The Thunder Gods

written during the Taurus Moon

Caught by the gods,

I am soaked, 

soaked through my skin

by the tingle of power

rippling aflame down my neural spine

and up again, wildfire in my mind

this thunder drums and drums

heartbeat thrown off kilter

a trance, pronouncement of doom, judgment come.

I crouch under the trees,

their bodies wracked by wind,

the sinew of their bark stretching, creaking, cracking

as my own body sinks to the ground, pleads, 

entreats in the soil and slime,

leaves now sewn to my skin by needles of light.

This dark light pierces me,

pours into my wells of knowing,

and the thunder keeps coming,

banging

earth shuddering as lightning hits,

a violent kiss.

In this storm, 

I do not stand tall, I do not greet the sky

or its thick tumbling clouds.

Instead I bow, pressed flat against the mud, 

limbs now tangled with roots and vines, 

splattered and dirty, impure.

I am but a creature of this earth,

a snake, belly all sinuous embrace of my utter chthonicity. 

I cannot look up, eyes filled with rain and lightning's terror.

Here in the storm, there is only blindness.

And then I feel a spark:

it rumbles, 

it shakes, 

it takes me,

until I call out to the thunder gods, 

Take me! Take me as your sacrifice! Make me into fire and flame. 

I dare now the lightning, stare it down from the sky,

its flashes destroying all illusions. 

There is a fierceness in me roaring,

rampant thunder bull with three electric eyes,

Body trembling, unfolding, muscles taut with will,

I am but string on the bow of heaven aimed at a distant peak--

The Mountain of Ten Thousand Thunders, 

they call it in their rumble speech,

those gods of the upper reaches,

no trees, no shelter, no place to hide,

only hail and wind, balefire and storm. 

Strip me down, I pray,

beat away this clay,

unveil the quartz-stone heart

until all that remains 

is a core conducting life's power

deep into Gaia's belly,

impregnating the planet anew. 

This Body, Lush Apple Blossom

This body, lush apple blossom pouring her sweetness out into the spring

Longing every moment to envelop bees, take their honeyed nectar into my pink folds.

Where is my fulfillment?

The delight of being used, filled, my petals crushed so that they seep out warm summer fragrance.

Will I ever become an apple, fattened, round, juicy and ready to drop life?

What creature will devour me, ingest me, imbibe me to his core, intoxicated?

I can't stop myself, can't stop this process of unfolding my fecund depths,

It's as inevitable as the seasons.

Then I realize:

My body is blooming

but not for you, 

not for anyone but because I can,

because I am who I am,

orchard queen seducing the world into fullness.

The Cure Lies in the Curse

I am Lot’s wife
having looked back
became a frozen stone,
a statue of salt,

but now
having stood all these years
with the rain and desert storms,
world dropping down
to the ground,
my rigid silence
dissolves into tears.

This has demanded time
and the sure-rhythmed seasons of life
to cast my eyes forward again,

knowing that 

release 

is the eventual way of all things.

  

  

 

Following Bouyancy

floating in the Eno on a hot day ... ahhh

Naked in the Eno,
    hot day,
sun beating sideways on
silver ripples,
pale green leaves,
turtles toasting their shells
while I toast my pale skin
beneath the yellow eye.

Tufted titmouse and chickadee calling,
the slightest breeze soft kissing
my vulnerability.

Skeeter bugs skate on the river surface,
purple violets and spring beauty blossoms
crowd the river's edge.

Oh–

“Follow your bliss,” the wise men say.
      My bliss is out here,
squidging toes into riverbed sand,
as a slow slow tide washes over my body,
                          only me
                    only me here
with the rest of the world,
                           the wild,
the world far from any well-marked track.

I sink back into the current
legs lifting, belly to the sky,
hair drinking in brown water,
grown heavy

floating
breeze and river

my soul a dogwood blossom
caught in the wind,
carried away by this hot sunny day
and the cool relief of giving in
to the riverway

the river’s way of
       drifting
             ebbing
rapids here and there
but rare,
               wide, deep course
finding the down-hill path
                            down …
                down …
down

following
perfection

mind gone buoyant
soft in the current
where-ever gravity leads.