A New Poem: Pilgrimage

 Just back from Hawaii.  

Pilgrimage

  

The first gate opens

when you set foot

on this land.

You have entered

the ritual by arriving.

The first phase is spent

high up the mountain,

attuning to the land.

 

The second gate opens

when you descend

to the ocean.

The waters of the sacred bay,

rising and falling,

set the pace for your heart.

You ask permission

from the land and the sea.

You bow to the ancient

birthing place and

dolphin home.

 

The third gate opens

when you stand at the edge

of Pele’s home, the caldera

wide and steaming below

ohia and ohelo.

The arduous trek one mile

down the chunky lava path

leads you to the final gate.

Dense green jungle opens out

to expansive, bare caldera.

 

At your chosen spot,

you make your prayers and offerings.

You understand now

that the whole journey has

been the pilgrimage,

not just this culminating ritual.

Passing through all the gates

was necessary and more than

mere preparation.

You cannot know

if your offerings are

accepted and sufficient,

but you have fulfilled

your intention.

 

A vision comes:

you climb out of a

lava tube pool, greeting

the sun and the day,

the ocean and the forest,

the mountain and the sky.

You understand that

you are to carry this image

in your heart, no matter

what you face

on your return.

The ritual has been akin

to one the women of

ancient Greece enacted,

your personal Thesmophoria

in a different spirit-filled land,

a going down and coming up

in worship of the Mystery and

of the sister goddesses of

descent and ascent.