Keeper of the Fire
A woman to keep the fire
A jingle of bones clinking bones
She feeds the flames steady
All alone, all alone.
Her skin may be leathered
Her eyes without sight,
But she keeps the fire going
Through the night, through the night.
A whisper to Spirit
A gathering of wood
The woman chants softly
She listens to fire
She gives it all she knows
The wisdom of a woman
Never goes, never goes.
Let Me Know or Let It Go…
You want me to grow into a flower that is perfect for you
But you have nourished me with half-truths-how could I have knew?
Your words are sugar-coated, trying to hide what’s underneath
It is obvious something’s off when you smile through clenched teeth.
When you had a problem with me, you should have let me know.
If that was impossible, then at least you could have let it go.
How can you expect anyone to learn from nothing and change
When you avoid all conflict and speak as if on stage?
You assumed I wasn’t worth it-to teach me something new?
Let your anger silently build while giving me no clue?
I would have listened to your worries with an open mind
But instead with you it is gossip and cynicism I find.
Well now I am seeing past the curtain and trying to forgive,
But don’t think for a second that I will put up with this again.
We are poets. We are wildmen. We are wanderers, seekers, cave dancers and star bathers. We come to live for the deepest meanings of the universe and are ready to experience the infinite.
To judge another’s path is to be blind to our own and we are ready for a change in spirit. Let us be awake to our own beings and be alive to where we are, right now.
The wisdom of traditions have been passed to us and we accept it graciously. The teachings have been roots for us… systems developed to help us touch the source of creation, the earth, our mother divine.
But let us not forget why we came in the first place. We came to this path in order for us to grow our own roots. We came because we once believed we too could have direct contact with the Limitless, beautiful, mystical divine.
In order for a scientist to dissect an organism, it must first be dead- stagnant of the flowing life that once ran through it’s veins. As spiritual seekers we do not wish to do the same. Let us be present with our original intent: to feel the mystery and in honoring it we are delighted that it can never be tamed. It can never be fully known or understood, for like a delicate flower, it shrivels in the light of the full sun.
-by B. Waller