Category: Mirrors

Her mirrors

the Weaver, dear one
she will wind your essence upon her loom.

Offer her yourself
and she will paint you
into her warp of mirrors
carelessly spilling your emotions
so that she may see herSelf.

The truth of illusion
is a dangerous dance,
the drumbeat you hear
may be the rhythm of your heart.



You are fire.
Compelling me to reach
into the sun, touching your essence
of poetry, passion and pain. I feel
the orange of amber and loneliness
the crimson of my own skin, responding to
hands that see beyond my fear, tempting me
my own limits.

You are the stars
brilliant constellations present only in darkness
describing my universe, sharing your secrets of
past and future. I study you
mystery that you are
and find answers to riddles I had
no hope of understanding until you.

You are flight
twisting and soaring above rivers
of polluted waters
gliding on currents only you could create
risking the fall, the pull of darkness
giving me your wings, lifting
me to meet you. Teaching me
as only winged guides can,
to see the other half of my soul.


early years are still a mystery
pages erased
by self-preservation no doubt
i know they mark me
color me with their darkness.
My only memory beforeage9
is of a dream
a nightmare.

My first experience with doctors of my dreaming
was at age thirteen.
Psychiatrists Neurologists Tests
making notes they never shared
hoping Id grow out of it.

Again at twentytwo
more testing, notes, drugs.
A rare form of epilepsy
causing auditory hallucinations
night terrors
dissassociative states.

I had not outgrown it.

The years that followed were close.

I met a Teacher
and then another and another
until I began to see through
the sleeping pills
the fear that had prescribed them
And began to listen
to the voices I had heard all my life.

Had I been born into another culture
this teacher taught
I might have seen what i heard
as a gift
rather than a nightmare.

Ive spent years now
tying to understand
to accept to know
I have learned to live
with them a chaotic peace
noisy crowded head.


my hand
Dance with me
down the winding path,
and live fully in your Life
as it unfolds.

Shed what covers you,
and I will paint your skin with dark mud,
marking you,
tracing ancient rhythms.

I will weave a crown of leaves,
and place it on your head,
If you will bow to passion.

Part your lips,
Taste the juice
of Life’s ecstatic fruit.
I will drink from you
with a Thirst you have never known.

Run with me,
Breathe in the strength of Oaks
that line this path,
and I will show you the secret of Flight.

Trust your heart,
and I will offer you mine.
Trust my heart,
and I will teach you the mystery of Courage.

What waits ahead
is the Unknown path.
Take my hand.

Samhain Dreamtime

have ever been our womonsymbol
to dance to mate to grieve to withdraw
our rites of passage, our transitions
to become the Goddess
of Moondark. of Croning. of Death.

What do you Dream when the Veil thins ?

do you hear the weeping of an ancient tree
or of the spider who’s lifework is lost

do you face the winds,
the tunnel between nightmares and death

do you know the agony of emotion
exploding into shards of color
do you bleed as they pierce your flesh

do you see the faces of your grandmothers
as they give Birth, as they die, as they discover
how many can you name
how many know your Name

do you dream the lives of others, blending your
self with their pain until you
must stand and Name yourself again
or be forever lost

Will you whisper to me your secrets?