Earth Mother

 

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I feel quiet settling into my bones

in the midst of this churning, agitated world.

Is this inner peace or exhaustion?

I can control nothing but my breath,

my preference to stay peaceful,

while riding my waves of grief 

for a world spinning off its axis

with suffering and injustice.

I retreat.
I turn inwards.

I mourn. I breathe:

breathe in all the turmoil,

breathe out such peacefulness

and good will as I can muster,

a prayer for an earth mother, ill

because we are so many

and our enlightened ones so few,

yet

a mother who still wakes radiantly

each new morning, showering

her gifts on those who are attuned to magic

and those who cannot see, alike,

a mother who knows she can give the gifts,

but not control how or if we receive them,
or whether we use them for good or ill,

a mother whose children have
taught her surrender well,

but still a mother who wants herself
and all of her

wide and wondering world
of beings

to live.