May you shed the skin of your shame
as tears of praise for your persistence.
May you rise
from the shadowland fire-polished,
lion-hearted and lithe–
one hand raised to shield,
one hand open to give and to receive.
Month: April 2018
In New Moon Darkness
I sit cross-legged on a wooden floor
in new moon darkness.
The sound of wind rushes in
singing a dancing tree song.
Dense air, damp and cool,
smells of leafing, budding life,
of rain, soil and muddy clay.
In my mind’s eye I dream, many things.
I imagine our pattern,
felt though unseen,
woven into the space between us.
We are independent strands drawn together again and again,
in an undulating dance,
forming a serpentine knot.
Our beginning,
it was a slow awakening,
or a renewal of sight–
a discovery of what has been before,
of what could be.
Our ending,
it does not exist.
The distance between us is fertile
with wonder and possibility,
with uncertainty and doubt.
Sometimes, I think my longing may undo me,
burn through me.
Truth is, my longing is here to nourish, to empower.
I allow the warmth of it to permeate.
I receive its wordless wisdom.
I will be the vibrant, fragrant blossom to the bee.
I will be the water’s edge to wild creatures of dusk and dawn,
I will be the curving slopes of your lover’s body to your seeking hands–
I will be all of this, and more.
There is no more time for surface-dwelling.
Perspective
Today I walked an old familiar path through woods I have known since young childhood. Only this time I began where I usually end, and I ended where I usually begin. Everything looked different, altered on the flipside. I came upon unmarked trails leading into mystery–had they been here before? I had lapses of disorientation. Where was I? Do I know this grove of cedars? …this seasonal pond? this patch of horsetail? this steep incline? this creek? I turned in a circle. The path lay quietly behind me and before me. I felt, more than thought, I know this forest, this compacted earth beneath my feet, this April sunlight illuminating trillium and salmonberry blossoms. I know the unseen presences surrounding. I am known here. It occurred to me then, that perhaps I was undoing a spell cast through years of footfalls, or maybe I was weaving a new one–a spell of spring, one of transformation and renewal.
Seven Prayers, #4
May I be fluid
as the creek
pouring down the hill
making music out of every obstacle.
Muse of Ages
I come to the ocean with seasonal longings to feel her pulsing power.
She, fierce giver and taker of life.
She, alluring, magnetic promise of eternity.
She could rock me gently, hold me naked beneath a full moon, wash me ashore,
leave me to awaken polished and reborn.
She could swallow me whole, tumble and toss me, steal my every breath,
leave me bloated and stinking of death.
Her cold briny waters surge, roll, crash, flood,
ebb and flow with wane and wax of moon,
eroding land in a slow reclamation.
I look into her depths as if into the cauldron of life.
I see the terrifying and seductive reflection of my dark abyss–
the temptation to end this,
to return to the source here and now.
I see the comforting love that is both mine and not mine–
the love that radiates up from the earth and down from the cosmos,
from my root to my heart to my crown and outwards in all directions.
I see the paralyzing fear of the vast unknown.
I see how true safety is found in belonging and embracing.
I see how death feeds the impulse for life.
I see possibility born out of the courage and wisdom gained by those who weather storms, who ride waves.
I gaze outwards with no awareness of time, simply watching, breathing.
I listen to her song.
It is a song that calls all travelers home,
a song that reminds us our divisions are illusory,
a song that reminds us we are all elementally one.
Everbearing 