Mystic Writer

Instinct

2009-11-07T01:48:00.000-08:00

Instinct,
a primal urge.

I give life to its essence,
welcoming
its gleeful unbridled passion,
allowing it to smolder.

Waiting for the moment to emerge,
it sits,

waiting for opportunity,
it wells up,

waiting for a moment to strike
and bite
the hand that gives it life,

always taking,

ever renewing,

etching upon my soul,

upon my consciousness,

its wordless reactive action...

...and then...

oh, and then...

I force its return
back to the void.

Engulfed in trepidation,

I give it death,

submergence,

bringing it back
to being
just...

instinct.

CB c/o 1998

Love’s Blow

2009-09-13T01:03:00.000-07:00

Singled out in a void of absolute integrity
and fear of blending into a blur of living forever more
in tonight’s far reaching depths
of blackness and corrupt ineptitude.

How did it happen that you are left
with only your weeping heart and stale memories?

How did it come about that you,
who had given so much,
are now left with only a small fraction of yourself,
and are now too afraid of possibly giving that away as well?

Peace good spirit,
for you are a good spirit,
entrapped in mortal flesh of endearments,
harmful and hurtful, love filled endearments,
that leave only a speck of truth about why you exist,
of why you even try to love,
to reach out and attempt to find another
who could possibly tap into the core of your being
and answer the haunting questions
that you are still too afraid to even ask.

Your saintly appearance,
hiding a devil behind its veiled eyes,
a devil afraid to live,
alive and afraid to die the great spirit of ego,
afraid of life itself,
so you exist,
wondering when it will end,
but afraid to the very end
of becoming too oblivious to oblivion itself.

So, you live very much like a trap and injured animal,
snapping at those closest and dearest to your aching heart,
so swollen with pride
and filled with a plethora of hurt and fear.

You love,
you love,
yet you do not know enough
about such a torrid and sickening emotion
that can tear a fragile heart in two
and leave the torn, gasping, bleeding halves on the ground,
immobilized and ready to be ripped asunder,
over and over again.

Because beating is all your heart knows how to do,
it knows of nothing else,
beat and live,
live and beat,
until it grows too tired to beat and live anymore -
beaten by living,
beaten by love.

Christa Bella
1995

blue blankets

2009-08-18T09:57:00.000-07:00

forward motion
moving on
never seeming to stop
sometimes slow
other times fast
too fast to stop fast
onward
to the end
the end of the line
fine lines
filled with cracks
crosshatched
between here and there
lay
crushed stones
broken rubble
bells ringing
warning signs
red lights
flashing warnings
wheels turning
onward
we pass
lives
waving hello
waving goodbye
brief glimpses
of expressions
peering
through windows
through glasses
through panes
some smile
some not
some indiscernible blurs
through the window pane
insulated
encapsulated
separated
in self made cocoons
so it seems
the world passes by
in an instant
in a blink of an eye
inside
waiting
outside
already gone
moving forward
and on
and on
and keep on going
'til we pass
‘til we stop
‘til blue blankets cover our eyes

by christa bella

may 14, 2007

In memory of the 6 (not 5) lives, 2 mothers and 4 children, lost on May 8, 2007.
This was my 1st 'incident' as an employee working the train. Because of that, these souls passing will probably be part of my consciousness for the rest of my life. May they rest in peace, but more importantly, may the ones they left behind live in peace, knowing that there were many there that are still thinking and praying for them.

www.recordnet.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070509/A_NEWS/705090319

a response to my braille friend

2009-08-09T17:07:00.000-07:00

* italic - my braille friend's questions to me
* non-italic - my responses

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

only when we're blind do we learn to see

to my braille friend in cyberspace...
my response is stream of consciousness...
too much thinking in times like these dulls my soul
and catches my brain in a net of redundancies

if you were to write about me what would come of the words?

void descriptions in space
crossing in time
going nowhere
splattered
creeping
circling back 'round
discovering
the similarity of diversity
sandwiched in the moment
stuck with pins
needles
knifed
ripped shreds of existence
walking on shards
remnants of soiled souls
engulfed in flames of mist
transcending air
fluttering away
etched in my dermis
layers
upon layers
of scars
protruding
without wings to carry us higher
so
we
the benevolent ones
stretching our hands out
in self inflicted kindness
deluded and self desolated
we stage deaths
and uphold the utmost supremacy of our inner most regions
and fly against the sounds of violence
and hope that none of this will really be the end of things
where will we go?
where will we be as this game slows down to a grind?
where is this all coming to?
going from?
when this seems all there is?
turning back ‘round
we face ourselves
we see ourselves in each other
and
forgetting who we are
we play the fool
ha ha ha
not for me to know
not for any to know
tender is the words of sin
and sound is nothing in the void

if you were to model with me what would they see?

hands caressing airwaves
touched by sorrow and solitude
masked by erroneous fortitude
and sympathy for the unseen
hold me up gentle water
as masses of tears
flow down
strewn
upon the flames of desire
blended
into torrents of flesh and decomposing molecules

if you were to act with me what world would be the scene?

pulled from the spotlight by shadows
engulfed by dark light
masses congregate
to watch the spectacle of life
proceeding
down
into the trenches of masked warriors
faced with the end of days
oh
the show the must go on they say
but for who?

tell me more ?... much respect to a mystic mind

touch my soul
tell me of love
hate
joy
sorrow
ecstacy
pain
merging of souls
that wither in loneliness
of the gentle things
the horror of things
oh
to be at peace with a raging soul
is it possible?
tell me
is it possible?

written by Christa Bella
in this space
on this day
in this time

nov 26, 2005

www.myspace.com/braille