Medicine From A Skeleton Soul

May the energy of the Wild en route to Valhalla move through you 🏴‍☠️

How to extract medicine from a skeleton soul? Yes, even if they picked the flesh from your bones (and sold the scraps on facebook market place) — the seeds to your resurrection lie in what only appears to be emaciation.

Below is a one minute clip from reading this poem at Growhouse Tampa 2/5/2025. The full piece was just under 4 minutes, so this is only the intro. The full “revised” version of the poem is found below this video:

MEDICINE FROM A SKELETON SOUL 

How to extract medicine from a skeleton soul?
So many loved ones dead
it’s like no one sees me no more, 
except the one who asks:
Why did he have to die, but you got to live? 

These days they say they’re speaking truth to power
I seem to remember a different track record, I 
seem to remember lord of the flies bootlickers,
but let me back up - 

Are you speaking truth to power? 
Or are you regurgitating propaganda to its opposition?
Are you shadowboxing while telling yourself you’re 
shedding blood on the front lines 
and wondering, why, 
you are never satisfied?

We live in times where two people believe they are speaking truth and 
find themselves in the allegory’s holy war.

I want to know what you wish you could say, but wont.
I want to hear what you really felt, but wouldn’t look in the eye, 
let alone speak..

Oppressive spirits thrive in captivity, 
surely their host will die if they 
do not remember 
why they are alive
Or that they are
Free. 

The biggest secret I keep is what really happened at home. 
The crime against my own humanity is I have made my light my shadow.

Will they leave me too if I can't keep up
or be interesting enough? 
But of course not too interesting
they’ll try to cut me down as if I were a tree blocking the view 
of a horizon they say no one could ever grow to, 
a self fulfilling prophecy and curse - 
is it real when they say I love you?

I am a warlord gypsy with a hidden heart that only speaks 
in song or poetry,
Lately all it whispers or screams to me is, 
let me out.

I destroy, create and I've been a doula of death, 
but in the world of what they want to see, 
the factory of masks and allegories, 
I can’t say the war i return from or deploy to, 
the fires im still alchemizing 
or the glory of the unnameable,

that saves, redeems, transforms, 
softens the heart to formless infinity, 
and resurrects like reinforced steel, 
that being the greatest miracle...

****or wait, maybe I should just, not give a fuck what they think and say it anyway!*** 

I stand a victor, disciple, healer, lover, fighter, 
destroyer,  creator, life giver, 
and I will take responsibility:

I will stop looking at the ground when I walk
as if I am something to be ashamed of.
I wonder what would happen if I remembered who the fuck I am 
and acted accordingly. 

I wonder what would happen if I remembered
that the only thing the magician cannot do
is to say I can’t. 

I’d never look down at the ground 
as I walked in public again. 

I have conquered slaughterhouses for the simple fact that 
everything they tried to hack off, 
made me more of who I am
as it removed what I was not. 

that is the medicine from a skeleton soul, 
the one who died 1000 times and rose 1000 and 1, 

when you are reduced to nothing, 
you are left with the real, 
the part of I that doesn’t die, 

That is where I learned to love.
because death teaches you more about life than anything else: 

the only thing that matters in life is love, 
everything else is noise. 
It teaches, Listen, Listen, Shuniya, for Signal. 
All else is futile. 

I will listen and love
I will stop looking at the ground when I walk 
as if I was something to be ashamed of. 

-Tesstamona, originally written on the blood moon lunar eclipse of September 2024, right before Hurricane Helene and Milton — WE SURVIVED!

May the energy of the Wild en route to Valhalla move through you 🏴‍☠️