Heart Flower

The heart flowers, overnight in the moonlight - like the San Pedro cacti tree at Martins’ place - resplendent with glory in the light of Luna. And only for a few days - only for a short time. In that magic, for it is magic - only the night eyes see. only those with a draw to the dark come upon her beauty. Spiky and spiny for any to touch - but oh her fragrant jasmine scent. Like a tree of life in a desert - an oasis for the world wary traveller. I was going to write about the small quake I felt over my breakfast - your nearing midnight. I followed the tremor up to the avocado tree and communed with her awhile. Healing is what she said - sexual healing - I cannot know - what one means when one follows the flow and happens upon life being lived fully in the moment - but my loins were adrift - moving in slow and steady ways - feeling the ground of healing - the touch of nature - raw, unrelenting and unutterably tender in the same moment. I was bare footed - a portal to where you are standing in Éire. Standing there in church - the church of the earth - and somehow something passed through me too. Prompted me to sit down and feel her, channel this darkness into darker ink. The flow of the goddess is undisturbed - has been for all time - waking up are us - waking up as earth - the grief the earth feels to have lost us to the skies and to the heavens. She wants us back - to sup upon her - with her - to be her servants and companions. Don’t mess around with small talk - dive right under the waves - be fully soaked in her wild that you may know the penetrating presence of cold rain, of thunder and quaking skies - and lie back on the clay you came from - gasping that she take you back, take you into the innermost sanctum - the heart of her embracing the heart of you - the fullest expression of her cosmic life thus far - wandering, wild human clay that you are.