keep my role
as sacred timekeeper,
hugging to me
the vast plane of consciousness,
singing it lullabies
with melodies forged
from the unseen.

I will not be dislodged.

I will grow deeper roots.

Even as the sky darkens
and dips
towards the dimness
of a thoughtless eternity,
I will become
Mother of the Moon.

Gatekeeper of the Unconscious

This is a poem of mine from a few years ago. Last week I journeyed into the unconscious again. The path of healing can be circular I suppose.

dreaming tamaramalya


I have been the gatekeeper of the unconscious.
All that is dark, unknown, invisible, separated off…
I have allowed the structure of my own body to contain
this unruly domain.
I have watched language splinter into incoherence…
only to reassemble itself again,
into the weaving of a larger story,
an allegory.
So I have gone where many refuse to go.
I have inhabited inner terrain that is dark and wild,
perhaps to consciously understand
what could not be understood
Knowing always
that my body
expansive meaning,
beyond the narrative landscape
of this
singular history.
And is this not
how compassion is born?
In the understanding of all things

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Dancing at the edge of my mind
still the thought
of how exquisite it was
to make love to you
is present within me.
Waking or sleeping,
even as I struggle,
I return
to caress
those moments
that are archived within my body’s awareness,
the way I used to caress your face,
so lovingly.
It was not madness,
nor is it now.
Just the thrill
of being human.