Follow the dark raven to the body of what has died. Walk into the room of grief. You’ll find, there, a child mourning.
Bring her in through the door of your heart.
Dab her lips with hot hawthorn. Wash her body with fresh mint leaves. Wrap her in tender cloths of motherly love.
Here, she knows her grief blooms and is tended to like a seedling that carries life. Your strength is the strength of the moon, to shift and move an entire body of sea.
***
I devote myself to ghostly projections, dreams of my own making. When I go back to love them, they’re gone.
So I go and create from the clay of my longings something stable this time. No walls collapsing into sadness, but vessels that reach upwards and stretch with joy.
I enter the garden of dissolutions, I come here to die and surrender the leaves of what no longer is – to soil. Of who I no longer am.
Like broken pots I go back to earth to moisten, to begin again. Water of aliveness making me into something malleable.
The earth forgives me, always. Dark soil from which all begins and ends.
I pray to Mother, not for love itself, but to crush the barriers I have built against it.
I pray for Her to burn my illusions like resin to hot coal, for my eyes to see with clarity what is.
What is
what is
***
Your Heart child sits by the well of dreams
so let her love what she loves.
the night owl brings her back to the home of truth
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