Octopus

The key stone of the mothers - emerald green - deep in the earth - unseen. I have to go there - place my key in the lode and be free to return to the land of the living. Right now I am in the underworld - the land of the dead pushing doors, trying locks, hoping to find what I’m so desperately looking for. What am I looking for? You? Or something else? Something deeper - myself - Yes that is it, I am look for myself - but even then - I am just looking and feeling my way around. You know - when you are in the dark and have to feel with your hands - the cold, clay passages - not knowing quite where you are - you sit with your tears - let the wailing come and go and make some sort of beauty out of the soily mess. The muck under your nails, the dirt on your feet - smells like an old festival - but you are looking for something new - a new life - something new - a new life. I could go on - making wary with my tears - perhaps this grief work has to be done - woman or no. It is mine and it is beautiful to come upon - terrible too - takes a lot out of me - when I could be doing...what? What really when the world is burning? What shall we do? Definitely grieve - yes, definitely be stopped in our tracks. My country needs to grieve - something terrible has happened in our midst and I fear it is going under the carpet. A day or a week of mourning I call for - call forth in myself - all the division - all the hatred stirred up in us, against us, against one another. I am sorry. I am so so sorry that I did not love better or speak up more - now, we are here - ready to find ash and smear it upon my wounds - your wounds.