The Unveiling
Posted: Tue Jan 23, 2007 4:32 am
The Unveiling
And so it's earth against air, fire versus water,
the basic elements of nature once again at odds in me.
Why can't my body be a preserve,
a lovely wildlife refuge
presided over by the presence of a sacred living tree
shielding storm and poverty,
the body a good boundary?
Instead, a battleground, this aging colosseum
where batter rams incessantly,
nostrils flaring past my amulet,
no body respects me.
Assaulting one another, parts maim each other's claims
to peace within their own country.
Barbarians within the woman
throw aside the blood-stained key.
They kill the goose that lays the egg
of ovalled gold virginity.
Why can't the body let a body be?
Why can't parts assist the whole,
be necklaced charms in harmony?
The war repressed, a battle not to cry.
I'd die might I a budded blossom shake
or cast a shadow spuriously.
Gather spotted fruit. Tumble at the sure foot
of a tried and trusted tree.
Offer to the Mother the dead leaves loss provide,
sweet death to all that takes it's own sweet time
instead of rotting at the tender tips of me.
Emotion saps the circulation,
root to trunk to limb to waning twig.
The Goddess of the tree
lies belabored, breathing,
deep asleep inside awaiting
to arise. The iris of her eyes
reveals her true identity.
The body has disowned it's own
yet love's elixir has survived.
The Goddess sees Herself
reflected in an open heart
that will not flee the trembling tree
as fruit of pure reality
falls oh so generously
upon an untilled field
undressed of all duality,
a full ripe yield of healed, unveiled,
graced, embraced, full-faced,
an unfettered taste of life's innate totality.
And so it's earth against air, fire versus water,
the basic elements of nature once again at odds in me.
Why can't my body be a preserve,
a lovely wildlife refuge
presided over by the presence of a sacred living tree
shielding storm and poverty,
the body a good boundary?
Instead, a battleground, this aging colosseum
where batter rams incessantly,
nostrils flaring past my amulet,
no body respects me.
Assaulting one another, parts maim each other's claims
to peace within their own country.
Barbarians within the woman
throw aside the blood-stained key.
They kill the goose that lays the egg
of ovalled gold virginity.
Why can't the body let a body be?
Why can't parts assist the whole,
be necklaced charms in harmony?
The war repressed, a battle not to cry.
I'd die might I a budded blossom shake
or cast a shadow spuriously.
Gather spotted fruit. Tumble at the sure foot
of a tried and trusted tree.
Offer to the Mother the dead leaves loss provide,
sweet death to all that takes it's own sweet time
instead of rotting at the tender tips of me.
Emotion saps the circulation,
root to trunk to limb to waning twig.
The Goddess of the tree
lies belabored, breathing,
deep asleep inside awaiting
to arise. The iris of her eyes
reveals her true identity.
The body has disowned it's own
yet love's elixir has survived.
The Goddess sees Herself
reflected in an open heart
that will not flee the trembling tree
as fruit of pure reality
falls oh so generously
upon an untilled field
undressed of all duality,
a full ripe yield of healed, unveiled,
graced, embraced, full-faced,
an unfettered taste of life's innate totality.