audrey dimola[art for the wild]

Posts Tagged ‘am writing


tonight i truly felt my feet planted firmly on the ground, with my channel open to the stars. rooted and yet stretched to the infinite.

this morning i felt called to just speak. speak plainly. so often, especially as poets, we get in our own way, spin complex metaphors, sometimes hieroglyphic layers of meaning.. when do we just deliver the message- where we are, as we are?

this is what i spoke tonight at my new friend yuko’s fantastic FREEDOM show.. after which i have been vibing with beautiful and talented people i am so grateful to have in my life, new friends i am grateful to have met. and dancing around my apartment to steely dan at 2am. (yup)


FREEDOM is one of the divine’s broadest and farthest-reaching gesticulations in our universe.

it is an energy that- once you tap into- makes anything possible.

i personally have time after time fallen prey to the idea that once you identify and claim the precious and wild idea of FREEDOM… BANG! it’s done. you get it, and you’re free. forever.

doesn’t totally work that way.

the beautiful thing about freedom is that it finds you.

this is not about being positive, free, and triumphant forever, from the moment you claim it to the rest of your life. it’s about the reality that nothing is linear and “solvable” in that way.

freedom is really about honesty with yourself for where you actually are. and that’s why freedom is so powerful. it can find you in the darkness. at the end of your rope. inside a jail cell. in recovery. with the knife in your hand. on top of a bridge. in therapy. laying next to you in your own grave.

it’s not about being consumed with shame and fear and loathing for ending up there, for not “staying free.”

it’s about meeting yourself where you actually are and realizing that true freedom is the voice that whispers to you- get up. don’t jump. stay awhile. love yourself.

and focusing your gratitude and energy on that regenerative spirit is what will really keep you free.


i believe we are all messengers, shamans, teachers, healers.

the freedom in being yourself, being honest with yourself, is a direct conduit to the divine. the soul of the universe.

i say to the lightworkers, the lightbringers, which we all are- don’t get caught up in only bringing light, and the shame and disillusionment when you don’t, or can’t. the world needs your warrior songs, your songs of struggle, your trials by fire, too.

that is your real duty.

stand as you are. speak as you are. and bring it to the world.


and then i read this [brand new poem] written on xmas wkend before i slipped into some heavy, heavy darkness.

thankfully- i slipped back OUT from that paradigm like a bad, bad dream. and here we are. a few short days from the new year. .. still listening to steely dan.

You call me a fool
You say it’s a crazy scheme
This one’s for real
I already bought the dream
So useless to ask me why
Throw a kiss and say goodbye
I’ll make it this time
I’m ready to cross that fine line


This is the night of the expanding man
I take one last drag
As I approach the stand
I cried when I wrote this song
Sue me if I play too long
This brother is free
I’ll be what I want to be





[things coming soon // including CHURCH OF THE SACRED BODY]


of winter and the war. at this point i only care for what will bring me back to life.. happy (belated) snowstorm, nyc.

“you must not give way to desires which you don’t believe in. i know what you desire. you should, however, either be capable of renouncing these desires or feel wholly justified in having them. once you are able to make your request in such a way that you will be quite certain of its fulfillment, then the fulfillment will come. but at present you alternate between desire and renunciation and are afraid all the time. all that must be overcome.”

“i have been and still am a seeker, but i have ceased to question stars and books; i have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me. my story is not a pleasant one; it is neither sweet nor harmonious, as invented stories are; it has the taste of nonsense and chaos, of madness and dreams- like the lives of all men who stop deceiving themselves.”

-hesse, ‘demian.’


when i dream it’s of us looking down, watching everyone else from the heavens.

i kiss you in the space
where wings should be
place my fingers
on your ribs
where candles could be
you’d think our hearts
would be tired of this
by now
but the snow is enough
pull up the blankets
fold back into
the memory.
there are never enough
words about you
scribbled in half-light
with white-out outside
slipping in like
reality under sheets of
you have always been
beautiful enough
to make me forget
and so i
fit myself against you
like a prayer
i somehow still remember
how to say.
your body-
tones to some
other world
i am following
my own
sunken footsteps to
winter, reprise-
how many times
can you write and
your skin it
makes these
words, my
body remembers
to trust you
in these
frigid days
the first and last place
to ever truly find
the only warmth that
could receive me-
i am writing you again
when i swore i wouldn’t
your flesh under my pen,
like the whispers you make
in sanctuary,
half gracious, half afraid,
when something other than god
breathes the chill
into the wind-
our legends are dead..
sleep until
the winter light
seems brighter
than the rest-
no page could contain
your foot against mine
sinking into
snow footprints
on the other side,
are you
following me
this time?
if i could
slip this pen
between your
bones i’d say
leave it there
there’s always
something else
to be written,
black ink, my
scribbled over
lost fingertips
of those who
touched you
while i was
is it
to rewrite a
trust my
the words came
from there too
and the hands
take work
the ways they
make you
in ways the
heart never
i am doing
this work
right now
for another winter
too long to
too short to
i kiss the space
where your wings
should be
because i still
they could.
words are hands
and hands are
alive, tonight.
i light the
candle where
your rib
should be
god’s unsteady
that bone
when he made
he knew
the two
of us
wouldn’t learn
if we were
to the origin story
in a blizzard.
isn’t that just
what we
trust the hands
when the
can’t see-
another winter
in our


om agnaye namaha,



Into the wild wonderland…

Celebrated as “a wildfire in a world of fluorescent bulbs,” a “poetic force of nature,” and “inspiration incarnate,” Queens, New York City native AUDREY DIMOLA is a poet, performer, curator, messenger, local arts advocate, community organizer, and lifelong artist, as well as Director of Public Programs at Long Island City’s Socrates Sculpture Park. // Thanks so much for stopping by! You’ll find all my work on this website, past and present, as well as new blog posts. Poetry, prose, videos, events, photos, articles – it’s all here. // STAY WILD, STAY GRATEFUL!


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