Labyrinth

As I walk in to the centre I feel tired

as though I have been on this road

to the heart of me for millennia,

each step a stripping back of what is not truly me,

impatient and alive with expectations unmet.

Sometimes excruciating this stepping in,

to walk through the fire of my own burning,

and it is sometimes as though I were dying,

my belly a gaping maw inside

as I turn from my conditioned self

and bare witness to the screams of sabotage

calling me back to those who would have me stay

on the harried outside,

forever abiding by the needs of the other.

So that each footstep is an act of courage,

risking sanity and a world that would always look

how I've always known it to be…

and then all of a sudden,

like a great surprise I am home,

to have come at last to the centre

and to rejoice in the homecoming,

to the core that is the taproot beyond time,

no one else to ask the question of but me.

The moist juicy folds of this full hearted throne,

silent and listening at the great mouth of the universe….

And then to turn,

like the great grinding of a vast axis,

and move back into the world,

but now drinking within

from the font of her forever wisdom,

anchored now in the full weight of what I am

and grounded through the vast portal of the womb

into the gravity of the Earth,

my heart attuned to that celestial merkabah

and alive with feeling follicles

like a ripe fig turned inside out.

So that I am walking into the unknown life,

the unknown me.

Allowing myself to be born anew,

and alive to what the now would have me be.

How do I stay true to this ever deepening knowing

of where the centre lies

and how to move from there into the world,

sourced and true and full of my own selfhood.

And as I walk, bleeding, retracing my steps,

I can smell the blood of my previous passings,

the endless cycle, into myself and out again,

forever shedding, forever returning,

forever losing my way, forever coming home.

Lucy Pierce © 2013