Out of One, Many

Out of one, many.

    From the Great Mystery come

Asherah, Demeter, Cerridwen,

    Lakshmi, Hel, White Buffalo Calf Woman -

each a unique manifestation 

    of the sacred,

each a facet

    of a single jewel,

each a colored thread

    in a celestial weaving,

each opening a doorway

    to the One.

There is a goddess to touch

    every woman's heart,

to deepen her bond to

    this beautiful, bountiful earth.

Reciprocity with the one

    who chooses you

(who you think you choose)

    will yield a chance to

live as a tree does -

    roots down, branches up,

reaching for that

    which is greater

than yourself.

I Dream of Swan Bones

The other night I woke up with a dream image; it was a plastic bag or a basin full of bones in liquid.  I knew they were the bones of a large bird, and I felt that they must be swan bones.

I've had a thing about swans since childhood.  When I was growing up in Baltimore, we used to go ice skating on a frozen stream, and there were often swans there that I loved seeing.  I also fell in love as a young ballerina with Swan Lake.  And then there was the story of The Ugly Duckling.  Who among us hasn't felt as though we didn't fit in?  

After sitting with the dream image for a while, I had the thought that one possible meaning was that I am about to embark on a new phase.  Tomorrow is my last chemo, and when I recover from that, I will be considering how to put my life back together.  This past 8 or 9 months has been a kind of spiritual dismemberment.  Maybe the dream is showing me that I need to reassemble the bones and reanimate them.  And not in the same way, not back to some old sense of "normal."  There is no normal now, not for me, not for any of us.  What will life be like moving on, especially taking into account all the uncertainties?

So, this poem came:

Stripped down to the bone.

the essential pieces of a life

float in a basin of liquid, waiting.

They were not buried or burned

but are held suspended, so that

they might be fleshed out again.

Wing bones, leg bones, long and white

wait for what happens next.

Will the feathers still be white?

Will the eyes be fierce and dark?

Will the swan swim and fly freely

once more?

I am also reminded of the story in Women Who Run with the Wolves of the one who gathers and reassembles the bones.  It seems a worthy task.  

Also, another swan association is my SoulCollage® card for my 4th chakra (sorry it's not a great copy - just a phone photo):

 I am moving towards the end of round 7, having had my double-dose chemo on Wednesday.  Although there are always some surprises, I am very familiar with the side effects by now.  They will pass (I keep telling myself).

I use my SoulCollage® cards daily.  Sometimes I do Tarot readings.  But lately when I have big questions, I use the I Ching.  The other day, I got an astounding reading and this poem came as a result.

Yielding

 

 

When I inquire

about prayer and opening

to the Great Mystery,

the I Ching responds with

“Field/Yielding” and

the Mother Goddess,

the Dark Animal Mother.

Six young yin lines,

no relating hexagram.

It is pure and clear

in its message.

She gives blessings.

She receives the dead.

The field is open

and enfolds all things.

It is my task to yield

to each arising moment.

There is no way to doubt or to

brush away the guidance

with the customary wave

of my cynical hand.

I am in a great field.

I yield.

 

 

The SoulCollage® image is called "Offering."

A New Poem: Writing

I've heard Michael Meade say that some supposed poems are actually journal entries.  I get what he meant.  I don't really know whether this is a poem or "just" a journal entry, but you know what?  Right now, I don't care!  It is what it is.

A New Poem: I Go to the Trees

 

I go to the trees

for peace and

for grounding.

They show me

that to live well

you must root deeply

and lift your limbs

up to the cosmos.

What better guides

could there be

than the trees?

They drink nutrients

from the soil

and give breath

to the creatures.

They provide rest

for the birds

and splash beauty

across the earth.

I trust the trees.

They, like rocks, water

and mountains are spirit

made manifest, without

judgment, stinginess

or withholding.

It has taken me

a long lifetime

to understand the gifts

we were given.

My figurine and SoulCollage® card, Asherah of the Redwoods

A New Poem: Forgiveness

 

A New Poem: Forgiveness

Tomorrow I head into the double-dose chemo of round 6 (second of four potential rounds post-surgery).  This past week ("chemo lite" week as I call it) has been relatively easy, but I know starting next Saturday I'll be feeling it.  Nothing easy about this, as you know.  I'm just grateful that the air has been breathable, that I've been quite able to go for walks and to eat well (even if everything tastes weird and bitter), that I've had family around me and friends in contact, that I have a good home to live in.  It helps to feel gratitude in these difficult times.  My inner experience is pretty much in line with the outer experience of life in this chaos.

Forgiveness

My body 

did not betray me.

I am in need

of forgiveness, and

who I must forgive

is myself.

Meting out judgments

harsh and punishing,

I found a culprit 

to blame - the body

I've never rested easily in,

that never has lived up to

my required standards.

I've had so little tenderness

for its failings and foibles -

the belly wrinkled

from pregnancy,

the young girl's

awkward height,

the invisible issues

of the blood.

What I want 

is to cradle

my body-self and say,

"Shh!  It is all right.

You are loved."

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A New Poem: Forgiveness

Tomorrow I head into the double-dose chemo of round 6 (second of four potential rounds post-surgery).  This past week ("chemo lite"...

The Fires of Initiation

Heading into the second day of infusions of round one (or five, depending on how you count it).  This is the double dose day.  I woke up feeling strong and calm after a few days of some anxiety about it.  I've gotten through this before.  I can again.  I woke up in the night with the words "The fires of initiation" and I had the title for this poem.

Below are two SoulCollage® cards - one is my card for the fire element; one is a card of offering to fire.

What is happening in my body

is happening in and to the earth.

The fires rage, burning their way

to cleansing and renewal.

This is not easy for the people.

Lungs struggle to breathe.

Houses burn to ash.

Forests and animals are

struck down.

To the earth, we are the interlopers,

greedily pushing our way

into places we have

no business occupying.

 

And me?

My body has

interlopers, too.

I am being initiated

by fire.

I am becoming

a fire priestess.

I follow the burning

in and through channels

and watch things die.

I learn to stir a cauldron

bubbling over flames, cooking

down all that needs

transforming, everything ready

to melt into new form.

 

And so I say –

Fire, your power is

undeniable; your genius

rolls out over many fields

Here is an offering.

My basket is empty now,

my water gourd running low.

May renewal come.

  

I hate the way Blogger is formatting this, but can't see a way to change it.

Poisonous Ally

 Here's the poem I wrote before my fifth chemo infusion, first one post-surgery.  (Sorry for the duplication if you subscribe to my Caringbridge page.)

Welcome,

poison that heals,

ally of titrated dose

that kills only the intruders,

the interlopers who

would steal everything.

Bless you, poison,

consecrated to the

six directions as you

flow through receiving

channels.  Let us keep

out of your way.

After all, you were invited.

Even if muscles go slack,

empty mouths fill with

metallic taste, bodies slump

into waiting recliners,

let the slender threads

drift away and fall

like dust motes.

Poison and healing,

paradox of the age,

you are a mystery

of moving on -

like a river,

like a cloud,

like a life.

The Well: Poem and Image

 The Well  

There is a well

deep in the heart

of the green world.

It is a long way

from here, or just

around the bend.

No one knows

the way there.

You can ask.

Not a soul can say,

only yours.

If you go,

when you go,

be sure to bring

an offering.

Only taking would be

an offense.

Only giving would be

a lie.

When the longing

for those waters

grows strong enough

in you, you must go.

You may wonder

if the yearning is due to

your being summoned,

or if it is yours alone.

In truth,

it does not matter.

The well in the woods

waits patiently.

Just go.