I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.
But I realized recently, mostly in the instance of spiritual related questions, that I have a trigger that makes me clam up almost immediately. If someone asks me in ways where I feel scrutinized, criticized or grilled I become very evasive, even secretive about things I would otherwise be quite frank about. If someone asks, well what are you doing about that? What kind of spells are you doing? What's your daily practice. Who are you making offerings too? I make vague mumblings in response or I say, I'm not doing enough obviously or I sometimes just play it as if I am not doing anything. I realize there are probably childhood buttons being pushed here. I also realize that most of the time people ask because they want to be helpful, not be condescending. However, there's an element here of Mom telling me to go brush my teeth when I am walking into the bathroom to do just that or Dad yelling at me to take out the trash when I've just come in from doing it