SoulCollage(R) Card: Diving Deep
The Return ~ Geneen Marie Haugen
Some day, if you are lucky, you’ll return from a thunderous journey
trailing snake scales, wing fragments
and the musk of Earth and moon.
Eyes will examine you for signs of damage, or change and you, too, will wonder if your skin shows traces of fur, or leaves, if thrushes have built a nest of your hair, if Andromeda burns from your eyes.
Do not be surprised by prickly questions from those who barely inhabit their own fleeting lives, who barely taste their own possibility, who barely dream.
If your hands are empty, treasureless, if your toes have not grown claws, if your obedient voice has not become a wild cry, a howl, you will reassure them. We warned you, they might declare, there is nothing else, no point, no meaning, no mystery at all, just this frantic waiting to die. And yet, they tremble, mute, afraid you’ve returned without sweet elixir for unspeakable thirst, without a fluent dance or holy language to teach them, without a compass bearing to a forgotten border where no one crosses without weeping for the terrible beauty of galaxies
and granite and bone. They tremble, hoping your lips hold a secret, that the song your body now sings will redeem them, yet they fear your secret is dangerous, shattering, and once it flies from your astonished mouth, they-like you-must disintegrate before unfolding tremulous wings.
I haven't written much lately on this blog, busy preparing for and leading a Facilitator training for those who want to lead workshops on SoulCollage(R) - in French. As well as being immersed in translating documents and reviewing material, it has been a sweet, long summer of savouring the garden full of perennials, the ever-present roses; and now the switching of the seasons begins - the golden days and glorious skies of Autumn are still with us, but soon it will be dormancy and winter cold.
These inbetween times or transition months are full of little moments when you realize the transformationn has begun - ah, the geese are winging overhead - it must be time! Or you notice how dark it gets at supper time, 6:30 already dark! And you find it hard to keep your eyes open past 9:30 pm. We too go through dangerous times of transition and transformation - and this edgy poem reminds me that there are many cycles to my psyche, and I must pay attention to the cyclical changes in the sky and in my soul.
SOULCOLLAGE(R) CARD: the Tired Animus, Jennifer Boire