WOMYN OF THE MOON

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We womyn of the moontime,

following in the footsteps of

the shamanic dreamers of the past,

hearts attuned to the sound of the drum,

and the voice of the Watcher within,

know that, in every sister's herstory,

is an old wise woman with wrinkled cheeks,

a cackling laugh, and earth-based knowledge

of how to Be, of how to be

She.

In this grey-cloaked winter of the dream-time,

we must remember to water

our parched womanly roots,

hold fast to the place in the earth that is ours,

as the winds whip our branches,

and the cold seeps at the edges of our being.

There be danger in this domain,

if we try to stay.

As the days slowly lengthen,

we reverberate with the rhythm of the tides,

those wild winter waves that knock our hearts

off the shelf of safekeeping,

into the depths, where we rediscover

what we forgot

that we already know.

There will come a time, just before spring,

when a woman has to step from 

the shore of the familiar

into the ocean of womynkind,

open our eyes in the space

between the old world and the new,

the darkness and the light.

There be no old maps to guide you.

You must follow in trust,

with a wild, wolfish, instinctual knowing,

from which you will emerge,

keen of eye, imbued with wisdom,

to mother the whole world.

One from 2014, when Wild Woman was afoot, and not so tired, for the open link at Earthweal.