:: water, down from the sky ::

I cherish,

holding my heart
in the morning,
in these careful and slow ways,
as the wind brings
water down from the sky.

I give thanks for water.
For all the ways,
it flows with grace and elegance
and surrenders to the Otherness it finds
itself in, as John O'Donohue says, in his praise prayer of Water.

Which I opened up to this morning.
This and the remembrance
that Water is our Original Mother.


Mother.

This word,

like a flicker on my tongue : these days.

( To disrupt it, to explore its gender, to dissolve its cultural context and re-place it with something genderfull // genderless, not confined by the forced binaries of right / wrong, feminine / masculine )

Meeting this Being, in cold, ancestral meeting of dirt upon skin.

The heat of this world, this animal body. And the cold of the Other world. Dripping.

My heart hurts,
to not share all of myself,
and to encounter the flashes of silky terror when I do.

My being has been screaming out ,
to the ones we can`t see

Tell me the hidden stories
Call me child and not granddaughter,
Tell me the hidden stories,
of the ones of Us
who hid ourselves like This
for so long.

Hid ourselves in song.

For the queerness we taste on the horizon (S),
also extends us back
I know it must.
It must extend back.

I am not the first queer person in my ancestry. I cannot be alone in this way.

There exists a deep grief cry, in me, about this.
A deep longing to be fully and only : myself
and to remember.

A queer child, longing for their Motherly embrace.
Some fluid experience of Motherhood.

:::::: ::::: ::::: :: :: :: : :: :

More here, to expose / uncover.

And for now.

The blessing of space : smile : companionship upon meeting / touching a horizon.