from the mirrors :

 

from where I write today,
blood spills. water fills. something is hungry. and reflections rebound from the mirrors.

From the mirrors.

Have you rubbed your hands together today, in prayer, whisper the Grandmothers.
How achingly beautiful and surrendered get my prayers when life feels weighted, slow, and stagnant.

Calling in the fire between.
Not obsessing over what it means.

Just surrendering.

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Is the Terror Cave, also the Juniper Cave? my mind wonders.
What brilliant, blue realization of lovers meeting this sparks in my being.

from where I sit, crouch, crawl, I can see the Juniper bush and its berries softening in the early evening sun... I can also see them bright and wet with morning dew. Time bends itself, as I bend myself.

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Something about today is needing delineation. Needing boundary.
Explosions happen and then we need to contain :
Draw a circle around the trauma
and breathe.

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I wonder about the power of collective ceremony
and also the challenges of it.

How we teach each other
un-safety
and pass it back and forth
like a bitter cup.

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Sometimes I feel so angry to be here.
So tricked by Something to be forced
into coming to a place with so much Pain.

And then as it flashes thru,
I remember it was my choice.
How: is my choice. To be here, and feel here.

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