Persephone called to me
I’m going down
Voluntarily
Not into the basement
But under the basement
Deeper than the ground
All the way to the origin of source.
There I will be able to hear my own voice,
There I will remember,
bodily,
The silence of my existence.
I searched for a common shared language
And found none other than the silence of the heart
Springtime has not yet sprung
I’m going under the snow
To gather the origin of all beginning in my arms
and bring it back to the surface.
Why not?
This is why the spirit of imagination has been given to us.
I know this terrain well.
Persephone called me to visit her
To feel in my own belly
In the center of the earth,
The origin of spring’s energy.
She said it is so cool
That I will want to experience it
Again and again!
Yes, quickly, I am going under into the dark.
I’ll return again with the crocus and tulips.
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Welcome. Madness is in the air here, and liberation. Strange air, that comes in waves, waxes and wanes, and exists mostly as a memory trying to say itself. Ah, too bad for those who fear her touch, striving souls drawn to eloquence but essentially mute. As am I.
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