You hear the one about the skeptic?
She would say, agnostic.
Until proven otherwise.
It made for scary bedtime stories, limited journeying and a half life. It created beautiful diaromas, spinning regally in separate spheres, painting realistic approximations.
Floating above time in freezing droplets. She. Alone and alert.
Something amiss, tapping her on the shoulder, like a creature from nightmares. Yelling creatures don’t understand the impact of their growling. It becomes difficult for her to discern inside the projectors.
Then the film stopped running. And all lines grew eerily still.
They calcified and took on the weight of mineralized structures.
That’s it, bellowed the conductor. Bali or Bust.
Bust she did.
At the end of the bust one grows rebellious and feigns courage. Because, why not, chirp the choir of hamsters?
And throwing hamster wheels to the wind-
She welcomes seeing with new eyes.
Cautiously greeting lands outside the running bands. It is precarious ledge. One tiny step for this woman kind.
The territory unrecognizable.
The smells of living things! Follow Follow.
And lo is she greeted!
Patterns everywhere. Maps collide and coalsece.
The divine feminine-finally released-after epochs of sublimation inside the bones of patriarchy
She is Kundalini rising
She is all of the Chakras
She is the plant, the medicine speaking through me and you
She is the topic of the mystics and the ground of their devotional practices
She is the gateway between heaven and earth.
A small fraction that came before floating in an endless sea of intelligence.
Safe and whole.
Glory, glory hallelujah!