Strawberry, Arizona

Dear Juniper,
So many letters start off this way. I know it’s cliche...but I’ve been watching you from afar. Your scent finds itself in my dreams and when I awake it seems as if you were right beside me. I want you, I want to embrace the essence of you, I want to embrace your heart. Sometimes I wish we could step outside the lines of this world and kick it on Venus or Saturn, you and I in space, drinking glasses of liquid stars and being entertained by the Universe’s symphony. You affect me so deeply, so supernaturally, I cannot take this much longer...

The Violet Fire

With my eyes closed
I dipped the tip of my tongue
into the Nile River
sensed the power of spirit
the ultimate high
the Espiritu Santo
the Ruach Hokodesh
You wanted to touch me
and feel the lightning in my blood
the sun in my eyes
You've watched me as I danced
towards the river
with rhythmic sways.
St. Germain and I
revived and cleansed
our souls
with the whiteness of clouds
and Angels' Auras.
You must tap into the
Violet Fire
and let life begin.

He Watches Me

We are a mystery
and somehow I know when he's longing
for my scent.
We are strangers
but he knows my routines.
Amidst the sounds of expresso machines
and sporadic sirens
He sneaks peeks of a pensive me
writing in a frenzy of madness
stringing adjectives and nouns
fusing scents of wild Atlantic waves
and Mexican hot chocolate
I'm blending hues of mango skin
and sunsets on paper
He touches me and
caresses my shoulders gently
with each soft sigh...

To Tango With Dolphins

To Tango With Dolphins
(Gwenevere’s Story)

It’s rare that most of us in this world discover our calling at the age of 4. But this holds true for shamaness, clairvoyant, reiki master, artist and tango dancer, Gwenevere Bridge. Gwenevere is 36 years of age and currently resides in Los Angeles, but was raised in Moss Beach, Ca. She fits the worldly description of Maya Angelou’s popular poem “Phenomenal Woman”. I first met Gwenevere at a Winter Solstice Celebration held in S.Cal. She stood in front of me as we waited in line to receive a psychic consultation. Gwenevere turned around and admired the braids in my hair. Suddenly, she gave me a mini–reading on the spot and everything she revealed was true! I was impressed by the spontaneity of her gift.
Gwenevere’s work centers on empowering women. She states, “In my work, I look into the soul of the woman I am reading and counseling and tell her the story of herself. I teach women about the areas that they have gained power and the hidden areas (the shadow Goddess) so that they can grow into greater strength and understand their unique and truly individual purpose. It is obvious that it contributes to their spiritual health when they are reminded of their inherent and glorious feminine intelligence and individuality.”
In metaphysics and new age thought, we are strongly encouraged to follow our first mind, inner voice, or intuition. But how many of us really stick true to our guns when we receive a message from our inner voice especially when the message seems unobtainable or completely from left field. Gwenevere had such an experience a few years ago when a voice told her to go to Australia. Of course she had to practice what she preached. It was a difficult move for her, not knowing a single soul in the land down under and not having the financial means as well. Let’s also consider that Gwenevere earned her income from creating art, tarot and psychic readings. She gave up everything, hustled and conducted as many readings as possible to earn enough money to purchase a ticket to Australia. Gwenevere threw herself a going away party and she headed for Australia: destination unknown. Fortunately, her trip to Australia turned out to be one of the most magical and spiritually filled experiences of her lifetime. Gwenevere had no problem finding lodging or work. It was almost as if the Australians expected her. Everything just fit into place for Gwenevere. She was even hired to work at a psychic faire the first week of her arrival. The most fantastical part of this story is that she swam with a group of dolphins daily. Gwenevere experienced psychic dreams from the mammals. She bonded with several dolphins to the point that one dolphin she conveniently named Sharky waited for her every morning at 7:00am to play. Gwenevere affirms, “Self-expression is a great way to expand your mind. Obviously writing, talking, music, painting, sciences and languages can allow for greater mental balance and I think we should all seek to challenge ourselves mentally with something new as often as possible. Physically I feel the same, I never swam until I worked with the dolphins when I was 27, and I never danced until I learned how to tango at 30!” These experiences led Gwenevere to her current book project about interacting with these dolphins.
Spiritual strength is about knowing whom we are within and without. Until we tap into the source provided by the universe, our search will be endless. In closing with the words of a true urban goddess, “women could become a GREAT power through spiritual visualization and we can find a more harmonious balance with men and the world through being more Spiritually recognized. Like a serious Goddess movement. If all women could understand and integrate their inner Goddess all men would be taught by example all the benefits they are robbing themselves of by not knowing what a truly empowered woman is capable of doing for herself and all those she loves!!!”
Gwenevere Bridge can be reached at www.gweneveresdreamtime.com or by calling (310)686.9330

Candlelight

Orange flames glow in the thickness of night...

The Blood Room

I started The Blood Room a few years back after I interviewed this young woman who practiced vampirism. Now, I'm no advocate of vampirism nor do I practice it. The names and places used in this excerpt are fictional. It's definitely not for the squeamish.

The Blood Room
The stars were entangled in the night’s web. The night crept early; its stars bled on sidewalks and cast reflections of lust. The air was damp and musty like the closet of a Victorian House. A sliver of a moon peeked in and out of bulbous clouds. The echoes of high heels resounded through the neighborhood because it was Friday night. Wise women bolted their doors and pulled down their shades on full moons like this. Alexandria O’Bryan sat in front of her vanity with legs crossed and brushed her coarse red hair. Alexandria’s Irish descendency was a prevalent feature. Her bony fingers picked up her rouge and applied it to her pale freckled cheeks.

As Alexandria applied her lipstick it molded on her lips like a liquid crayon. She was draped in a dark green velvet cloak, a burgundy camisole, fishnet stockings and high heels. She took the elevator down to the front of her building. Sometimes Alex walked down the ten flights of stairs for the exercise, but not that night.

The club that Alexandria was headed to was located on the outskirts of Providence. Alexandria stuck out her thumb like an early erection and sure enough a taxi stopped. She sat quietly in the back of the taxi while the taxi driver played Sufi music.

“You mind if I smoke?” Alexandria inquired.

“No not at all, in fact can I have one” the taxi driver replied in a strong Middle Eastern accent.



Alexandria took long drags from her Virginia Slim. She rolled down the window for the smoke to escape. The icy air blew on her face and caused her pale countenance to whiten.

Everyone in the club dressed similar. Alexandria was 22, 5'9, and slender. The outline of her pelvic bone could be seen through her fitted dress. Her lips were full and nose thin. She stuck her wrist out...stamp...she slept with the bouncer a few times. Alexandria strolled through the mixed crowd of goth, straight edgers, and washed out 80’s rockers. Flashes of strobe lights and cracked mirrors delivered the ambiance of a bad porno flick. She waltzed over to the bar and sat on one of the stools. Twirled around a bit before she got the bartender’s attention.

“Let me have a Bloody Mary” she ordered.

“Coming right up beautiful” the words rolled off the bartender’s tongue like an auctioneer.

Alexandria twirled around in her seat and faced the dance floor. She sipped on her drink and watched the club goers dance. She received a few offers of ecstasy but turned them down. Suddenly a tall slender blonde emerges from the crowd of dancers and walks straight towards Alexandria.

“Hey girl, how you doing?” the blonde asks.

“Tiffany, oh my god, what’s up?” asked Alexandria

Tiffany and Alexandria went to high school together. Tiffany placed her hand on Alexandria’s bare knee and squeezed it as she conversed. Tiffany leaned in close and whispered to Alexandria,



“You look great, wanna come over with some friends?”

“Yeah sure, when ya leavin’?”

“Now, c’mon” Tiffany insisted.

Tiffany grabbed Alexandria’s hands and pulled her outside. A car full of old high school friends was parked in front of the club. Tiffany grabbed the handle of the passenger door and pushed Alexandria in. Tiffany squeezed in next to Alexandria and shut the door behind her.

They all headed to Tifanny’s house located on an isolated road in the city of Providence.

“I’m Francis” a handsome young man with dark hair and green eyes said as he reached over Tiffany to shake Alexandria’s hand. Tiffany rolled her eyes.

“Please to meet you Francis” said Alex with a smile.

A large tree sat in the front yard as if it guarded the house. The porch was in need of repair but still could withstand loads of weight. Floral curtains covered most of the windows in the house. Bright light tracking aligned the ceilings. The floors were wooden and recently waxed. A huge white leather couch, recliner, and love seat adorned the living room. The 5 of them entered into Tiffany’s house and all sat on the soft leather couch.

“This is my humble abode” Tiffany introduced.

“Humble?” Tammy questioned.

“This house looks like it belongs in Hollywood or something” said Sean

“I will show you where The Blood Room is in a sec, first I gotta use the toilet” said Tiffany.



The Blood Room was located in the basement of the house. Chiffon was draped from the ceiling. Candelabras with wax drippings occupied a few shelves. Hundred of books were in crates and stacked in piles. A huge flat screen was suspended from the ceiling and a quality cd player stood in the corner. Tiffany put on some instrumental Mambo music. Tiffany stood on a crate and said,

“Welcome to my blood room.”

Tiffany opened a couple of bottles of wine and left them open on the bar next to some goblets. Francis started first. He took a razor blade and made a sharp incision on his arm. As Francis’s blood dripped down his tanned arm he immediately held it to Alexandria’s mouth. Alexandria hesitated for a moment, licked the blood with the tip of her tongue.

“I can’t, the taste..it’s too bitter” Alexandria complained.

“C’mon Alex, you’ll get used to it” Francis demanded.

Alex placed her mouth over the entire incision inhaled and extracted a huge amount of Francis’s blood. Francis’s heart began to beat rapidly. He lay down with an ecstatic smile on his face. Alex’s breathing became heavier and she drained more blood from his arm. The rest of the friends squirmed in place as Alex continued.

Santiago, Cuba September 8, 2003

Today was the festival of Oshun or Our Lady of La Caridad del Cobre, goddess of love, gold, and the river. The city of Santiago is covered with plush green hills and trees and Santiago's air ...hot and humid and scented with honey and cinnamon, Oshun's favorite. The bus I rode on was air conditioned and cold. I sat on the bus glancing out the window and watching all the Cuban people walk up the hill towards the cathedral where Oshun's altar is located. Oh how I wanted to join them in their pilgrimage of sweat and joviality. Cubans were dressed in yellow or red a sign of devotion to Oshun. The uphill road was aligned with vendors selling pieces of copper, yellow candles, and large bundles of sunflowers. The bus driver pulled over so that I and others could purchase a bundle of sunflowers, Cuanto cuesta? I asked the vendor. "Un dolar" he replied. There I sat with a moist bundle of freshly cut sunflowers on my lap and a piece of copper cradled in the palm of my hand.
When we finally reached the top of the hill where the cathedral was located. There were hundreds of Cuban people lined up outside the cathedral. The altar was upstairs. The other tourists were reluctant to be among the crowds and crowds of people, but not me, I had to get to the top to see the altar, to give my sunflowers to Oshun. I'm not very tall, but I was going to get to top no matter what. Hundreds and hundreds of people flocked up the narrow spiraling staircase with bouquets of flowers, sweating and pushing each other. I blended in, melting with the crowd, my sunflowers tucked under my arm, and my video camera in the other. "Cuidado, Cuidado" I shouted as the people feverishly rushed up the stairs. Finally, I reached the top, and there it was, this towering statue of La Caridad del Cobre encased in glass. Her hands stretched out staring over the different shades of brown people. There had to be about three feet of flowers stacked all around the altar. People were praying with their eyes closed shut and hands folded, asking for love and blessings in their lives. I placed my bundle of sunflowers on the altar out of respect and bid her farewell.

Produce Section

I often frequent the
produce section of grocery stores.
Slowly bending over vegetables
tickling leaves
and sniffing radishes.
Cucumbers and carrots
are my favorite.
I run my fingers tips
along their garden
skin feeling their
firmness and size.
I hold cucumbers up in front
of elderly women
getting opinions
about the length.
I know the cameras
are watching.
A pornographic salad
if you will
clashing under fluorescent
lights.
Yes, a cucumber in one hand
and a carrot in the other.
I caught the grocery
clerk staring
at my egg plants
He quickly turned around
but I tapped him on the shoulder
with a carrot
and asked if he could turn
on the sprinklers
because moisture is important.
He smiled and quickly walked away.
I want a bed of lettuce
to toss in.
A fantasy of green and orange
lovers leading me to a climatic dressing of a lifetime.

Juniper's Feet

I get compliments on my feet all the time. So here's a picture of them

Erzulie

I wrote this in February 2005. I was sort of auditioning for a photographer. He sent me a photograph of a beautiful mansion in New Orleans.


During midnights in New Orleans, the moon’s breath taps on the steps of plantations. Distant drumming from shamans and voodoun priests cause secadas to enter into a symphonic ritual of Louisiana’s past. Erzulie is summoned and her honey scented lips kiss Lydia’s soul and welcomes her to the next dimension. If you want to view or purchase more art like this
visit indigoarts.com

What Does Cinnamon Pancakes Have To Do With Sex ?

A couple of weeks ago, I sat in one my neighborhood’s newest and most welcomed eating establishments called Sotelo’s Café. Sotelo’s has been in my neighborhood for over a year now and is supported by all the local residents. One late morning I went to Sotelo’s and ordered my usual breakfast: one cinnamon pancake, scrambled egg whites, and sliced tomatoes. A couple of the regulars were present when I arrived. I grabbed a section of that day’s newspaper and sat at the table with the two. I tried not to be disruptive because the regulars, (a hairstylist named Jim and an entrepreneur named Kenny) were engaged in a serious conversation. So in the meantime. I just browsed through the newspaper minding my own business.
Soon my order was ready. The chef, named Alejandro, brought my order to me within minutes. The pancake was a dark golden brown (from the cinnamon), the egg whites were soft and fluffy, and the tomatoes were bright red, neatly sliced, and crisp with freshness. After Alejandro placed the porcelain plate in front of me, I proceeded to eat my breakfast. I picked up a glass container of maple syrup and slowly poured the thick sticky syrup onto my pancake. I used the butter knife to spread the whipped butter in a circular motion blending it with the syrup on the pancake. As I ate, I noticed peripherally that Kenny was observing my every movement. I figured that maybe I was smacking or performing some other unpleasant eating etiquette. Nevertheless, I continued to place each intricately cut portion of the pancake into my mouth. I sprinkled salt and pepper on each of my tomatoes and then sliced them into quarters with my knife and fork. I savored each bite of food that I placed into my mouth. I allowed the portions of pancake to practically dissolve in my mouth and slide down my throat. I took intermittent sips of ice cold water. Jim and Kenny’s conversation continued but Kenny, Kenny kept looking at me with his piercing blue eyes as I consumed my breakfast. I asked myself, was I eating too fast ? Too noisy ? Too slowly ? Finally, Kenny blurted to Jim and I, " I have never seen anybody eat a pancake and tomato so sensually before in my life" Kenny pointed at me while talking to Jim, "Have you seen her ? Watch her eat." he said with enthusiasm. Well, I guess one can say I blushed. But I wasn’t trying to eat my syrup saturated pancake sensually. I wasn’t trying to impress anybody, let alone two men that have no interest in women whatsoever. "You make me wanna rub that pancake all over by body" said Kenny with excitement. Jim and Kenny held their heads back and released roaring chuckles like characters from a Rob Zombie horror flick. But Kenny meant it.
So Kenny’s observation made me think. When I’m writing a story or poem and I have a female character who’s a seductress. I confess, the character eats sensually, seductively, erotically, and every other adjective that means "sensual." In contrast, when I’m a writing a scene or a poem involving two characters and I want one of the character’s to be viewed as undesirable, disgusting, or unappealing you best believe it’s done through his/her’s eating habits. Perhaps, that special moment with my cinnamon pancake, scrambled egg whites, and sliced tomatoes was art imitating life but subconsciously ? I mean, now I feel compelled to give tips to men and women on how to eat one cinnamon pancake, scrambled egg whites, and sliced tomatoes sensually or did I do that already ?