POEM: Beyond Form
Mother Nut, Salve Regina...
Happy Friday!
Today, I offer a new poem that is part of a series of poems I’ve been writing for the past 2 years called “A Woman Unto Herself.” These poems transmit the essence of the Divine Feminine (beyond gender) and honor the experience of being a woman in a world that is still grossly (and willfully in some sense) ignorant about the wisdom and power of The Feminine in its full expression.
I dedicate this poem to Zoe who told me the other night how much my poetry means to her. Zoe helped me remember that poetry is the medium that my Soul uses to communicate. I love poetry for its ability to transmit the ineffable, which is so often my primary experience in life.
Skye
Beyond Form February 2022 I struggle to sit here wanting everything, feeling nothing… I shift in my skin. What’s underneath this condition of mediocrity? What is concealed beneath bent shoulders heavy with the day-to-day? I know there's more than this. I ask my Self, You say I am divine? Prove it. Show me. The response cuts through: Go beyond form by fully accepting form. I accept...Well, I try. But, the resistance is strong. This is what needs to be met. All this time I’ve spent resisting this form in all its forms: girl, woman, wife, mother, human being. Suddenly my whole life is defined by this resistance. All that’s left…the only thing outside it is surrender. I give up. Relief floods me. The contours of the cloak are now clear. I see that it’s not even mine. The culture that wove it is tainted. The hand that draped it is long gone and so is its utility. I rip it, I tear it off, and lo! I fly. Up and up through layers of ether and atmosphere I see my beloved: a warrior with an innocent heart. Tireless adept, I am marveling at his skill. He seems to know this place well. He takes my hand and guides us higher. Bring your wisdom he says, And I look for it. We are at the heart of the mandala now sitting in the heart of a Buddha that is also me…or is it we? It no longer matters beyond form. I enter, I am the cosmic body of Mother Nuit. Now I am Space… noticing as great as it is, I feel a little alone out here. The thought is a habit of smallness. My beloved assures me: That’s never been the case, That could never be the case. Notice you are surrounded by support. And then into focus come great temples of bustling buddhas. Alone is impossible here! He gestures with a sweep of one of his four arms: This is your home. In fact, you are queen of this hive. Sit, take your throne. Arrive. I am the queen, the bees, and the hive itself buzzing with aliveness, radiating nectar, honey dripping like jewels… A giantess, a temple for the hard work of purification. I contain it all: the ecstatic expression of this world and its pain; hell realms, angelic realms. My body is Sacred World holding the whole, holding up the sky, supported by infinite beings beyond time, below and beneath time, a river of experience flowing through the caves of our hearts. I am in the place of no coming and no going. Everything arising and dissolving; empty and full, no attachment, no aversion, also not indifferent. An expression of sacred movement; the movement of what needs to happen. No more no less. This could and will go on forever. Just then a song… Salve, Regina, Mater misericordiæ… It rises up through the atmosphere through space and time to enter all of my halls of pain. The channels where I burn are soothed by this sweet voice; strong and certain. Sincere. Now I understand this is what makes infinity bearable: prayer, song, gratitude, love. The singers are generous sending this offering up through the central channel of the world. It is a prayer for mercy. It helps. It soothes. It is granted.