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.