Dancing Down the Moon

Waxing Poetic - Persephone

This will be the last poem of the week.  Thank you for indulging me. 

As I mentioned previously, I thought about keeping this poem until Autumn, which seemed a more appropriate time of year.  However, I've been spending a lot of time in the Underworld of late, and the Dark Lady, in all Her guises, is much on my mind. 

Having hosted Lilith in my body more than once I have no fear of the shadow Goddesses, and Persephone's story has been a fascination of mine since high school.  Even as a teenager I never could quite believe the accepted version of things--I imagined the young Maiden walking proudly through the ebony gates, shedding her innocence as Inanna shed her garments, no longer content to live under Her mother's thumb or the rule of patriarchal rapist gods.  I wanted my Goddess to take the hand of Hades unflinchingly, no matter what the myths--all set down by men--would have me believe.  When I looked at Persephone I did not see a terrified virgin screaming from the back of a chariot.  I saw a Queen.

Waxing Poetic - Why I Hate the Mall

There have been a lot of body-image-related stories floating in and out of my world the last couple of weeks, and rather than give an impassioned rant about it (which frankly I don't have the energy for right now), I thought I would let this bit I wrote two years ago speak for me.  After you've written an entire book on a subject you find it's a lot harder to summon the outrage you used to without feeling like a broken record.  Every time someone asks me my take on a fat-phobia related story I want to pretend I'm Gilderoy Lockhart and just say: 

"For details, see my published works."

This was originally supposed to go in The Body Sacred, but its tone was a good deal angrier than I wanted the book to be--the incident it is based on did however make it into the book as part of a larger story.

Waxing Poetic - Shiva

This is one of the two poems I've written in my adult life that I genuinely love.  The other one I may post, or I may save it for Autumn, when it would be more thematically appropriate.  This one...well, despite the title, it's not about God, but about an unfortunate crush I once had. 

Reading it even years later brings back all those low-down tickly feelings, and reminds me that I am indeed a Scorpio--as if I could ever forget.  Enjoy.  :)

Hmm...should I put a PG-13 rating or a profanity warning on it? 

Nah. 

-

Waxing Poetic - Untitled

The moon and three stars
Have as their witness:
A Witch in her ritual finery
Hello Kitty pajamas
Toe socks
A cup of chai cooling on the rail
She's standing
like a cottonwood tree
Arms wide and quivering
The moon and three stars
Haloed in cloud
A few crickets
Beyond that the interstate
Cars going by
At three in the morning
While a Witch
And the moon
And three stars
Have communion
Disguised
Cleverly
As insomnia.

(I am declaring it Poetry Week here at DDtM, partly to inspire myself out of my creative funk, and partly because I happened across some old poetry of mine that I didn't find laughable, and can't resist sharing a bit of it.  There are three or four of these forthcoming, most of which are about religion, some not so much.  Forgive my self-indulgence.)

03/24/05

Wishing you a blessed, bountiful, and bare naked Midsummer...

The Lover's Psalm

I know not how to praise you,
Oh my love,
Whose eyes hold mine across the fire,
I who am flame, dance only for you;
You burn me to ash with a glance.

How shall I touch you,
Oh my love,
Whose lips are sweeter than Midsummer's mead,
River to sea beneath the milk-white Moon
You baptize me in the sweat of a thousand nights.

I wish only to know you,
Oh my love,
Whose laughter rings in me, dawn and dusk
Hands of a bard, calling song from my skin
You breathe the universe into my blood.

With what name shall I call you,
Oh my love,
Who rocks me like Goddess,
Filling me like God,
Shadow to light, season to season,
My one, eternal,
and my choice, for tonight.

~from The Body Sacred

A Love Poem for Ostara

O my Love, my Love,
Today I could fall back onto your greening skin
and explode into a thousand flowers
I could dissolve into the grey, grey rain
to grow back into the moss of your hair
I could kiss your pollen-dusted lips
and nest a hive of honeybees in my heart
I could draw back your bluebonnet cloak
to find, delighted, the soil damp and wriggling
I could fall asleep in your swinging branches
and lay my head upon the breast of the hill
I could shatter this pane of glass between us
to meet you barefoot where you meet the sky
And O my love, my love,
when I, come five at last,
win free of this airless place
I shall cast aside this artificial gloom
and run, run, run
into the bright warmth of your embrace.

Richard Moya Park, 6pm

There is a Witch in these woods,
and I know her.

I know her by her eyes,
Taking in the falling of a leaf
As though it were an epic film,
Her gaze wandering from the trodden path
To where water meets Earth and sky.

I know her by her hands,
Lingering on the trunk of
Every tree she passes,
Caressing the rough bark as both
Lover and friend.

I know her by her wonder,
At the tiny silver schools of fish
At the gliding turtles
At the track of a cardinal
Through the canopy of trees.

I know her by her delight
Transfixed by the weaving of branches
By the dance of a dragonfly
By the patterns of light
On the shadow-dappled Earth.

I know her by her silence
Listening intently to the birds
As if she understands their conversation
And hearing, eyes closed, the language
Of stone and oak and cloud.

I know her by her footsteps
Light and sure on the riverbank,
Quiet and unhurried on the path,
With a handful of stream-smoothed stones
Rattling in her pockets.

I know her by her kinship,
By the butterflies who linger,
By the squirrels who take notice
And then go on about their business,
Unafraid.

I know her by her presence,
Seeds and nuts left in offering,
The rise and fall of murmured prayer
The barest touch of magic
Wherever she has walked.

I know the Witch in these woods,
For I have met her reflection
And perhaps if you are lucky
And walk softly on the Earth,
You may meet her too.

The Cloak

The following is a guided meditation for personal empowerment that I wrote back in 2002.

The Charge of the Lord of the Dance

Whenever the voice of the Earth is lifted in song, whenever your soul aches for union, call my name--I am Lord of the Dance, and I am the wild tribal beat of your heart.

Free the serpent of your spine, delight in your earthly senses--for yesterday is a lesson learned, tomorrow is yet unwritten, and only in the present moment can you feel My rhythm. My music is the turn of the seasons; my lyric is the endless cycle of days.

I am the stolen kiss, the gaze across a crowded room, the tangle of limbs the morning after. When you learn to love with a whole heart and live your deepest passion, you will know Me and never fear darkness--for I am the shadow that follows the flame, the far side of the Sun, and the most desperate desire of your heart.

I who am the tremor of the thunderdrum and the graceful moonlit flight of a stag--I dare you to stand up and not to stand aside. I am the first step of a thousand, the sweat of a thousand more, and the courage to move at all. I bring the ecstasy of the unchained soul found only through the ecstasy of the body.

Wherever you gather in the love of Nature, I rejoice among you. Whenever you honor the spirit within, whenever you dance the dance that is yours alone, you do so at My fire. I am Lord of the Dance--take My hand and step into the rhythm of the Infinite.

Song to the Bright Weaver

I sing to you, O Lady of the Farthest Star
Though my voice often shakes
I lift my hands to Your service and my soul to Your care
Lady of the Sky Loom,
Whose Hands spin the thread of creation,
Your light is the life of all the world
And I draw my breath from You.

Then weave for me, Lady, a garment of brightness:
May the warp be the shining starlight
May the weft be the radiant moon
May the fringes be the thousand colors of sunset
Thus weave for me a garment of brightness
That I may walk fittingly upon the path of beauty
That I may walk fittingly where the night is dark
That I may bring your grace to Earth,
O Lady of the Farthest Star!

 

Based on "Song of the Sky Loom," a prayer of the Tewa Pueblo