For my sisters
Ink and royals and skin and boils
And the words that pour as the tears wish they could, yet what I know is that I must refocus, and not drown within these watery deaths, use my strength to swim, to channel, to root, to steer, to guide my energy clear and centered and down, down , down, deep into the earth. Though, as I rise back up the surface, my heart aches and it mourns, its groans like the wood upon a ship as it moves in the waves. What is it all for? I have moments with friends aplenty, sitting in sacred circles constructed of our own togetherness. A candle brought forth, a story, a song, a grievance, a lesson. There is something truly divine that we share when we gather, when we sit in presence, in the richness of the depths of our experience without trying to make it any different, when we just simply allow it to be what it is, with some focused and direct movements, a root sent down here, a cup of tea poured there, a prayer over our meal. Words like “connection, gratitude, trust, and truth” infuse our food, and we eat and eat and eat in the intentions. We taste the essence of the chef, whomever it is that prepared our nourishment, which friend chose to take on the task of feeding her sisters. And from here, we sink into the folds of the abyss, with our clear hearts and rooted bodies to guide us.
We sink, we swim, we allow all to be. Words pour forth, encouragements, blessings, dreams and wishes. Reality sits like a heavy weight upon our backs that dispels the more we give her our breath. Love is the common tongue, the only truth that really matters, as we face the darkness we see in one another, as we nurture all within ourselves. A gentle hand upon one’s outreached foot, saying, “I’m here, I’ve got you, you are not alone in this.” Some birth our dreams, pouring out of their open hearts like water over rocks, crashing off a ledge into the river below. Others meet the river herself, know her flow, dance and sing and play and yearn with her movements. Yet still others stimulate our minds, our intellect, our passions, our innate knowing of righteousness and justice, lighting the fires of revolution within our blood. Others teach, through their lives lived, their stories weaving elaborate labyrinths that are always open to question yet seem to stun wide eyed listeners as the details are relived. We hold each other, we swim to the depths together, we sit side by side no matter what is happening. We learn and most importantly, we remember. We remember who we are, we remember what has been taken, and through our communion, we bring it back. We reclaim all that has been scattered or stolen or killed out of us. We hold all, all life, all humanity, all suffering and all joy. We remind each other where we need to focus more, where we need to release a bit, we remind each other of our worth and where we can extend out another hand, to create true inclusivity in our thoughts and actions. Oftentimes we seem to still undermine and underestimate all that we are doing already, all that we are, all that we have done, all that we will do. Always striving for more, to heal, to help, to live. My sisters, we are the makers, the dream creators, the story weavers, the truth seers, the prophesiers. Oracles and stars and Goddesses made flesh. We do not shy away, for as women, we all know death.
One little step or one galloping leap, we do it all together. We work magic through our cells, our tears, our laughter, our tenderness, the softness of being a woman. The strength of being a woman. The agony and the ecstasy of being a woman. The truth of who we are, and what we create when we gather. It collapses empires and builds new worlds before the stones of the last have even reached the ground. This is what life is for, I do it all for them, I do it all for you, I do it all to see these worlds of love finally come through.
