I rubbed my hands with sand

Until I arrived here

Completely and utterly alone

filled with Joy

 

In the depths of experience

Where soft and silent snow

Flashed forces of birth and forces death

 

Here where

Death merged with death

Time with time

 

And

My mother became my grandmother

Fragile as a rose

Steeping through the watery portal

Of warm cave fires

 

The old woman of the world

Appeared before me

With open arms

eyes made of rose quartz

She opened her cloak

And I climbed into her ribs

 

Where I found you weaving

weavings the colours of all the women that flow through us

Within the vast spirit of darkness 

The sounds of women working together 

Echoed through my being – reassuring me

 

I arrived in a warm place 

In the vast spectrum of experience

The cove of pumping essences

Feet on sand

Feet on mud

root and sacral chakra pulsing

 

In this unknown space

I was guided  by the tactile

the domesticity of women

a wordless place

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the lineage of family

of kneading and baking

 

What is this trying to tell me?

In this wet familiar landscape

where the warm wind meets the cool breeze

 

With the door to our home

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