in the cave of the moon...

4/22/15:  stream of consciousness writing after a movement session

on knees wide — a cave — reaching back — reaching into a portal — reaching for a cord of life —

it’s red, in an orange glow, a water cave surrounds — black rock of cave with a water arch flowing along the inside arches….glowing orange center, a red cord, my hand reaching from outside to inside cave

red cord: its body electric, red, glowing
hand searching searching for when I severed the cord, its end a dull, pale, dusty brown rope, frayed

I left my poetry, my words, my spirit dance
carved into a wall of cave

a white dress-clad figure turning, skirts eel-like flowing, waving through cavernous halls

tongues, a language unspoken for centuries

yet in the lilts, waves and curls of sounds-rhythms —the body of our words emerge from these rolling landscapes

the cave

in the cave of the moon

The words of John O'Donohue, Irish poet and philosopher, cross my path only hours after my moving-visioning-writing....and I feel the invitation to perceive myself within a larger picture of creative life. 

No man reaches where the moon touches a woman.
Even the moon leaves her when she opens
Deeper into the ripple in her womb
That encircles dark, to become flesh and bone.
Someone is coming ashore inside her,
A face deciphers itself from water,
And she curves around the gathering wave,
Opening to offer the life it craves.
In a corner stall of pilgrim strangers,
She falls and heaves, holding a tide of tears.
A red wire of pain feeds through every vein,
Until night unweaves and the child reaches dawn.
Outside each other now, she sees him first,
Flesh of her flesh, her dreamt son safe on earth.*

*The Nativity, from Conamara Blues by John O'Donohue; listen below. This poem is included in the On Being show "The Inner Landscape of Beauty" with Krista Tippett.