Dear Precious Being,
What is your favourite poem? When did you write a poem last?
I find writing in my journal, either letters, diary entries or poems are therapeutic and helpful
to me. I am sharing one I wrote last year – Imagine a Woman Seeking and one of my favourite poems, the Call by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, I hope you enjoy them…
Imagine a Woman, Seeking
Where is, she gone, where is she, where?
Where is the witch who gathers and spins mystery?
Where is the dancer who hums, and sings with abandonment?
Where is the homemaker, who crafts, bakes, cleans?
Where is the lover who seduces in comfort and instinctively grins?
Where is she who lived in tune with the wind, trees, rain and fire?
Spider-woman, owl feather, dreamer of dreams
Worshiper of the moon, prowler of the flower and herb garden
She who meditates with the mother, the daughter of spirit
Mother, grandmother, daughter, wife, friend – oh where is she gone?
She has left, she is not here.
Now she sits and wonders, how did this happen?
Spaced out, removed, old, dry, barren, empty, fat, careless, and anxious, restricted
by rules and regulations, lonely, tormented, disturbed, dissatisfied, and tired.
Tired mind, tired body, stiff bones, no soul.
She can’t be gone, is she, is she really, she can’t be gone, she can’t be.
She breathes – ah – there is still life, faint life – ah,
Breathe that curls around embers of excitement – no glow yet
Breathe that wraps up hope – unable to lift it
Breathe that sinks down and comes up empty – nothing ignites yet
A will unable to function, to support – chaos over rules now
A longing for what was –sorrow for what is – emptiness, a vacuum
A vagrant woman walks the earth, looking for dragonflies and bees to make honey.
Who is she, who was she, onetime.
Is she a ghost, a silhouette of her past, has she a future, is she present?
She breathes – ah – she breathes, who knows.
An ancient being stirs, breathes, knowing, seer of what is coming
Smell of sage, she sneezes, yawns, stretches
A candle in a window flickers, a shadow passes by,
Two grey haired women meet and kiss, replaced by two crows
A soul sings a lullaby – shush, hush, she is here.
– By Christine
The Call
I have heard it all my life,
A voice calling a name I recognized as my own.
Sometimes it comes as a soft-bellied whisper.
Sometimes it holds an edge of urgency.
But always it says: Wake up my love. You are walking asleep.
There’s no safety in that!
Remember what you are and let this knowing take you home to the Beloved with every
breath.
Hold tenderly who you are and let a deeper knowing colour the shape of your humanness.
There is no where to go. What you are looking for is right here.
Open the fist clenched in wanting and see what you already hold in your hand.
There is no waiting for something to happen, no point in the future to get to.
All you have ever longed for is here in this moment, right now.
You are wearing yourself out with all this searching.
Come home and rest. How much longer can you live like this?
Your hungry spirit is gaunt, your heart stumbles. All this trying. Give it up!
Let yourself be one of the God-mad, faithful only to the Beauty you are.
Let the Lover pull you to your feet and hold you close, dancing even when fear urges you to
sit this one out.
Remember- there is one word you are here to say with your whole being.
When it finds you, give your life to it. Don’t be tight-lipped and stingy.
Spend yourself completely on the saying.
Be one word in this great love poem we are writing together.
From the book The Call, HarperONE, San Francisco 2003
Dear Precious Being, What or who are you being called to become today?
– Christine
(images sourced from Google images)
