by Melissa La Flamme

What program
beneath the program
holds you
back from becoming
a solid evolutionary?

An artful leader of
your own soul's

You need to retrieve
the Code Breaker.
The one who knows how to
in your depths,
reveal to you
through the trap door, under
the fabric of the culture of media-driven,
sociopolitical, economic strains, under
the skin of the relationships that no longer
serve soul, under
that which mutes the colors of your
healthy living,

An initiatory act of rebellion
is a subversive maneuver to
take heart
while it shatters the old code.

To lean into hope,
to make love
from the repurposed materials
of your tender life.

To live with courage even in its absence is
to live authentically especially when
it costs everything.
To free yourself enough,
to heal yourself enough
from the effects of the culturally-mastered
virus; the Diabolical Hacker of your soul.

Time to re-set your organically beautiful, wild
system of body, mind, heart and soul.
This is the underground
work of freedom.

To free your mind
to submit, holy embodied
to the fire, the one
oddly kindled
by your glowing fears, the fears that
keep you from realizing —
I mean fully realizing —
that so-called reality
is a pre-fab construction
by what poet, Diane di Prima, calls

the Metal Men;
the ones who pull the levers
to keep you enslaved, paying taxes,
ingesting poison,
consuming, shushing
your Dreams and killing
the earth.
What the fuck, right?

The work that often derails the hearty evolver
is the move into your fears
of rejection
by people you know
who do not want to be free,
who will not join you in evolution,
who may even try to undermine
your heart's desire
to be fully alive.
And then, there is
the fear that you might go
crazy if
you are free.

Yes? But listen:
these fears are the allies
of the Metal Men.
They count on you
to feed them.
Do not.

Do not.

When you're ready
reach up
through the rubble with your
dusty, blood-stained hand, and
with all you got,
answer the call
from the Code Breaker.

Soft like honey you will become, sweet and potent,
companioned by Vulnerability and Courage,
flanked by No-choice
but to dive hard into your artistry,
your freaky-true way of serving --
serving your soul and others -- severing
with a sharp, large blade
your familiar, habitual, and
outmoded ways
of being accepted by others,
but not loved
by yourself.

If you take this way,
you will know
it is the one you can wholeheartedly choose;
the only one that wants to ravish you
take you apart, scare you sacred,
shake you
make you
human to re-member
came here
to be free.

This way.

This way;
the one that appears
through the crack in the rubble;
the one that says, This Way to Mystery;
this way through to the door with the unfastened
hinges to the Unknown,
darkly sparkling life-sources, gifts
with no shortage of delivering deliciously
artful madness.

This way.

This way

My prayer is this:
That you embody
your sweaty-palmed longing to rave —
with soul as freedom's teacher and
spirit as bad-ass trail guide to lead you
to the know-how in your shattered, open heart.

The heart of you
that knows gusty winds and cosmic
do not last.

The heart of you,
reverent now — having kissed
Death's evolutionary
intelligence —
licks life alive again,
giving birth
to Screaming Rebellion,
to the freedom to
give it all back to
the crying earth.

To pay the only debt we owe.

©2014 Melissa La Flamme

Image above: ©George Grie, artist. Digital image: "Dreams of Flying." All rights reserved.

by Melissa La Flamme

To imagine the impossible is deeply human.
To re-member every
thing is alive,
dreaming, intelligent,
coming for you
to ravish you awake
is your inheritance.

To muster the heart
to stretch to the edge of what beckons you
is your ticket to ride.
This is what you are for.

Your cellular capacity to imagine — unbound —
is a subversive technology, altering
every thing
through an evolutionary,
fractal spin,
juicy with
elemental creativity.
This is what you are for.

Let your self be
by darkly-feathered
unchained hands,
servants on a mission,
come to take you
down to the wet caves
of what flushes your delicate skin,
dampens your palms,
wakes you like a raging
into shimmering

Here, you will know
you have no choice.
you submit
to the way that has called you
before speech.
This is what you are for.

Let this Trouble
take you
to your knees.
With your sweaty, full attention, wrapped in the limbs of the sacred, kiss
the plump, pink lips
of your tender

But wait.
This is not about you.
You are being used.
By every thing.
This is what you are for.

Now, draw into
your being
the throb
of the one way of belonging
that is yours to make matter.
This is what you are for.

The broken-hearted,
glistening hum of
your taut, tangled
body will give
off a fragrant, unruly
intelligence beyond the Machine's measure
of right, wrong, reason.
This is what you are for.

Have you come here to make Trouble
for Assurances and Security?
For Greed and Convention?
For Routine and Predictability?
For Comfort?

Good. Those are the Killers of
what you are for.

The planet is
erupting with
The earth is writhing in pain.
Feel her suffering in your blood, your bowels, and
you will know what you are for.
Taste compassion for the sacrificed,
the slaughtered and
you will love like the Milky Way.

Shatter your old ways, and
show me how
your soul blushes
alive with arousal.
This is what you are for.

Be an unpopular harbinger,
an endangered one;
a tender, firmly sprouted
sentinel of
the rhizome of archaic revival.

Do not take a seat.
She is ready for you.
The soul of the world
will see you now.

What have you come to give her?

© 2015, 2016 Melissa La Flamme

by Melissa La Flamme

In your love, my body
is ecstatic, my soul
seduced by the
brush of your
warming, pollen-sparkled air.

Your unquestioning, courageous
touch teaches me
the way true
love lives, in the cells
of our common blood;
in the soul, we embody.
In the way we risk our names.

You take me
back to that darkly-feathered
hand; the one that came for
my glistening heart
insisting I give
that I give everything,
from me a vow
to romance
the soul of the world.

A vow, you promised would cost

I kiss you deeply. Again.
As I enter the softening
ground of the medicine
land of you; the land of
my deliciously alive, shattered
heart, you
work my tender,
sweaty body, rip me
open to receive
crystal shards of your teachings,
come to shred
ancestoral layers,
sticky with outmoded cellular code,
invisibly carried,
trying still -- beyond my devout knowing --
to give the slip
to this honeyed artistry.

I apprentice to the sacred
seduction of you.
the one;
the love I was born
to make.
The vow I came to keep.

Red Earth, forgive me.
Red Rock, reverent,
I am your
Scrub Oak.
Sugar Sunshine.
Crazy-blue, orange sky.
Bird-song sweet.
Red-tail Hawk.
Quiet Mountain
Pink quartz.
Soft, dry wind.
Matted, wild grasses.
Underground Spring, feeding
thirsty with knowing how
newborn Cactus
re-member my vow.

Ripped raw, I am
re-calibrated by the sacred
approach to you on my belly.
The same way I approach a sacred

You have seduced art,
from my once distracted heart,
fierce love, from my once terrified body --
you know how to reveal my soul,
shakedown my walls, melt my eyes.

Take me,
make me your mythic
servant-lover. You,
with darkly-feathered hands,
loving eyes of art light.

I vowed to
romance you, knowing
that loving you asks
everything of my
aroused animal
body, my sweaty
My heart,

I know of no other true way
to offer my broken heart,
open to serve you than
to submit
to the mystery of this romance --
to let the honey flow from my
into your open
river mouth.

Here, I feel how the soul of the world
has been stripped raw,
needing a new word for ready.
Ready for a whole-cloth re-write of
our collective, tragic
romance with you.

I am your pen;
use me to deliver
your impatient invitation
to sacred reciprocity.
To the place
where you wait for every one of us
to muster the courage
to risk ourselves
in this mythic
romance with you.

In your love,
I find the courage
to dip the archaic pen
of my inheritance
in the blood turned
liquid gold —
the medicine
of your wound
and mine.

In your love,
I use this instrument
of the sacred,
quivering with earth's
embodied intelligence
to romance
the soul of the world,
to love you.

I am your servant-lover.

Seduce me.

©2014 Melissa La Flamme


by Melissa La Flamme

Artistry is subversive.
Like generative
Sending out
a call
to the soldiers in your
deep, underground tunnels
who think you're still fighting a war,
rather than making love,
making art of your life.

Time to let them know:
your artistry is deeply human,
shamanic, archaic, sacred
to the core.

All that?
All that is in you.
Waiting for you to know
you came here to wake up
that cellular-encoded power you carry,
rooted in your lower
in the earth's darkly
to serve
the Teacher.

This is dangerous.
Fucking dangerous.

Reverent, drop you to your knees

this artistry of living.
Better stop now.


Good. You see,
unbound artistry
like reciprocal,
compassionate loving
run amok,
run against
the polluted current
of the media-driven,
distraction-seduction machine
of the rusted, metal gears
of the soul-manipulating
that wants you,
hunts you
like a junkie
hunts a fix.

In line.
To work,
On time.
Buying more shit.
Destroying the planet.

What's dangerous?
Your revolutionary,
artistry is dangerous.

That's what.

Your artistry upends
your membership to the cultural
consensus club —
ousts you from
that meeting with that
that numbs you,
cuts you
off from what you have
barely overheard
your Self say,
and maybe denied,
scared to cut loose
from what deadens your sweaty
instincts to live
out your true inheritance.
To serve like a freak,
like an unfastened, free

Goes like this:
you are this gorgeous, unruly,
You are artisty.
You are love.

You are here
to be used,
to serve
what still throbs,
alive and whispering
your new name —
come to carry you home.

to do what you came for.

You Freaking Artist, You.

©2014 Melissa La Flamme

Image above: ©Banksy, artist. All rights reserved

Melissa La Flamme, MA

Author & Poet  |  Jungian Psychotherapist  |  Shamanic Counselor
190 East 9th Avenue, Denver, CO 80203

720.253.5138  |  melissa@jungiansoulwork.com

Visionary Soul Poetry, by Melissa La Flamme — from her Top-reviewed Book:

What You Are For:
Inciting A Revolution In Your Soul

by Melissa La Flamme

— Available on Amazon —

by Melissa La Flamme

Those brilliant shards
of the sharply
reasoned, respectable,
socially acceptable
pieces of your world?

Go ahead.

Scatter them
while you can.

Before they harden into
a mosaic you think you have to
call your life.
Before their cutting edges become
too comfortable.
Too safe.
Too grey and small.
Too tightly
bound in a modern,
realism —
in a form
not of your own making.

You know what I mean.
Shake loose while you can.
It's alright.
We are here.
Walking on crystal,
on a path —
more like an edge —
holy, wholly
til now.

Be what allures you,
moistens your waiting mouth,
lights your wet, wondering eyes.

the musk in the fur
that makes your
smart-girl, smart-boy
quiver with the vulnerability
that is your birthright
to embody;
the bad-boy beauty
at the fringes of
the bad-girl whisper
in the landscape of your sweaty

The surreal door of
your soul's
when you unfasten
those heavy, culture-bound
hinges they welded
to your heart.

Flung open, now, ready to melt,
it is love that you craft
with fire and blood
of the earth.

Life that is artistry.

Your one, true
freaky, sacred way.
Beyond that door,
on holy ground, you are.

The slow
approach to your artisanal
edge to deliver the cargo
you came to bring
is what will
lick you alive.

This sacred edge is
your luminous, custard-colored
stomping ground.

This edge beckons one
rare move.

Simple as it is,
it asks everything of you --
if you would follow, now,
the invisible bend
on that darkly scented trail. If
you would only
be art now.

© 2015, 2016 Melissa La Flamme

Image above: © Banksy, artist. All rights reserved.

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