Lotus

I feel you
in the depths
of my womb,
a stirring of new life,
soft contours of mud
dissolving into water,
bubbles rising up
and popping,
before they reach
the skin
of upturned green palms
holding the immensity
of the sky
in their bosom,
ripples leaving
without returning home,
as fire sits with fire,
burning away the dross,
and somewhere
in those murky silent depths,
a lotus blooms quietly,
turned on by her solitude,
parting her folds
with the gentlest touch
of the first morning sun.

Winter

today,
I want to speak of winter...
of the empty white solitude,
the bone-chilling cold -
a harsh reminder
of what needs to thaw,
the skeletons of trees
dreaming of new forms,
and the silent breeze
feeding fresh lives.

yes, today,
I want to speak of winter;
not of the glory
of autumn or summer,
of the warmth of color and skin,
and the prettiness
of what's obvious;
no, not even of spring
and the bounce and smiles
of things exploding
into themselves
and each other;
for many have spoken
about them.

today,
I want to speak of winter.
of the unspoken,
of the unmet,
where life is on hold,
in the stillness
of a white womb,
yet changing quietly,
with the slowness
and grace
of unseen wheels
turning in the darkness,
and the innocence
of what simply is;

dressed in pure white,
is a mother waiting,
soaking in the harshness,
to feel the warmth
of skin against skin.

Broken Waters

and as I stepped out
from your womb,
my fears held safe
in your depths
all these years,
I felt the smelting
of heavy chains,
of unspoken terror
leaving me,
and I looked up
to the winter sun,
filled with a lightness
of a heart and body
that's finally learned
to feel and cherish
the wetness
and freshness
of broken waters,
given birth
to a sacred life,
waiting to be held
and worn.

Autumn

and a forest falls silent,
to listen to the sounds
of falling leaves,
and changing hues,
of sunbeams cracking open
trembling boughs, and
silver highlights drumming
upon dancing shadows;
where the air is rife
with a tingling freshness,
lingering memories
and unborn dreams,
dying into the stillness
of this one moment,
where a new song
will be birthed
from this sacred womb,
and carried into the silence
of a long-hushed tomb.

Staying Close

sometimes I wonder
what is home?
is it the dark earth
that holds my roots,
and helped me once
to push my way out
for that lingering gaze
upon a blazing sun,
or the restful darkness
of a quiet, starry night?
what is home?
is it to wallow and curl up
in the blissful womb?
or is it to break open
the hardened shell
to birth myself?
or is it to grow tirelessly
out of my skin
over and over again?
what is home?
is it to know
that I can unearth myself
only when I am far away
or even when I am close?
or is it to know
that no matter where I go,
what I do,
or who I become,
I am always close,
I am always walking home,
I am always home.

Womb

and when I am done

with the adventures

of my inner world,

sometimes shaken,

sometimes wounded,

sometimes fuelled,

sometimes felled,

I yearn for the warmth

of your skin against mine,

of your breath inside mine,

of your hands around me

and my little heart,

you’re my go-to place,

where I can curl up

and forget about everything else,

and rest like a little pup,

who now tired of chasing its own tail

comes to snuggle between your feet;

and then the world suddenly seems

simple, safe and at peace.

The Circle

the circle
a safe space
to be
at peace
with oneself
beads of water
on lotus leaves
bubbles afloat
upon a breeze
the empty womb
of creation
closed
to the vagaries
of time and space
yet open
to boundless life
and a fullness
of self-contained love
unity
of all things
without beginning
or end
the infinite
life-line
the wheel
of life and death
the point of no return
of coming home
full circle

Coming Home to You, Mother

You gave me my first home

as you carried me with you,

for nine long months

safe, inside your sacred womb.

You gave me my second home

as you cradled and nourished me

with your breath 

and your warm bosom.

You gave me my third home

as you made space for me

to take my first unsure steps

into an unknown world.

You gave me my fourth home

when you held and rocked me

to feel  safe enough to sleep

when I had lost my way to myself.

You gave me my fifth home

when you showed me the way

to love something beyond myself

so that I could get back to loving myself.

You gave me my sixth home

when you gifted me both -

roots to hold onto, and wings

to fly to a nest of my own making.

You gave me my seventh home

when I had my baby

and you held him in your arms,

the way you had held me.

You gave me my eighth home

when you stayed with me,

held my hand, and wiped my tears,

to give me strength, when I was ill.

You gave me my ninth home

when I gave my baby

the space to grow and be himself -

what life gave to me, when I was in you.

You gave me my eternal home – myself,

so I could open it out to the world,

while I find my way back,

to come home to myself

and to you, my dear Mother.