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Because I am a miracle 

That I am alive
Is a miracle

That I am able to breathe
Deeply into my belly 
Is a blessing

For such a blessing
I feel deepest gratitude 


When I was a star
I couldn’t hear the birds
Singing in the morning

When I was a star
I couldn’t taste the ocean
Salting my skin

When I was a star 
I couldn’t feel the warm breeze
Bringing my face messages of hope 

When I was a star
I couldn’t inhale the mint or the rose
In all their ostentatious fragrant glory

When I was a star I couldn’t even see
the magic of the afternoon light 
golden, slinky, as it casts itself 
so flatteringly 
over all the miracles
that surround us 

Here I now am
in this exquisite form

a feeling, sensing, breathing
miracle of life
with the sublime ability 
to derive deep pleasure 
from my physical functions
eating, moving, shitting, sleeping, drinking water, laughing, breathing...

Why would I look for anything more?

When I was a star
I saw this life and chose it

Now I am here 
Experiencing

Morning birdsong filling my spirit

Gently dancing trees soothing my soul

Totally nourished by the very act of recognising the beauty of our natural world, 
of which I am a worthy element,
and basking 
in gratitude
for this
divine
moment

Copyright Zoe Xanadu 2021

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Tea and sunrise 

Magpies stomping on the roof

Rustling sounds in the garden 

different 
to the nocturnal rustlings

bolder



shadows of the morning walkers 

diligent silhouettes 
passing by my window 

the dusty film makes it all seem
so romantic 

lace hanging haphazardly 

like a renaissance era opera dancer

backstage 
in a state of delicious dishevelment 
limbs everywhere 



Dogs pull their humans
eager to know what news this day brings
so easily sated 
by the daily miracle 
of the sun remembering to rise



What further delight 
would any sane person 
seek to seek?



Stay here in this

the gold of highest value

hear the praises 
sung by those with wings

whose freedom of flight 
allows the broadest view from above 

who still choose 
to come home to roost

They will always remind me

that to be near a tree
is all I need

To breathe the freshness 
of the new day

in through my newest leaves
down to my deepest roots 

And to feel my expansion 

My belonging 

My arrival home 

In every direction 

as I exhale 



Dwelling in the ultimate dimension 



Grateful for this breath

Copyright 2021

Posted on

Regeneration 

My girlfriend says she wants
to get a truck
and line them up
and run them over 

Ok..
I think,
... that could be good...

...but what of the seeds they’ve dropped?
the seeds just like the ones from which they grew
already sprouting,
spouting entitlement 
and ownership
and so much unpaid rent.
What of this invasive weed?


The weed that leads Prime Ministers 
to describe women as “finding ourselves in vulnerable situations”

The weed that means that when women demand - request - suggest safety,
Men get angry.

Not all men.

It’s true.
There are men like native plants, unobtrusive, growing well, supporting an ecology of healthy growth in the recovering, adapting rainforest of the truth of human nature.

Quick!

Create a nursery!
Support these plants to propagate and flourish!
Let the birds spread their seed, shitting indiscriminately over
Formal Gardens
Infested Riverbanks
And Backyards the world over.

Let the feminist men multiply.
Let the weeds be made redundant 
by the fabulous and unapologetic spread of sweet grevillia!

The age of the dominance of
Morning Glory
is ending.

It was never ok to rub that on your cousin as she slept.

Copyright 2021