She-story…

She gifted me with responsibility, saying I was the one entrusted to hold it. She said hold it close, hold it well, don’t let them tell you it’s formed from hell-ish flames and fires and that it’s wrong; this is not wrong, this is the music that’s found in the spaces between songs and the darkness that surrounds you when all hope is gone – this is not wrong. She said, Her heart starting to glow, as my eyes caught light, and followed fright to the substance held below. And in that cave, beneath the fear, I found Her devil’s fire, the flames that burned and came to life, that torched the churches spires. The phalluses and fallacies we worshipped eyes turned blind, as we swallowed whole their seeds of hate and tortured our own kind. And sickened from their poisoned eyes, our throats sewn shut with pain, we rested in the shadow lands until the time did come again. We grew in strength, we stayed unseen, we walked the paths where no-one’s been; we forgot ourselves for our own sakes and hid amongst the ships long wake. We rode the waves and swam with Her, as inside our wombs began to stir. We tried to wash it all away, hoping the tides would turn someday. But the feeling grew, that burn inside, that yearn for something, knowing someone lied. The questions would not go away, they kept on pressing, night to day. We pushed it down, and suffered pain, the bones, the muscles cried in disdain. We were forced to come, we were forced to feel, we were forced to remember that this was real. The hate, the lies, the loss, the cries, the screams, the blood, the held down thighs; the entry forced, the pain that came, the broken bones, the shattered brains, the murdered youth, the beaten wise, the loss of life from behind our eyes, the way they took, the way they hated, the way their lust was never abated. The way they took the wild and turned it into something to be learned. How can you learn what you already know? Love is not taught – love IS the flow. How can they say that we don’t know, when our blood runs red with the pulse of Old? We are the keepers, we are the Ones, who know the secrets of Her to come. And She came hard, and fast and long, like a well-timed note within a song, held on so long that you are found inside, and She caressed your soul, peace you’d tried to hide. For you knew the future as did I, it was hidden in the past of lies. Picked through the rubble, the truth did beat, from the heart drenched Earth beneath our feet. She pulsed, and sang, and beckoned and called, until the heart based warriors were enthralled once more. She called them Home, She called them Here, armed only with Love, no need for spears. The Whole is soft, and strong, and silent, no need for weapons of fear soaked violence. No need to forge effigies of wombs, for they were damned and turned into tombs. Except from the depths of one of these, rose the Saviour armed with the long sought keys. That man who rose up from the dead, reborn from the Earth to the body – the bread. Unseen by all was the blood that pumped, through His harrowed veins, when that stone slammed shut. In the darkest hour, She still flowed through, keeping Him Whole, keeping Him true. She took Him in, and loved Him back, after Man had turned His white to black, or black to white or all to grey, who knows the truth of that light dark day. From the Earth’s own womb, He came again, and walked three more through tears and pain. For He knew, He knew, it would be distorted, the story would change, it would be contorted. And just like the circus, this act would seem wrong, a contortionist’s body wrenched to a sad old song. We would look on and wonder how this could be, but we would not question the anatomy. We would swallow the story, and take it as true, no-one dare ask where She went – even You. But you would wonder so quietly, in the dark of the night, when the witching hour came, and all shook in fright. You; you would question, and peek at the moon, and She’d caress your soft hair and whisper “soon, my dear, soon.” And you’d go back to bed with your heart all alight, barely able to contain the joy of the night. And She came more and more, til She burst out of your being, and then you spoke out loud at the wrongs you were seeing. The Lovers were here, their dance coming round, and She took you inside without even a sound. In the dark of Her cave, you were given a gift, and She knew you would use it to heal the rift. And here we do stand, on the abyss’s edge, our toes holding tightly to the precipice edge. The secrets you carry, and the gifts of the night, tell me clearly, so clearly, that our there, there is Light. And so I step out in faith, knowing I will not fall, and I pick up my heartbeat and answer Her call. I am Here, I have walked this long harrowing road, facing obstacles, monsters, and insanity’s goads. I have walked faulted steps, and tripped long and hard, but I have picked myself up, removed fear’s deep shards. I am stood in the spaces, and the gaps and the dark, for in these long lost places, I found God’s own heart. The stories may have been lies, but it was part of a scene, to give way to this act, what is now, not what’s been. When part of the cast, you struggle to see, the bigger picture played out on the Universe screen. The screen is a spiral, you can never see all, expanding and changing with infinite fall. All we can do is enjoy our small parts, and play them out well with joy in our hearts. For this isn’t misery, this isn’t damnation, this is LIFE, this is LOVE, this is time for elation. In the darkest of days, the truth still rings true, that I am alive, and God is in You. And God is in Me, and God is in Them, and God is in All, and God’s here Again. God IS. God Is. She is all, She is nowt, and into the Unknown our spirits now scout. Like snipers with rifles fashioned from grace, we walk on ahead, bringing Love back to this place.

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