SOC Writing _ 1st December 2020

 Ritual Space

Clean page. Begin. Audience – look up. This is twenty times the ritual – ritual in the face of many faces – embracing you as you step into your rock circle – made by you, made for you. What do you want Baba Yaga asks? You, you who have your whole life not known what it is you want in the face of others wants, in the face of that question. Make it a quest. Make it person, make it sensual – let the whole world know that you are fucking alive. This is for you – for your next step that you need to take – create, create, create the great chasm between you and everything you need. Take your time – feel into all the spots – sore, angry, wise and take one small step, and a little breath – each part of this way has you – is held solid by a Stonehenge of ancestors and these your sisters from other mothers and Magic Mike waiting to strike that fucking pose. Hold it – butt out face clenched – this is your becoming – the robes of women are sung in the plain sight of your innocence, your nakedness – this ritual space is for you – did I say that? For you – hold it precious – drink it in and put on the sheepskin a request to the gods for a decent answer – for a decent into the black, for a fire to catch light – burn all the dross – drop all the crap and come home to the one thing, the one thing you must do. Aching he lies naked and sane on the floor – knives about him he is raw - the women gloat in apparent victory – he is healed, he is whole – he is son, he is soul. He is none of that – tigers claw, violent maw – the cross held on this back till raw – the knives out in a fight – this is dangerous to behold – beware your glances – you many catch his eye, his ire – may bother just the wrong part at a time of great alighting upon – the things you fear have become physical form in front of you. After all, this is ritual space – and what did you expect? A honeymoon?