Doris Lessing

OMG.

I just read that you have died.

How can that be?

Only yesterday, 

I was a young, sad, 

hurt and hurting woman,

who read your books

to find inspiration and hope,

a blueprint

out of the labyrinth 

in  which I was entrapped,

onto the solitary pilgrimage

my soul needed

to undertake,

to be

all that I needed to be.

I did not find you until the '70's,

but devouring your words

showed me a direction

that my soul could take

out of bondage.

The chapter where the women danced

and the men adored them,

so foreign to my own

inadequate sense of being,

my own experience,

yet it gave me

a direction

in which to go.

And one day it happened:

I had finally become 

the woman dancing,

while the men drummed, and adored.

All of the heroines,

all of the oracles and spokeswomen,

all of the herstorians of our time

are aging, dying.

I, too, am aging, dying.

Writing furiously until the last moment,

to make up for all the years

I didnt have time, 

because everyone else's needs

came first.

Your death

is a passage

into that Otherworld

that I hope will be

all this world was not,

that I hope will be

the Divine Feminine.