Goddess pt. II

When, from the morass of obscurity, she makes herself known – and you will know: apple-plump with beauty, soft and radiant – greet her in masculine presence, invite her in and return to business.

If then she remains, when all is let go of, she is yours and you may take her. Take in first, her femininity, absorb it in the crucible of your presence, foster it in the crucible of your strength.

Do not be afraid to meet your end at her hand if she offers to you this most precious of gifts. Therein is a new beginning. Your meeting is a dance of energetic polarity and an alchemy of two lovers to the ultimate benefit of you both.

Love first yourself, then fill her with that love.

With loyalty in your heart, know fruitful abundance in the love of your woman. Nothing else will have your cauldron be so overflowing.

Return, at times, to solitude. Attending to the business that men must at times attend to. Let her always know you will be returning. Forever returning to the beginning with her. Knowing her anew each time. Seeing her afresh each day. See her with your eye and not your mind. For only the eye can understand the depth of the reservoir she drinks her power from. She is the goddess come to kill you.

Die gracefully.

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Photography by Shae Detar

 

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Preparations (Ophelia).

You shuffle about your life, wistfully, absently filling once empty spaces with your vision – yet never deliberately, or with the toothpick of intent. As I do, you comment here and there to people who have no ears to receive you, realize the fruitlessness of this endeavor and return to silence. Subtlety with regards to the delivery of truth is not a fineness either of us can attest to.

From afar I can feel you, too… Going about your business as I go about mine, gloriously ignorant to the crossing of roads ahead. I know not what form you’ll take or what gifts you’ll bring, only that I am for you and that there is work to do in preparation.

A daughter. Ophelia. Bright. A spark. More powerful than is good for her in her formative years, although we will be well equipped to make the appropriate preparations for a child of such energy.

Yet upon close observation the future escapes through cracks between the fingers of the present, returning my attention to the hand I’m given. So I file these thoughts away to a cabinet at the back of my mind marked “return to” with my other uncashed cheques and await that prosperous seed to take fruit in your appearing before me complete with curls and chocolate-dark irises.

… I hope you drive fear into the hearts of men greater than I. I hope you come ready to humiliate me with your feminine glory. You will find me unafraid for under the bright light of philosophy I have corrected my fear.

Back to my silence. Back to watching it turn.

I surrender myself to timing.

 

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Artwork by Shae Detar

 

 

Tall.

Winter mist on misty windows.
Trees poking out of the ground,
numerously surround us.
They stand tall,
like adults do.
Swaying too,
like emotions or the opinions of the men,
that plant and cut them.

Should I stand taller?
Deep in my roots,
solid in foundation,
yet pliable above ground?

In a silent field we sat.
Leaves singing our names,
and foliage crunching under us as we lay,
while we use each other as cushions.
This is ground, I think, we must tread carefully,
lest things end precariously.
Yet still you stare at me,
– you are not one for being careful.
And so I, too,
stare back at you,
– the warrior is never fearful.

I saw rock pools in your eyes,
in a wooden bathing house,
standing nude before you,
physically and otherwise.

I caught, too,
a failed disguise
for something rare these days.
Something real.
And I have known women in my life,
in more than a hundred ways,
but this is my favorite.
This.

What gifts,
have you come to bring to me, angel?
Just peels of laughter
and prettiness?
Or something you apportion less regularly?
Something special, just for me?
In exchange for something special,
just for you?

You have come to me to be at home.
This, I know.
Relax my love.
I will die,
willingly.
You have come to kill me,
finally.
So let us walk home together,
fearlessly,
and find the truth in each other,
beautifully.
For we will live forever.
Let’s walk this path together.
The God and Goddess await us.

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Photograph by Vivian Maier