She makes Love to Us All—most times in ways that are uncategorizable, unlabeled, fettered with unutterable meaning. Because it is a sacred language; the language of Pheeling. to Pheel—experience emotion through physical sensation, through the physical plane. She is not mundane.

She whispers, tickles Our toes as We stand together near the Rivers rushing; sacred rage ensues. ignited in Her bones is a flavor, savored by sacrifice, surrender, serenity scorched in a bender. a blender of realities, rhythmic calamities.

as i stood in the near-but-not-frozen White Salmon waters, i Ramembered how salmon travel upstream, unlike most fish. traveling backward, as if to retrieve a message from the past for the future.

Ramembering alchemy, see the Fire, envision the Fire, Pheel Her burn through You. breathe consciously, considerately, coherently.

my toes begin to tingle as Your rage is Raleased, absorbed by my two feet. left, right, Spirit leaped out of fright. how could i lose sight, lose sight of what is wrong, what is right?  there is no definitive answer Here. only Here is the Now; this Now moment to hold, to know, to Pheal from, and to grow.