Her Song of Restitution

Because I know that I am not yet

all that I was born to be,

I have made a choice

to walk myself back into my own shadow.

By it’s very nature, being a shadow,

it is a place where I am blind.

It is dark and dense and deeply veiled.

I feel the world slipping away

as my footsteps take me deeper in.

The lights and the music, the laughter and the touch,

the friends and companions have all fallen away

and I am now alone in the shadow with myself.

It is quiet here and I am afraid.

The shadow is full of energies that move me

in ways I have known all my days,

only masked by my longing for the light.

And in this place it sometimes feels

that every cell of my being is resonating

to the story that I am weak and wrong

and unworthy and small.

It itches and aches and smarts and revolts.

It heaves in me like great wild oceans of pain.

I am lost at sea.

But in this place I am relentlessly searching

for that one who knows I am in the shadows.

Whose great arms are big enough to reach around

amidst the pummeling waves,

with her night-vision and her instinct for love

and with those great arms, she scoops me up,

so small and afraid, my little one, alone.

And in the darkness,

she wraps me up in her bountiful breast,

and she softly keens to me,

her song of restitution.

and our tears become a cleansing river

to guide me home.

Lucy Pierce © 2013

Taken

I long for your hunger

to reach in and take me,

awaken me to your heart,

like when you wake in the night

and like a lone traveler in the desert

or a voyager lost at sea

and with unmediated instinct,

you turn and reach out

and take me

as though I were a ripe piece of fruit,

fresh from the tree

and without a word you quench

your parched mouth

at the nape of my neck,

drawing forth the hidden meaning of me

and calling me home to you

as with the full breadth of your hands

you wrap the cusp of my haunches

and drink deeply of me

and I am taken so exquisitely beyond

my own resistance to your love.

In an instance you strip from me

the farce of my withholding

and in that moment I come to know myself

as the long cool drink of the universe.

Lucy Pierce © 2013

Spirit of Woman- Beheld

Beheld

Spirit of  Woman

Oh spirit of life,

bold spirit of woman,

it is time now,

for me to fearlessly behold my own beauty

and to tremble in the tender fragrance

of my own robust and irrepressible blooming,

to be the presence that sees,

that knows, that bows to beauty.

No longer the tremulous aching for the other,

the parched and barren waiting to be beheld.

My roots tap the quick of the endless source,

my branches seek the eternity of all that dwells beyond,

my wings arch out forever

and I am love, whole and true.

No longer the waiting to be received,

I receive myself.

I open and behold this radiant shining,

my heart a fruitful bounty bursting forth

it’s juicy red seeds upon the opened Earth.

My womb an eternal well of all that is becoming.

I am upright and proud

I have the profound courage to walk in my beauty

because it is my birthright.

Who am I to think that I might lack

a decipherable language of love,

as though I were mute and blind in the darkness.

It is time to truly behold the woman

and to allow each quivering footstep

to truly land upon the ground of my being,

that the world and the Earth and the heavens

may receive me,

the fragrant and fierce

and fecund and proud

beauty that is woman.

Lucy Pierce © 2013

                                                                                                     

Retreival

Like an unsung song I have always known,

I have experienced myself to be riddled

with incomplete spaces and unlived places within.

As though essential clues were still buried, deep inside the body,

indecipherable codes and locks and holds,

camouflaged and obscure,

deflecting light and attention and love.

And now like an awakened crusade,

I have mounted my stead and bare-breasted I ride,

powerful and fierce and exquisitely soft inside,

into the darkness of my history,

back through the gateways of my deaths and my births,

eyes piercing the shadows,

anchored within the womb, my vigilant sentry,

ancient seer, awakened.

The rhythmic stride of my mount unrelenting,

senses strained to their full,

I am retrieving myself piece by piece,

unbinding the vows of my past,

reclaiming the power held captive

beyond the reach of my memory.

I am calling her home to me

She who carries her medicine,

She who hungers to be seen,

She who knows the heart-seed of her purpose,

the unfolding mystery of being home

in the throne-room of her soul.

From between the plump, sticky folds of my motherhood,

my Huntress awakens, sleek and honed and dark as the night.

She is retrieving the Dreamer to the heart of life,

searching for She who sees the vision.

She who holds within her,

clear and true and easeful,

the capacity to respond.

The heavy compass of authority

swinging from the outer to within.

It is time and there is no other path

but this focused reclamation of myself ,

of my vision, my purpose,

my dream, my response,

my authority,

my love.

Lucy Pierce © 2013

The Milky Way

I feel to name a poison river that sometimes nudges at my heart,

pulling me back from the truth like an undertow,

feeding the violence of my separation.

In reverential courage my Sister shares,

telling of awakenings and magnificent serpents unfurling,,

and energies aligning within her holy body.

A part of me rejoices, for I love this sister so deeply

and her story is a river of mystery and beauty

and exquisite home-comings….

And then also there is a part of me that asks,

Why does she feel this when I do not?

How can she have what I myself long for,

and endeavor deeply to find?

A sister joyously announces a Spirit name

gleaned from the deep journey within

and I wonder, why do I not have a spirit name?

Why do I not have what she has?

And who is she to just own it like that, when I cannot?

How can she be bold where I am meek?

Not always but sometimes it is there,

beneath the surface a begrudging,

that wants for myself what it is that she has,

that courage and beauty and shining..

As though it were a game in which we were competing,

vying for pawns and kings and queens,

entrapped upon a narrow field with a finish line,

or precarious ladders and hidden pit falls from grace.

Sometimes it shouts but mostly it is very quiet, insidious,

so soft that it almost goes unnoticed.

These women that I speak of,

have traveled eons of time and pain and besiegement

to courageously unravel these mysteries from within.

For lifetimes they have toiled to come home to themselves,

in ways that only they can themselves comprehend.

The majesty of their flowering is a miracle

and a testament to their fierce tenacity and inquiry,

the depth of their love and unrelenting courage.

And the truth is that that their becoming of all that they are,

makes my life and all the world such a magnificent place,

made so much more rich and potent and glorious

by their powerful shining.

So why would it be that a sister's beauty would bring forth

such a small and begrudging part of me?

Do I truly believe that the glory of a sister's shining

might take the shine away from me?

Might I seem dull in comparison?

Where does this envy spring  from?

How deep is the wound in the psyche of woman?

And on the other side of this coin,

How do I dull my own shining   for the fear of hurting my fellow woman?

Why am I so very timid in the claiming of my own unique space in the world?

What is it that I fear? Whose judgment or accusation do I hide from?

And is there not enough space for us all to shine as bright as can be?

Radiant, divine, immaculately ourselves,

like the multitudinous stars sweeping the heavens,

the Milky Way of Womanhood.

It is my prayer that you may shine all of your light on me, my beloved sister,

that you may dwell also in all your darkness before me,

and that I may stand in the glow of that glorious becoming

and truly celebrate all that you are,

without the fear or judgment or belittlement of self,

that sometimes dwell like sharks beneath the waters of my smile.

May I meet you with a profound delight in the potent beauty of She,

birthing herself home to her power upon the Earth,

for each and every one of us,

becoming.

Lucy Pierce © 2013