It is painfully strange,
this waiting for the day
when I shall go under yet
another knife, a sterile room
a surgeon’s steady hand…..
Pumping herbs and starving
the sad offender is a persuasion,
for, I do not need it in my life,
however much it wants to stay,
devouring my hurt body,
bit, by human bit.
They cut it out, poison it to death,
look at it, the specimen that it is –
bare and raw…..
Where oh where is the compassion
for its existence….?
The honouring of what it teaches me?
The space to work with it and change it?
Just leave me be, to chat with this
‘Dark Queen’ inside my soul……….
She is weeping you see,
Longing to be honoured
weeping to be Loved.
I am longing for a time
when I actually practise what I preach…..
quiet spiritual sacred space
times when I truly withdraw.
From that place I shall heal myself
and through that, send out to others.
That time shall come;
my desire and passion will see that it does!
I call into the shapeless night
and out to the scattered stars
and back comes in sounds to me….
something which may translate –
“this is your path, clear is your way, dance it.”
Here it is,
softened by elements so warm,
autumnal winds raise skirts and flags
as the equinox opens wide the door
inviting itself in.
King cups incubating underground
await the winter chills to come and pass
before their faces break to the light again.
Yet for now, it’s Mabon’s time.
Tread softly into completion,
as the natural world calls for gentleness
while all around rages, freezes then thaws….
before Ostara comes our way once more.
Your wheel is whatever you make it….
within your perfect equilibrium.