Insight: Behind my eyelids (another ascension poem)


meditation planter

inbreath when instructing myself to sit and not do

the mind in pictures which flash, fade, emerge

a dog head beelines for my palm and nuzzles bumping cool damp nose bud

palms cupping buzz that tingles

feeling the light prickling where fate line intersects heart and head

waiting for what emerges

what is showing today?

the filmstrip inside my skull splices a never-ending collection of plants

I clearly perceive flowers, leaves of all shapes and colors

they keep coming at me, to me

how do I know them so well?

how do they know me?

in the library that lives in my cellular memory

have I stored and cataloged my interactions with these beings?

Am I a librarian, a botanist, herbalist, healer, a witch?

And why am I so reluctant to remember?

Having loved the plants so long, so well…

has this power brought upon me isolation, demise, misery among men?

remembering is awakening

there is fear, post-traumatic tension with excitement braided in

so many of us with herbs and weeds behind our eyelids

were martyred to human need for certainty, control, designations of good and evil

now insight is returning

as are balance, divinity of female and male

squeezing bitter drops of toxic neediness from each polarization

eager to relax and embrace myself and the plants inside of my eyes

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