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--a birthday poem dedicated to my mother and the medicine work she has done with people (including me) on her earthwalk. she is an expert guide for walking people through birthquakes.
I've sensed the Other Side within this world
since childhood days of tender feet kicking through the dirt
but touching it
and being touched by it
has always been fleeting.
It explains why I never finish anything.
It explains why the cells in my body
have always been dreaming of leaving.
It explains why I have always failed in matters of love.
I haven't known, until now, how to surrender or truly bow
or maintain the connection.
My spirit has been like the buzzing bee
drawn deeper and deeper into the high meadow
chasing after subtle fragrances bursting forth after rain.
The wandering bee may get the honey by day
but the harshest of hungers sets in after nightfall.
Last night, the Pollen Maiden spoke of new life.
You are not the tapestry, she said.
You are not the weaver.
You are but a thread.
With that, something let go in me
and I crossed a great chasm within.
I stand in the faint light of a fallow sun
abandoning all the plans I had before arriving.
A scaffold has crumbled 'neath the weight of the unseen.
There are no more divisions, no demarcations left for anything.
Even my soul's compass has ceased its ancient ache for a new star.
That old aimless wandering, of reaching for reference points outside,
has become a soft practice of resting on the quiet map within.
There's nothing else to point to now
but my flute-like bones breathing the wind,
a heart full and stirring with the perfume of the far-away hills.
What once was a cold stone
waiting with devotion
for small sips of passing sunlight
pulses with its own fire now
and feels the warmth in everything.
(c) 2017 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com