Stars’
Crossing
*
*
Crossed roads, slowly
swaying
entrance beads from
day to night.
Slip in between to
become
for that instant of
eternity
dancing gypsy calling
to
Moon, to storytelling
stars.
Embrace that mystery,
train tracking
adventure. Breathe
forgotten fields,
lush or shriveled,
dependent on water
and feed. Let go of
all but one brave
hand solidly grasped
to the doorway.
Let go; let fingers
fall reaching.
*
*
*
*
Second Star
to the Right
*
*
Traveling
beyond Persephone’s garden
on the
etheric threshold
‘tween
mortality and death.
Taking an
oblique path at the crossroads
onto an
accessway
along the
axis of bliss.
It’s not a
road on which
the dramas
fade.
It’s not
about a numbing block
to
pain.
Drama
unfolds —
my
chemistry responds exquisitely.
Touch is
just touch;
sensation
translates information.
All the
appointed tasks,
routine
errands of the everyday,
little
pauses along the bliss path,
allow me to
breathe the scent
of endless
possibilities,
as path and
consciousness expand
blissfully
aware.
*
*
*
*
Liminal
Spaces
*
*
Twilight, the wee
hours,
the dark of the
moon,
liminal
spaces,
places where magic
dwells,
crossroads, crises,
cusps.
*
There is static on the
radio.
A
song
my voice was
singing,
rhythm of
sound
takes flight to
surround me,
a comforter of
down
to ease my
soul.
*
I’ve been trying to
define a taste,
a sense of bittersweet
and salt.
I’ve been trying to
find a trace
a footprint in the
desert,
a sight, a
scent,
a
memory.
I’ve been trying to
discern a trace of me,
a piece to fit the
puzzle,
my contribution to the
grand design.
Seeking in
shadows,
the space
between
myth and
matter,
those places
words
cannot
define.
On those insubstantial
plains
of myst and
awe,
the stuff of
dreams,
threshold of
wonder,
creation is
spawned.
*
*
*
*
Crossing
the Threshold
*
*
At the
crossroads at midnight
My lady did
swear
That she
must be alone
To face up
to her demons
*
“Please
understand that I must
be aware of
just who I am
and where
I’ve come from.”
*
I sat by
the bridge
as she set
forth her tools,
her
sorcerer lore, her alchemic runes
So she’d
know who to honor, to break
and to
blame
What she’d
been made for,
her
journey, her truth.
*
At the
crossroads, past midnight,
just before
dawn
My lady
thrice nodded and
stamped out
her flames.
She
beckoned I join her out on the meadow
to kiss and
rejoice
and reveal
our true names.
*
*
*
*
Cross
Purpose
*
*
At hours’
crossroads, Reason drowns
in rage,
scathe,
irradiated rain,
treasonous air.
Weary of care, of
punishing,
bottomless anger, of
sobbing men
robbed of their
right to give birth.
Wrested from Mama’s
warmth, from
the cave, to play
brave.
And it’s ladies’
choice as you squirm
in fool’s
corner.
Such a chore —
kissing at this
and that for a
chance to score
the shame, the blame
from stuck-out
tongues, the bloody
laughter.
“I could bite off
that little thing — make
you squat to
pee.”
Wired to fight, at
any cost,
because, of course,
the Cross proclaims
“We’re right. They
are inherently wrong.”
“Those below must be
taught to obey
our superior tools,
to be broken,
that we may
ride.”
Against our better
fate, sad race divides
along strict lines,
by difference
nature devised to
spawn us strong.
*
*
*
*
Alchemy
*
*
Simple
acceptance.
The dancer with the
dance
entering pre-dawn
mystery.
Quiet interval,
enchanting music.
Undulating
reverie.
Alone in Hekate’s
garden,
breathing in
memory
of jasmine and
spice.
Weary roads
traveled
crossroad to
crossroad;
the journey
continues.
Weary days have found
sustenance
in secreted hovels,
dimestore romance.
Convoluted talk,
empty gestures,
soul-less
ritual
take up the stitches
of time.
Some brave
midnight,
if I learn my lessons
well,
I will eat the fruits
of Hekate’s garden,
dancing in piquant
reverie,
leaving my tears and
anguish
along the windswept
trail.
Ebullient
music
dances
me
as the Goddess
kisses
my tearstains
into
gold.
Degree of my
natal Hekate —
a liminal year for the dweller
on the threshold.
The search is for clarity,
expanding borders, introducing
elasticity as integral character.
To see, to feel, to merge and undulate
through; to discover, uncover, swim
in the glory of original grace,
ecstatic beauty.
To see, to feel, to breathe in
all exquisite luxury of prescience; to hold,
transmit as cellular energy.
To paint upon translucent canvas
subliminal etchings, private symbols
generously revealed.
Sagacity gifted, re-gifted,
planted in potent fertility
of visions, of cantations.
The tinsel of starlight;
the subtle scent of conflagrated pain;
the feather touch of eternity.
I fall into velvet voice, enchanting form.
Move with the rhythm;
caressed within word and worlds’mysteries.
a liminal year for the dweller
on the threshold.
The search is for clarity,
expanding borders, introducing
elasticity as integral character.
To see, to feel, to merge and undulate
through; to discover, uncover, swim
in the glory of original grace,
ecstatic beauty.
To see, to feel, to breathe in
all exquisite luxury of prescience; to hold,
transmit as cellular energy.
To paint upon translucent canvas
subliminal etchings, private symbols
generously revealed.
Sagacity gifted, re-gifted,
planted in potent fertility
of visions, of cantations.
The tinsel of starlight;
the subtle scent of conflagrated pain;
the feather touch of eternity.
I fall into velvet voice, enchanting form.
Move with the rhythm;
caressed within word and worlds’mysteries.
Eve of Hecate
As we approach the
13th of August
celebration of the
Dark Moon Goddess
under
shining Moonlight,
Faery Queen or fabled
harlot
stirs potent night
blooms, expelling myths of
what we cannot bear,
cannot overcome
Feel in the electric
falling starlight
Spells of renewal, of
power to look back
upon our falterings,
to find the seed now grown
yet changing still
and ever, able,
willing, co-creating
in the illuminated shadow
invoking the peace of
dissolving twilight
of midnight's hopeful
resurrection
of the hinting flame
that lightens before the dawn
take peace into each
breath, each incantation
from the strength to
align impeccably
with your deepest
truth
The transition to the transformation of death is a different kind
of birth. Hecate would understand, the Goddess of birth and death and the spaces
between, thresholds, doorways, crossroads, limbo. Goddess Hecate, I understand
that I am in your realm for this duration, for this direction in which you are
moving my consciousness. Bless me, Goddess. Give me your strength of purpose and
will, serenity within the maelstrom. The future is one moment at a time. The
time is always now. Who I am to become will amaze me, I’m
sure.
Hekate Is My Cellar Door
I am in awe
I am prostrate in acceptance
of such power as you bestow to me
by incultation of your love
Dynamism
resounds in every fiber
I breathe you in
without resistance
My exhalation
is the stuff of bliss
Tell your sisters
to breathe with me.
I have been working with an inner image of Hecate, the underworld,
ancient, self-empowered goddess of birth/death/life. As I am understanding, her
lesson is about becoming one's true self, unafraid of social appropriation
because not in need of permission to totally embrace one's own magick. To begin
to find this inner core (unless, I suppose, one is lucky enough to have never
lost it), one needs to go through, truly feel and accept, all the pain and
miseries of one's life, to learn that these are not what life is about, not
punishments, though sometimes warnings, but just an interpretation of what is. A
very long time ago, on a cold and windy winter night, a friend told me: open up
to the cold and feel it, don't resist -- it is really warm. On those nights when
I remember and try it, it really is.
Hekate's
Child
Child of Hekate,
sweetness and light?
Where is the mark
of your entombment?
Buried prematurely,
to strive for growth
in dark enclosure
striving for a breath
of the pompously negligent
Sun,
of the blushing Moon
of the squabbling sons and daughters,
of daylight's pleasures.
Striving, tenderly
twisting around corners
aching for an unknown touch.
"Tell me, sir, then, how's it going now?"
Looking up narrowly from a tepid meal,
all at once remembering
playfellows on the schoolyard
running, out of breath,
filled with pride
a jolly good game.
Always someone begging
my attention,
but it wasn't really me,
just a story to steam off
or a butt to joke on.
All the silly give and take;
only time is taken
and that in big hungry chunks
of no tomorrows.
One long day
now the part all groggy
waking from fevered napping.
It wasn't supposed to be a tomb
nestled in Transylvanian bloodlines.
It was meant to be a child's cot,
freshly laundered cotton lace.
But the rats got in,
once the cats had been slaughtered.
Slowly wakening
I strive again to find my footing.
Learning to walk
was never as easyas forgetting to fly.
Child of Hekate,
sweetness and light?
Where is the mark
of your entombment?
Buried prematurely,
to strive for growth
in dark enclosure
striving for a breath
of the pompously negligent
Sun,
of the blushing Moon
of the squabbling sons and daughters,
of daylight's pleasures.
Striving, tenderly
twisting around corners
aching for an unknown touch.
"Tell me, sir, then, how's it going now?"
Looking up narrowly from a tepid meal,
all at once remembering
playfellows on the schoolyard
running, out of breath,
filled with pride
a jolly good game.
Always someone begging
my attention,
but it wasn't really me,
just a story to steam off
or a butt to joke on.
All the silly give and take;
only time is taken
and that in big hungry chunks
of no tomorrows.
One long day
now the part all groggy
waking from fevered napping.
It wasn't supposed to be a tomb
nestled in Transylvanian bloodlines.
It was meant to be a child's cot,
freshly laundered cotton lace.
But the rats got in,
once the cats had been slaughtered.
Slowly wakening
I strive again to find my footing.
Learning to walk
was never as easyas forgetting to fly.
I feel the power of my soul.
Rain and wind and ice and snow
I feel you all from here below,
and revel in elemental energy.
I am the wind, the seas, the fire
I am all will and all desire.
It is me you love, and me you hate —
I am the master of your fate.
Yet I am hidden from all sight,
beyond the reach or need of light.
I have found my peace,
my place, my voice.
Take heed, O’ mortal,
create your choice.
Create it every day.
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