The Heart of a Woman | Unconquerable Love
In gratitude to Nicole Sah Ixchel who unfailingly plays the strings of love in all her posts.
The image and poem below inspired this writing.
Finally on my way to yes I bump into
all the places
where I said no
to my life
all the untended wounds
the red and purple scars
those hieroglyphs of pain
carved into my skin, my bones,
those coded messages
that send me down
the wrong street
again and again
where I find them
the old wounds
the old misdirections
and I lift them
one by one
close to my heart
and I say
She rises before the sun everyday listening deep within the vastness of inner space, there are days when the outer rush of doing invades her mind, all the running around, the hours of daylight that propel her toward a destiny part known and the mystery of the great unknown. At times the rush of the current is so strong that it takes all her focus to stay upright and in the middle of the great stellar river of light pouring through her from the heavenly realms.
She sits silently on this holy day allowing the slow churn of the spinning galaxy to form and reform her very Being, the immortal quietude of existent presence… far off in the distance she hears the tick-tock of the metronome marking the passing of cosmic time.
Today I mark for myself the day I made my return entry to this Earthly plane, it is marked in remembrance of the first impulse as a flash of light in creation. As I sit I find myself pulled back to moments so full of grace and promise; a small child sitting in a shallow rivulet of water as the river rushes past in small rapids over smooth boulders . She sits in a state of wonderment picking up the water polished and colored river stones, one by one she holds them in her small hand. A respite of innocence in world going madly down a rapid of destruction, she’s heard her parents speak of the threat of a big bomb. Today I will make no more time for this, simply mark it as the ever present juxtaposition of choice… My sweet child was abandoned to find her path alone.
Swirling through all time she remembers a deep forest, a sacred grove where her small finger swirls in a stream making little vortexes that have her mesmerized. The waterfall that veils a secret cave accompanies these moments in it’s melodious fall. The world is not so dense, all the trees shimmer in a emanating light. She comes to this place often for the forest creatures are curious ones and they watch from the shadows of the protecting trees, this brings forth a smile, a shower of inner mirth and joy.
My personal story isn’t important any longer to anyone other than myself for within it is the story of all of us in the mulplicitous variations on a theme. Our story includes terrifying abuse and the accompanying trauma, this is juxtaposed with moments of supreme happiness and others of diligent work, each moment marked, each experience divinely devised to bring us closer home to our essence. It is the personal life lived within the impersonal, two aspects of self that have joined hands and walk together.
This page has remained open for more than two weeks now beckoning me to write that which has formed and reformed in my consciousness for I have come back to the image again and again, listening for the secret it wants to reveal. And so I bare my breast and heart with some words.
Looking upon the tender breast of a woman is the maiden, the innocent blossom of womanhood ready to give herself to the world. As she unrobes her body to nakedness there is a longing in her heart for her Beloved.
I must pause here for a moment as the tears rise once again for this child-woman’s innocence was ravaged in great slobbering greedy takings. Her tears are your tears too, the ones you won’t cry. Listening before I go on with these words a melody plays in droplets of sound, each tear that falls runs like liquid gold silently giving birth to the red rose carelessly plucked from her heart leaving nothing but thorns that pierce and twist and bind.
Life is a continuous stream, at times full and overflowing with the promised land of milk and honey, some fabled barely remembered place. The woman’s body carries the call of life to be born and she enters into motherhood, mostly unprepared and yet what awakens within her is the nurturing love for tender newborn life. A tiger like protective nature emerges that her child will not suffer the feelings of abandoned unworthiness she had to claw her way out of. She blossoms with every smile her child gives in the release of inner joy. She has given herself over now to another being who is deeply rooted to the fiber of her soul. This is a woman, the womb of man, it is her nature and her biology. I do not want to linger in philosophical debate nor belabor the sad state of affairs on our planet … This is Her mystery, the one that the male has been trained to desire and because he can not possess this quality too often what arises in him is a desire to destroy her. It’s changing now as She has become aware of the golden Lion-hearted men who are awakening to their divine role.
Entering through tunnels of time now she arrives at the ageless doors of Wisdom, this is still too often characterized by the crone or bent over crooked woman hobbling around in the forest. Yes ladies, I do recognize that is not the true meaning of crone however it is within me to break all paradigms, all delineations and separations. For in Truth within the Triple Goddess is the three, one does not cease to exist because another emerges. Always present is the ageless One, She who walks outside of time… The oracle and the seer. As worldly demands give way to quietude, as engineered beliefs are stripped away, as over wrought emotions subside She makes her presence known.
When she touches your feet in devotion, surrender. When warm lips kiss your forehead know she giving herself to love’s union, when her breath is shared in a kiss partake with expanded wonder and when she kisses the back of your neck in unconditional love remember who you are.
She is holy, holy, holy. It is our time to protect the inner sanctum as we are drawn through the eye of the needle. No matter the sorrows, the traumas, the lingering self-doubts, no matter now the complexities, nor winning nor losing … all of this is ceasing in the great in-pouring streams of photonic light. This I see with both inward and outward eyes. The sudden shimmer of rainbow light as it emanates through the budding leaves of our relatives, the Trees. The feral cat that crawls up into our lap and turns over to have his belly rubbed, the hornet that played in the water of the hose and then crawled around on my friend’s hand in curious wonder fluttering the water off his wings in a fine mist that looked like fairy dust. … Yes, my little one is finding wonder again, slowly magic is coming back into our world.
And soon it will be a tidal wave…
Stay humble, stay small for in the tiniest thing is the greatest love.
When the eternal and the human meet, that’s where love is born – not through escaping our humanity or trying to disappear into transcendence, but through finding that place where they come into union.