Ashes and Sand, Love and Wounds; Wounded Still I Love

I said I would not go digging into that dying fire now. I am woman. Wise and knowing.

And yet I find myself now covered in ash and digging, digging, digging.

Spirit cries out to the heaves, voice hoarse, dying, gone. Broken in heart and bone.
Where is the blood rushing through my body?

She waits, frozen. Empty as are my ears in the stillness of the silence left from the waves of the ocean that do not crash upon any shore I stand upon.

Her absence aches my heart.

Tears my soul as my healing, my healing awaits in the living waters.

The comforter bestows life. The rushing waters lead to the melody that resides in them in the truth of their existence.

Mer, mère, mère.

Mother, mother, mother

Madre, madre, madre

Mutter, mutter, mutter

Mama, mama, mama

Dancing upon the shores, golden fairy dust between my toes, kissing my shoulders and back, singing in the whips of my hair.

Heal me, heal me, heal me.

Mère, mère, mère.

 

Warmth of your descending sun, crossed betwixt golden clouds.

Warm this heart.

Fan this flame.

Let it not, white and corpse like, remain to die in the ash. Let it be, reborn again unto you. Hope redeemed, knowledge renewed, strength redefined, mind sharp and directed, heart soft and brilliant.

Ooh how do we mourn and dance? How do we dance and mourn? How do we rejoice in the beauty of this world, cry out in pain and sit in silence.

Sitting in pain.

May angel wings take us, comfort us and protect us.

Guide our steps. Walk beside. Carry us. Carry us.

Eyes open to what we can bear. Hearts open to bear.

 

Wounded, still I love.

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