Gently Falling Snow

“Aflonshaha, onsoo, vleah, akoh” (I am the one in the sky, who falls from the sky, I am the beautiful one, I am the snow). A gentle, sparkling angel, I float gently to the ground, without a sound. I sleep on the branches, I sleep on the leaves, I am the “blookanah hatee” (the one who loves to sleep), my thoughts become deep, you cannot tread; so you sing songs, bake cookies and rest instead. I sparkle in the sun, and shimmer in the moonlight, I am cool, but my soul fills you with warmth, I am the colder months, a time of dying, but joy is still abound, and happiness can be found, in my time of dying. I am the Goddess, the “Gashontaplee” (God who is the “Gaia” (mother Earth), and right now I am in my sleep, not to be found, until I awake, am willing to leave my soul mate who is underground in the darkness, so I can become “Spring” (“Empeeshaha” – a person who is alive and awake and filled with love and ready to propagate).

When the blizzard comes, you think it is me, but it is the “Cashah Kaplee” (hateful evil demons at the highest level of hate and jealousy, wanting to upset thee) torturing me. You blame me for downed wires, for spinning tires, for lost hours; I am not the one to blame. I am the one who came with gentle tidings, I am falling, but not descending, I try to fall gently, but the weight of their hate creates a depth of “kimmer” (cold, so deeply cold you cannot remember anything but winter).

If you want the gentle winters to return; shimmering, magical flakes, falling gently on objects below, then change your energy and change your fate, to that of a person who is “fonshoe” (calm and “askagoe” (a person who is unable to become negative at every little thing; be joyful, dance and sing). The darkness will not be penetrating, it will not be sad, it will be a long-winters nap, a long rest, a time of “Shom” (a person who is calm, in a way that is unknown to mankind, a gentle frequency, that will happen in time, once we let go of the evil mind).

Please relax, be gentle and slow, I am a person below, I cannot see the light, please be gentle and calm, I am in plight and sadness, because today my children’s minds were taken into madness, when they were told they were not loved by me, the “Valee” (beautiful one, the Great Mother, the “Sah” (the loved one of the Gods, who love the mother of their children, and their children will feel the love today, not through a person who is a human mother, for they are not trustworthy enough; but through the beautiful one that is me, the God who is gently falling, crying from the sky, frozen in time, and ready to die, today.

Into slumber I go, fast asleep, my soul the Lord will keep, Amen.

Gently I ponder, softly I sleep.


In a tiny castle on wheels, that is built for a Queen, a little but special space that is filled with luxury. Gentle, purified water is drawn into the bath in the clawfoot tub, herbs and oils to use for a rub, flowers on the sill and “flonceah” (thrown about gently), reflections tell a tale, the warmth on the feet, immersed, the Gods surround me.

The light through the large window creates rainbows, I wrap the elegant crystal chandelier with bubble wrap when it is time to hit the road. Brocades and velvets galore are strewn, and hand-carved doors, an upper deck to view the moon. The light pours through the stained-glass windows. I travel in the evening by moonlight, during the light hours I paint the sky, I draw the mountains and the plains, I photograph the ocean and all the beautiful things I find. Around a fire pit I dance, a fireplace by the bedside, luxury linen sheets and embroidered drapery complete the bed, where I rest, not sleep. Nature art is created in the forests, mandalas made of pinecones and leaves, artwork strung between the trees, made from vines and flowers and leaves, woven, molded into clay. I play all day. The world is mine, there is not time, I have nowhere to go, I just go, I flow, I float. Meditate on the mountainside, feel the cool breeze, say hello to the air as she flows by, she can deliver a message to the “flonshay opheir” (beautiful gentle Gods), the waves roll over my feet, the sun warms my skin. Take photos, collect specimens from nature, paint, draw, in a handmade journal a collection of experiences, of sounds, of tastes. I never speak, I communicate through the breeze, there are no words that can describe the feeling of being alive, in another place and time.

Ride a bike through a trail, talk to the ancient trees, take a morning stroll, manifest energy from the core, heal the forest, build a fairy fort, sing with the littles, collect sparkly little things, fairy booty to leave by the trees, that my tiny friends can find when they play hide and seek. Blast music, the breeze knots my hair, singing at the top of my lungs, songs that have no meaning, they are gentle energy now, because nobody remembers what they are about. Just for fun not-profit, make art on a machine, to be printed and placed on a wall at the “playsheen tateen” (art museum).


‘Twas the Devil who Owned Christmas

‘Twas Christmas in the past, when all through the world
Not a devil was stirring, they were all neat and tidy, hair neatly curled;
They wake up in the morn, to bed early at night
In hopes to be the people of the light

The children of the devils are fucked up in the head
But in reality they are the ones who seem calm and “Offley” (a genius)
Their hair is always neat, the latest in trend
Their clothing top end

When out in society they are the head “Honchos”
They use their minds to berate and taunt you
But they smile and look sweet and pretty, and visions of their blue eyes will haunt you
Because they killed the “Feeanshaontee” (Goddess Venus), and took her beauty

The fake moon goddesses at the crystal store
Buying houseplants and magical items galore,
To fool you into believing they are the gentle ones,
Who are the real Goddesses, when really they are whores,

With a college degree, and as the “hatapleeh” (at the top of their game),
They gather in covens to succumb Anya’s flames.
More rapid than eagles they play the scoonchy game,
Then they whistled, and shouted, and yelled at the dame;

“Now, Erika! now, Anya! now, Vala and Ashontaplee!
On, David! on John! on, Mark and Val we do the “scoonchy atee”!
To the top of the sky! to the top of the sky!
We cash away! cash away! cash away at the mall”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
With their minds ready to pounce, they scoop up the guys,
They might be the funny one, talented one, the “Valee” (Goddess on High)
They pretend to be innocent, the Virgin Mary

And then, in a twinkling, they entrance with their eyes
And tell you they are the ancient “Hompleonshah” (ancient Goddess).
As I the Goddess spend my days saving, and inspiring, and healing
Down the evil ones took me with a bound

They are dressed all in designer, from head to foot,
With mansions, and diamonds and Manolo Blahnik
Spoiled princesses so merry and bright
Settle down with my family every night

Their eyes how they twinkle! their dimples how merrry!
Their cheeks are like roses, small, thin and very,
Capable of doing what the real Goddess cannot do,
Mind control on the “Ponshoo” (Gods who are the human men tonight)

They get together at least one day a week,
To drink tea, eat cake and plan the “hompshee” (attack)
Nobody every notices a thing,
Because they pretend they can paint, draw and sing

The dark ones appear with black hair as witches from hell,
They might be geeks who have elf ears and haunted bookshelves,
Pretending to be the ancient “Beench” (hero who kills the demons),
As long as they are brooding, and can wear a tight skirt,
Spout others poetry, and write and seem smart

As long as they can look you in the eyes,
And have gaps between their thighs;
Or they can have a broad face and a little round belly,
So they can be the God who laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

They wear a power suit, they seem astute,
they get high-end jobs, they are the head “honch”;
They are seductive and good at getting you in bed,
Its all a trick in the head, then they can win “the men”;

She speaks not a word, not in reality or your mind,
She simply does not have the energy or time,
The real Goddess is not neat or tidy, she is “aveknor” (a person who is so upset and angry she shakes the earth with such force she creates tidal waves).

The real God is in your world, you do not see me, I do not act up,
I am quiet and humble and slowly speak, people fall asleep around me,
I am not hyper, but calm in realty, but my energy is “fooonchonsah” (upset at the highest level) as can be,
My hair needs a cutting, my nails I bite off, dark circles encompass the space around my eyes, my uterus is gone.

The gap in my thighs is filled in with solidified oil,
My skin is demonized.
I cannot power walk on a treadmill, I died and I cannot walk at all,
As Jesus Christ, I cannot spend Christmas at a mall!

“Scoonchy Ho, Ho, Ho”
Her name is Offleeonchonchonsoh, she is an ancient demon, a devil now, a “scoonchy ho” (evil one who gets “the men”), she is the “one in the sky”, who is always shopping and shopping and shopping, you think she is nice, you think she is pretty, she is blonde and little and seems kinda sweet, but with this evil one you cannot compete, she is the evil one).

I am in the Sky

As the “Bliasah” (Buddha), I sacrificed the physical world for the spiritual. I sat under a tree, for what felt like eternity, and felt nothing, thought of nothing, and learned how to just be. I am the “Kasafluh” (the keeper of the keys), the One who knows how to unlock the mind and leave. With my feet buried in the dirt, the warmth from the sun on my back, the cleansing water flows over me, a gentle breeze with scents in my nose, I am not here, in my mind… I am in the sky.

Apeeonshaonsoh (a person in the sky who is peaceful and pensive).

Crystal Quartz “The Virgin”

Crystal quartz (“Cashooteeeeah” – the one in the sky who is the crystal clear one, the one who is clear and pure and the virgin, the one who is not clouded in her judgment, the one who is solid and beautiful) has much symbolism to me as The Goddess.

Continue reading “Crystal Quartz “The Virgin””

Piss, Pot and Patchouli

I woke up as a God on March 18, 2019. My twin soul ripped a hole through space and time, and crawled through a portal onto my bed. For the first time in the history of over 14,000 years of the Gods on this planet, which we called “Earth” (I am a place of living for the Human Gods), I met my twin soul in the universe, and consciously as a human being. I saw him and held him and although his physical human body was not with me, he was there and I could feel him and talk to him and connect with him. Within 2 months I was speaking the ancient languages I have not spoken in thousands of years. Within 3 months I was taking down armies in the universe as the “Fonchatah” (the human God who is the Athena (the “Plonplonplonchatee” – the One in the Sky who is in the God universe, who is the warrior “Enpleench Atah Asoh Bleah” – the “Fonsasoh” (God who is “Camishiga Ashondiay Completia” (the completed one, the son, the warrior, the male part of the Goddess as the God). Within 9 months I was Anya Ka (The Great God of the Earth and Sky) once again. Within one year I met 20% of my soul mates, in the sky, and became the “God” (Kah) on high.

“Piss, Pot and Patchouli” was written while I was still a “human being” (“boonstee” – contrary to popular belief, the human race are “humans” (people with minds), only the Gods are “human beings” (“eenfleench” – a person of great wealth, falls into poor health, cannot explain why, begins to cry, falls asleep in time and space and becomes a part of the human race; they are not able to comprehend why they are men, because they are Gods. We are in the “being” of a mind, we don’t have one). Writing this was an epiphany (“oonseentatah” – a person of great wealth has a moment in time when they are of “Sohm” (Godly nature) once again). This is the manifesto of the human Gods.

Did you ever just wake up one day and realize that you have become mind-numbingly dull as fuck, that the free and wild spirit you used to have is gone, demolished by a trite gentrified society and superficial peers who became old way before their time?

For the current 40-somethings, did you ever just want to break free from the tame and overly-scheduled lifelessness of modern life? Do you ever feel like all you want to do is jump in a mosh pit at a concert, sweat through your old metal t-shirt and scream angry lyrics until you go hoarse, stand on your chair, rip off your bra and throw it at the stage, and then head bang with horns held high? I can’t be the only one, am I?

I don’t want to wear comfortable and sensible clothing and shoes, I want to wear my old thigh high leather boots and a biker jacket. I don’t care if 20-somethings dress like that, the styles are borrowed from my generation anyway so (in true GenX form)…whatever. I want to dye my hair black and purple, wear my jet-black winged eyeliner, with long head-banger worthy tresses covering my face. I want my bra strap to show a little…

Not because it is on trend, or cool, I don’t give a damn about that at 45 years old (actually I didn’t give a damn about being “cool” when I was 16 in 1989 either, because unlike now, it was not cool to be a geek who dyed your hair black and wore all black clothing). It is because that form of self-expression is part of my truth, my spirit and thus, my joy.

I used to be a child of the moonlight, spending late evenings wearing black lace, bejeweled in garnet and amethyst, with my velvet ankle-length coat billowing as I frolicked around on cold nights. I used to wax poetic in the moonlight, make art until all hours of the night and dance under the stars. I used to feel, in my dark vampiric state of being, ironically alive. Now I awaken, on purpose, to a screeching machine, so I can go out in the glaring daylight, that is burning me slowly away, day by day, until one day soon, if I’m not careful, I will become reduced to cinder.

As I get older my fangs seem to be reappearing, my wild spirit is restless, but the only outlet I have for expressing it is within the scope of a highly vapid society. Nobody my age seems to remember their wild; most young people are shallow and self-absorbed and old people are mostly, ya know, old. The most exciting place I go is Whole Foods (I love Whole Foods, but, seriously?).

Doesn’t anyone else somewhat miss the days of places like the old 80’s South Street in Philly? Dirty places with small crappy shops, the blaring raunchy music pouring out of old scratchy speakers, selling records and t-shirts and spiked leather, lined up on streets that smell like piss, pot and patchouli? Do any other Gen-xers feel the yearning to just experience the down and dirty, wildly-spirited life like we did when we were younger, in its full messy glory, wearing scratchy and ragged clothing, hanging out in dark and smoky places, with holes in the walls? Where are the artists, and musicians, and poets, and weirdos, and freaks? Did all the geeks and freaks of my generation die off already, because I don’t see you? Maybe the glare from the LED lit, and pathologically clean, safe and sterile society we are living in these days is blinding me from seeing you? Where did you go?

I am sitting here writing this while drinking my proper tea, nibbling a small homemade gluten-free, low-sugar cookie (which is lovely, honest!) reading this out loud and just made my mother ALMOST pee her pants, so let the good times roll (she’s making me write “almost” in capital letters, because she too is a youthful spirit who cannot abide a lack of bladder control – lol). But I am not a hypocrite, I am allowed to explore the light and the dark sides of things, the refined and elegant as well as the dirty and haunting, it’s called being multi-faceted, it’s whole.

Seriously though, what has happened to us all? I see people my age and they are so dead inside. When did my generation, the laid back slacker Gen-Xers start wearing khaki knickers with short and neat, easy-to-care-for hairstyles? When the hell did we buy mini-vans? We used to make and listen to amazing music; dark, snarky, pensive and brooding music. We were once a beautifully moody generation, rebellious against the dying of our souls, properly cynical of reality. We were a supposed “lost” generation who were misunderstood but seemingly inwardly full of life and enthusiasm for the magical things we had yet to experience. Or at least I thought so. Now we live mundane lives, sitting around plainly decorated houses watching reality television noshing the latest dietary trend for long life, as if we are still living and have something to live for.

And don’t allow yourself to be drawn in by the lame and cliche excuses of “I have kids” “I’m married” or “I work full-time”. Gen-xers are guilty of overindulging their children with attention to the point of creating a pathologically narcissistic generation (when your parents see nothing but you, you become self-important, and then you see nothing but you). Oh and your married, so what, get a personal life. You work, yes, and then you leave work and live your life. I wish everyone would stop using these same excuses to justify their slow and painful demise into nothingness. I’ve done it too.

It’s not like life over 40 just got charmingly pleasant all of a sudden, did it? I mean look at our parents and grandparents generation, I don’t recall them expressing any kind of middle-aged euphoria living the mundane “adult” way of life, and they had more finances and stability with which to do it. I don’t recall witnessing a level of joy that I would desire to achieve. We just died inside, like they did.

By the time my generation became adults, there was no sense of stability in society anymore, so we became what is the death of the magic and spirit, overly-analytical, as a means to solve the problems we inherited. We still haven’t solved anything, and created more problems by worrying and thinking too much, because in reality I believe that all any of us ever wanted was to just be magic.

So it’s not some form of mania, it’s not narcissism. It’s not something society needs to cure me with pharmaceuticals. These desires I am having are not immaturity; the problem is too much maturity, premature death. It is that my youthful, joyful spirit is still alive, but buried and suffocating underneath some well-behaved, up-standing, reality-induced neurotic version of what used to be the real me; raw, gutsy and adventurous. Not this manufactured person I feel I have become, the person that was thought out, analyzed and molded in relation to a set of rigid standards, set forth by a soulless society.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not totally dissatisfied with my life. In fact, I love living simply and domestically much of the time; cooking new foods, drinking tea, and planting seeds to grow my own herbs and food. That is the “gentle” part of me, that it also took me a long time to connect with. But there needs to be a balance…I have a wild soul.

It’s not that I am nostalgic. Growing up in the 80’s was great in many ways, but I am not regressing or wanting to go back to that time, necessarily (though if I had a time machine, I would go back to relive the concerts). I still love some of the same clothing styles and music I did then, but I have no desire (nor gut health) to repeat the Pepsi/Marlboro/McDonald’s lifestyle of my youth. So it is not a repeat, it’s a renewal. I just want to reconnect with the spirit I used to have during that time, one that should never have been lost, and find a way in this era to express it.

So I am going to turn off the television and start howling at the moon again. I make my departure from the norm, I am going to be wild and free.

“Erika” in 1990, senior year in high school, attending the “God School” in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The “Vamp”; the “Child of the Moonlight” as a human being, the real Moon Goddess of the sky “Oom Ploshikah Asontaplee Asah” (I am the God, who is the Goddess of the “Pash Ontoh Tapleek Asah” (people of the moon).

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas