Saturday, March 4, 2017

Ixchel

You take what is beautiful about me
and make it ugly.
You are afraid of my mystery
and want binding answers
with rigid straight lines 
and definitions I cannot give you
for I do not know them myself,
nor do I really care to know.
The unknown scares you
and you lash out
like a wounded animal
trapped in a corner.
The closer I get to you,
the more closed you become.
The sacred feminine both calls to you 
and repels you.
An ancient wound revealed,
that I cannot heal.
Yet seeing my Beloved wounded,
the Mother in me
is compelled to try,
only to get wounded myself.

So I retreat to lick my own wounds.
Like Ixchel and her jaguar,
waxing and waning moon 
at the same time.
For as I let you go,
I feel myself expanding again
to my full roundness,
filling in my curving lines,
voluptuous and strong,
threatening no one
as I shine from up above.
I only wish you could look up 
and see me,
feel my light.
Maybe one day,
you won't feel the need 
to pull the moon from the sky
and hold her in your hands.
But can fly up to join her,
like Orion.
And we can dance among the stars.

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