Stop With Me

In Feed Your Vow by Brooke

Stop. Stop working. Stop trying to stop working.
Stop trying. Stop being lazy. Stop searching for meaning.
Stop landing anywhere. Stop acting confused. Stop.

Stop locking up your mysteries. Let me in. Stop rearranging the surface
features of your life. Stop thinking deep is deep. Stop thinking
blood is red. Stop hoarding the blood-red wisdom unborn in you.

There’s got to be a better way. Do you love me? Stop
loving me. Stop unloving me. Stop tearing me apart.
Stop with me. Let’s stop together. Six seconds. Ready. Set. Stop.

Now let’s stop together forever,
and let the stopping go.





In Feed Your Vow by Brooke

Our massive, plastic brains
watch the ice melting
through our hot hands,
the gyres turning
their awful luminosity.

I want to receive anyone willing
in any condition
and love them full-bodied
till we fall to pieces and rain down
as God’s broken heart
nourishing the good earth.



In Feed Your Vow by Brooke

I once was a graffiti artist up all night hunting
and circling scenes of random beauty.
I’d tag my name underneath:

It was a dream.
It came from infinity.
It landed in my marrow.
It made my bones light.

It reminded me: the last time I died
I was born Brooke Julia Gessay
October 9th, 1981, and the gap
between is the gap happening now.

It reminded me: I was born with a vow so central
it can’t be seen, beating my heart, and my job
is to live it to certain death. It reminded me:
we must feed our vows with our very own flesh.

It reminded me: circle beauty.  Move bones
by moving the gap inside the marrow.
It reminded me: it’s not all going to be ok,
but it already is, but I must make it so.

It reminded me of the hours I failed at birthing
in the bardo between night and day, and how
I gave up trying, so bewildered by terror and intensity
until that thin veil appeared between this world

and what’s under it – that darkness unfathomably full –
and the silent voice sounded
everywhere and nowhere
are you willing to die for this? 

and I yowled the YES that changes everything
while pushing a planet down and out my pelvis
and a big bang, different but similar, ripped
through my throat with a violent ultraviolet light.

It reminded me: there are resources
we cannot conceive of, and we find them
in the asking if the asking
is alive enough to annihilate

and reorganize our current selfing
for something better at love.
It reminded me: I see you
bravely meeting what is yours

alone to meet. Are you willing to die
for this? Feed your vow
and eat it
and offer it away.



In Uncategorized by BrookeLeave a Comment

I love to wake early and sip strong coffee
and sit like a queen in the dark
and ask my death to reach back and teach me
so I can write down what I hear. If I listen
with my whole spine, the currents
of deep grief and wild arousal wash me
to a more original body. So I sneak
out of bed early this Christmas eve,
and float to the kitchen to percolate
in my husband’s parent’s home, past
the blind dog sleeping in her crate,
great-grandma’s bedroom
where little girl dreams dissolve
even as they form translucently around her
in the dark dry morning air.

I come back to our room
triumphant with my mug,
set up my cushion, and hear
Lundin, 8 months old, pile of sleep squirming –
snortling and milk-hungry, my husband’s hand on his heart
to soothe. Back-bending and flapping arms that thwack
pillow and little protruding belly, stretch that furrows
the brow and pooches the lips and makes a tiny
tremble through the absurdly adorable body,
and I’m called
to my first purpose, to feed
from my own body, to feel
these rivers of simple service that destroy
ideas of who I think I am pull
from my bones and pour
into his little suckling lips.
My desires are silent as I give up
writing this morning, and lay here instead,
my hand petting his hair, everything
for the moment effortless, awestruck
by death’s teaching today.

33 Ways to Get Better at Not Getting Better and So Possibly Really Get Better

In Feed Your Vow by Brooke

The force of love is eating you alive, whether you align with it or not.
Also, you’re going to live forever.
Forever here is defined as up until the end of you.
Always erase the second to last sentence you just heard.
Become earnestly curious about the character and life-span
of dust bunnies.
Always erase the second to last sentence you just heard.
Let your shadow lead you out walking near mountains and rivers,
and fade in and out of shade.
Finishing and beginning, beginning and finishing, making and erasing, erasing and making.
Every new gesture contains a core of no-trace.
Let this no-trace lead the cooking of eggs and asking of hands.
Invite Dogen Zenji for breakfast and ask his hand in marriage.
What is reality? An icicle forming in fire.
Tomorrow will be.
Tomorrow will be yesterday.
Tomorrow will be yesterday erased two sentences later, leaving no-trace.
Sit till you feel forever moving.
Move till you feel forever settle into yesterday.
Praise the way your mind is melting into more.
Note the ways in which you make yourself like a cave.
Praise the cave with a trap door into a perspective that’s empty of eyes.
Follow cake-crumbs in the dark one gulp at a time till you fall through
a trap door into a birthday party just for you.
It’s all for you.
It’s all for you, my love.
But don’t forget: you’re going to live forever.
And let me just say this plainly: you don’t know.
Hear it like a heavy hole in your heart that will lead you home.
You don’t know!
Hear it like the only real inheritance you’ve got, the only one that well befriends the finishing of you.
Let going go.
It’s too late to be ready.
Erase yourself and remember the unknown as the love that’s taking you.
Remember the love, my love.
Remember the love.