rough waves

unsettling

inner weather patterns

passing 

through me

i grasp for a hold

and there is none.

breathing 

deeper

where is the still point?

deeper

below the waves

now, 

dive

now.

persephone called to me

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.

incantations

the sounds of color
the taste of shapes
fitting, touching,
leaving space
to reverberate
the incanted rose, peach, red orange.

hunger teacher
joy opener
i'm in heaven
ticking God's accounts
at Safeway.
pleasure seekers find what they seek
everywhere
everyday.

only open to that first morning breath
and it begins again…

courageous mother
cauldron keeper
eternal weaver
riding the night into the moon
endless pearls falling from the broken mala,
past devotions become present wonder,
pulsing
strong.




prompted by a poem honoring anne sexton by erica jong and the rest of my life.