Some wounds
will not let go.
They have not come for that.
What pains you,
shapes your soul,
has come
to claim you,
call you
to your knees,
instruct you,
induct you,
reveal to you
the elixir in your heart,
the Mystery in wilder, natural
ways, in the ways
they taught you
to turn from,
to fear.
To snuff.
You see,
the medicine in your fundamentally
dangerous
human
capacity to imagine, to expand
into ecstasy, shatter, melt into
prayer,
when everyone
is looking,
calling you
crazy?
Some wounds insist you
let yourself
be crazy,
Beautiful.
Let these wounds
teach you how to be
beautifully
human.
Unleashed, animal,
embodied, snarling,
spitting,
laughing,
making
fucking
noise
enough
to save your
soul,
to prepare you
to love
the earth.
That is what these wounds are for.
These wounds are Beauty-makers.
Some say, Trouble-makers.
I say, same thing.
Let these teachers
initiate you
on the terrifying ground
of what undone
smells like.
Let these teachers
show you how
to ravish the sacred
nature of your being.
And then,
give it all
away.
Make it sacred,
sacrifice
what has kept you
small, safe,
sweet and good.
With this song
of sacrifice,
I lay down
this sweaty
vow.
Let’s submit to sacred
terror,
salivating,
anticipating the wild ones,
the hungry, come
to carry us off,
take us
to ecstasy
in the breath of the divine.
We gather,
mustering
sinew,
bodies
grown ripe from
carrying land song like
archaic prayer,
tears
pulsing in
the under
ground of Dream
in landscape
verdant beyond
the Machine’s measure.
Allied,
torn up to bone.
Ripped hard to warm and
runny.
Ravished by Darkness.
Shiva, Shakti, Durga,
Gaia,
Pachamama,
Ashpamama.
Warmed by outrageous
hope, without
knowing what for.
Soul of the fecund,
the animal body,
the anima mundi
come to re-collect
a debt, a dark-winged
vow
to Mother.
To Beauty.
To Love.
To this luscious,
animal
body, come
to give away
this fragrant
sacrifice
to the blood of tomorrow.
© 2014 Melissa La Flamme
Meet Mago Contributor, Melissa LaFlamme.