my eyes stigmata overflowing saltwater corresponding heartache of this life, heartbreak of this world,
this cross of water, women carry
here i am
creating fresh watersheds from my headwaters/ my tears runoff into wrinkle streams/ flowing tributaries converge into rivers desalinated in sediment of flesh/ creases of time and depth weather my face/ carved canyons carry rapids down my cheeks/ raging confluence pours into the lake of my mouth, onto bed of my tongue/ spilling waterfall down my throat into ocean of my heart/
to be returned to the people, to all be-ings, to them
with my bones or ash interred, one day
the Sun, Moon, Rain, Wind, Clouds, Sky and Stars kiss me at all hours
did you see me open up this Autumn?
after a Summer spent crying,
wet, yet fruitless spent Spring wading into lies instead of soft blossoms and new grass Winter approaches, maybe the frost will kill this disease,
for good
For now, I bathe
nearly naked in sunshine, cold rainstorms, wetland pools and moonlight
unapologetically
|out in the open|
unabashedly
baptising my face, hair,
and eyes, my breasts vulva
and legs, my lips, throat, spine,
and my wild heart
ceremonially, first with wine, like Magdalene, anointing and anointed, in the name of the mother, Sun and holy ghosts
|cabernet henna| then, with rainwater from the willow’s edge, like Ophelia, lying in the woodland and meadow, flooded to cleanse or drown [to be, or not to be] in the name of the Moon
|I ponder the stone cistern laden with glacial deposits and ruminant bones|
the woodland is abundant with new mushroom, new overnight growth
[puhpowee]
the hint of ancient circles supplants my judgment with instinct and overrides decorum with new delights | and old delights, revisited |
an aged grapevine is rooted deep, climbing, trailing, snaking hidden in plain sight, everywhere and I’ve intuitedItas Ol’ Scratch, I take a hatchet to quell Its influence, here
You, Your windows are not true eyes Your lamps are not enlightenment
So, bless the dark
of the night
of the country night sky
And the Moonset
of my moon
it’s been decades,
but
this place wants to birth or impregnate me,
The Well at Kom Ombo AWIB-ISAW: The Well at Kom Ombo A deep well at the Ptolemaic temple at Kom Ombo, which functioned as a nilometer. The well is also thought to have been used in the ritual worship of the crocodile. by Iris Fernandez (2009) copyright: 2009 Iris Fernandez (used with permission) photographed place: Omboi (Kom Ombo) [pleiades.stoa.org/places/606346]
Get to the bottom of this.
This, means You
Get to the bottom – of Your Self
Do you have to be thrown
down the well
through loss, by the grave, or near-grave
What if
instead,
we pulled the rug out from under ourselves
to reveal the formidable trap door
What if we climbed down into the dark cellar, willingly
to enter our infinite interior
to touch the well
the ancient aquifer within
where the gods reside and respite with our Twin Selves,
our other-halves waiting for discovery
This infinite, eternal presence
be-neath our weathered houses
What if we willingly descended
Into it
Unto it
And we learned to crave the Original Dark
and its companionship
Where we delve deep into our imaginations, dreams, nightmares,
That connect us primally
to the pool of imaginations, dreams and nightmares of every one,
Of every being that ever existed
Collective Unconscious
made Self Conscious
The dark, deep well
we may all draw from
Pour out your false light
reveal the truth:
the unbearable emptiness of being
Cup your hands
Or wade into the well
Deeper and deeper
submerge, swallow
you’ve been bone dry for so long
Do you see that now?
Baptize
The only way
To rebirth yourself
Into something worth birthing
Into something worth being
is by this sacrament, anticeremonially, un-ceremonially
Knowing now the bottom is
The only place where alchemy happens
Where wine is turned into eternal water,
instead of that story first told to you, by them
And the mystery
the wet, deep, dark becomes you,
Envelops you so completely
You want to drown beautifully
But you must taste the bitters of the surface
Swallowing down your thoughts
Before you drink of the All
To finally collapse in on yourself
Into beautiful nothing
becoming nothingness
Prima materia
In coniunctio
Drenched in Mystery
quenched with Truth
imbibed with Revelation
Reborn
for an endless moment
The perpetual well
archives your eternal experience
as the deja vu
Memory though will evanesce,
even as droplets cling in the hollows of your vessel
Now that you Know
Truth and Mystery
Exist
so near, just beyond,
yet
within you,
Reascend resplendent
Reemerge humbly
the Gods send a daily postcard:
Wish you were here.
the limineen | poet & crone 