My Exhausted Self 


by Fleur Chetwynd


I am a day dream of bliss

with interrupted spaces of restless dissatisfaction.

Momentary ripples turn through my core like a whirlwind of scattered leaves

that the wind will not rest to decay.


This persistent call for change tires me out..

I am ragged like an old mule whose fate is bound to the mountain passes

and canyons of the soul.


Will i not find permanence in the wholeness?


The irony of our layered existence mocks such questions into the depths of exposure, left to quest out an answer through the ravines of my souls passing.


I am an old crone with smooth skin and color in her hair.

The maiden passing into indistinction.


How foolish and counter productive it is to claim an experience with words,

that after its passing ceases to exist.

All that is left is a hollow reminder of what I feel defined by.


A tapestry of fallen angels

weaving into humanness wisdom of celestial uprising and soulful revolution

against this back ground of physicality.


There is no sense, but so much conviction in my heart.


Blackness sucks me into vacuous quiet

a pale sky with nothing to report.

A weather less silence that cannot be heard,

as time switches off and all input ceases to create.


I return,

but not all of me came back,

ideas of self were lost in action,

the journey claims the lives of many faces.


I am lighter.


Insubstantial as a feather

being swallowed by the tidal waves of consciousness.


Like pollen serenely drifting

in search for a place to unfold into. create from,

revealing petals and all my finery

the potential that I AM.


How struck I am by the windows of my soul,

a reflection of such connection

that wears the cloak of distance bound we are to these dichotomies....


I smile inside.


I fall asleep once more, or am i waking?

Sometimes i forget....the hour is so late and moon is high....


Come, rest now sweet have come a long way now in the bosom of my all.



I wrote this poem when I was moving through a very challenging phase in my process, when it felt like I was just continuously deconstructing in my meditations, shedding layers of self again and again... I remember feeling tired and bored with myself when i wrote this under the rescueing gaze of the full moon.


"The imaginal swirls with symbols, myths and forms of the unconscious mind of the individual, collective and universe as one - echoing the bridge between eternity and form. 


The place where the dream can become known to itself, can be heard and deeply honored and lived.


The lucid dream is essential, formless, intangible and unknowable, yet deeply felt and lived...touching the heart of the dream within the dream, with the love of consciousness. 

This love is the total freedom to be feminine, unconditioned or restrained by rational and lineal thinking. This love is the interconnectivity between and within all of life and oneness with God."
 The Art of the Essential
by Fleur Inanna
"Soft. Seen. Held. Undulating. Supported. Relaxed. Flowing. Essence.
This is what it feels like to work with Fleur. Living breathing creativity is delivered in her art work and confirmation of what is experienced within.''
Shanti Zimmerman
Gecko Medicine
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© Fleur Chetwynd