For those of us who feel we are on the verge of losing everything but are not afraid.
The space-flinging, time-singing
unborn
Goddess First-Of-All,
Chaos The Free:
She casts the stars,
the comets, moons, the dust of light,
casts the flocks and flowers, any way they go.
She needs
no control.
She strolls,
cloud flowing,
at her own pace,
fearless as motion,
being what happens
just as it does.
She’s so unlike us
utterly
in Her essence,
so unlike us
She can stand
the freedom
of everything else,
stand it
and give it,
and praise it
as it follows itself
always
back to Her.
That’s the migration
we can’t resist:
Our best is Hers
when we become
so unlike ourselves,
so free,
that we can stand
not to know
where we’re going,
can stand
not to make safe
the freedom
of those we love,
always ripening in ourselves
the peace that is
where it is going.
(Image by Hubble Heritage)
So good, so sure, VB. Love this poem.
Poetry may be one of the few things that can carry us these days… as personal and public loss encroach upon our lives. You are always there, with the sure and brilliant poetic revelation. I am grateful!
Good job, guy….Love the line “when we become so unlike ourselves”. What a dark time we are in, except within our own state’s boundaries…Barelas breakfast soon?