The Deep Within and Spirit Memory

The Deep Within                                                Lucy Pierce

This piece has been created as a part of the Red Teepee, a community arts project facilitated by Michelle Buggy of Birthing Art Birthing Heart, which has gathered together a myriad of women's creative expressions celebrating their relationships to their wombs and to menstruation.

Spirit Memory

My Spirit so deeply remembers

and I dance both in the exquisite grace of that remembering

and also in the pain of the body’s forgetting,

as though I were still too small somehow

for the bigness of that Spirit memory,

or perhaps still too full of other things.

Life continues to gift me though,

with the clashing dissonance of that interface.

It is infinitely tenacious, the lapping of that memory,

eroding the resistance of my wounds,

the timidity of my with-holding,

opening me ever so tenderly

to eternity

and to love.

Lucy Pierce © 2013

Was There Ever One More Loved Than She

The River of Tears                                          Lucy Pierce

A picture for a family of extraordinary beauty, as they ride on the river of their grief, in the vessel of their vast and immeasurable love and to she who dances now in the everywhere and the forever. Was there ever one more loved than she? 

Wild

Birthing Woman                                                 Lucy Pierce

Wild 

I see you there wild one,

how brave you are to bare your battle scars

and show us your wounds,

each step a courageous risking

of your infinitely tender heart,

to show us who you might really be,

beneath what you have been

so brutally asked to be.

I see you letting your hair go wild,

letting your fur thicken,

taking  the risk of setting the wisdom

of your own pheromones free,

without mask or disguise,

I see the blood on your thighs

and how you paint your brow with it

for a deeper vision.

I see that your awakening is not easy,

I see the torment within

and the undertow of your smallness.

I see your clumsy faltering

and the fear in your eyes

as I feel them within me

and I say to you, show me more,

take me deeper into the great mystery

of what we might be,

what we might become,

unshackled from our shame.

Brave one, I see you

and I honor the courageous path

of your sometimes painful

and exquisitely sweet unfolding.

I see the work you are doing,

there in your darkness.

And dear one I know that you came here

with such a precious and pristine wisdom

to gift to this world,

that you and only you can share.

I know how agonizingly buried

and brutalized that treasure can be,

and I beseech you,

for the sake of our Mother Earth,

to awaken your singing heart,

in the dark soil of your inner being ,

awaken.

Listen to the keening of your gift,

and heed your tentative whisperings

as the path that will lead you

to your knowing again,

of why you came here

and of who you are,

awakened.

We all of us belong here,

embedded deep within the heart

of this sweet Mother Earth,

and to each of us She whispers,

Her keening to heal,

the ululating of Her home-coming,

to Her children who have strayed

so far from the vast lore of Her love.

So come home to your body,

for it is here that She speaks,

and through all those energies

and beings who have already remembered

or never forgot that they belong to Her.

Turn your ear down to Her breast

and listen.

Wounded one,

dive deep into the heart

of your wound

and come to know

what is hidden there.

Stop your battling

and listen to that great silence,

spreading across the land.

Still yourself and listen . . .

I see it now,

I see the gentle power you carry

I sense the roots drop deeper down, 
your anchored gait.

I hear the rhythm of your dance upon her blessed back,

I see your gaze no longer apologizing,

I feel your medicine shine

as you walk with your Mother

home to Her,

awakened.

Lucy Pierce © 2013

Holding Us

Holding Us                                                         Lucy Pierce

Sometimes I feel like I am navigating my way through life with three beating hearts, six eyes with which to see and question, three mouths to feed and twelve fumbling limbs to co-ordinate. Sometimes in the wild dance of mothering these little people, I don't know how to also be an artist.

Lucy Pierce  ©2013