Ceremony

kimberly_australia1

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Down on my knees crawling through the blanket flap cervix

 the intimate waves of heat are in transition but I am ready

even though I’m ignorant and forgetful of this raw intricate birthing

Sweat rides my body in rivulets a waterfall’s surrender

I’m tense, but with senses trusting,

I watch the cindering stones as they concentrate

~

 with love and arrogance

I circle the entrance to myself

and follow them in

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The speed of the stones passage to dust

 unravels my retread knowing

as their elegant sacrifice eclipses the barriers of skin

 and feverish memories collide zig-zag

unable to escape my hollowed mind’s eye

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I am everyone pouring through my clearing eyes of perceiving

long occluded by the fallout of the human conceit

where even nature forgets her balance

when time has a mind

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Vapors are rising from holy herbs full of grace

  Still, the undead congregate here like moths to our pain

every one, I’m learning, has a place in line

and I am naked and grateful on my knees and finally present

almost touching heaven

in the wasteland.

~

“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

A little autobiographical note….While living intimately on 14 acres situated in the poorest county of NY State during the last decade of the past century, I had the opportunity to participate in monthly sweat lodge ceremonies.  The first was on a cold February Sunday…18 degrees outside. I began this relationship with the sweat lodge ceremony after hearing about a local man of Seneca lineage facilitating the sweats, who was being trained by a MicMac Elder from Canada.

During the course of this relationship, through my personal experiences of the sweat lodge and fasting with the Elder, I explored my own personal healing from trauma and our relationship with Divine Nature.  These sweats, and all I learned during this time, were only the beginning of this journey.

I’m grateful for the safety made possible and the care taken by the lodge keepers and most specially to Divinity  for answering my questions and challenging me to ask more.

Resurrection

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Made captive by circumstance

in the garden of our sex

let there be a resurrection

of memory’s flesh held in stone,

the Earth herself embodying

the records of this undoing.

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A longed for freedom

now pulses with a courage

transparent as a string of worn pearls

from the sea of this misguided betrayal

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For we have always breathed as one

in any way our souls take breath

birthing a life

that blesses all

“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

International Women’s Day

“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

The deep

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small rusted tacks                                                      medium_133146861

holding my toughened skin

to bone

to muscle

like pictures cut from a magazine

pinned to the wall

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I’ve given up looking for saviors,

no messengers with bright news.

~

I see only inside

this heart

cocooned

deep

in the warm darkness

listening to the words spun

from the silk of the stories

we’ve given wings.

“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

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