The Song

The Song

I find myself now singing a song

and sometimes it seems that the song

is like a tree with roots and branches,

reaching and grasping

and spreading the light from within

the dark core of its matter.

Delighted I find, that I am finally brave enough to share,

my voice woven into a matrix of other voices.

And although my song may fumble,

or my melody stumble

I am so deeply grateful for the song

and the delight of singing it,

surrounded by the harmonies of my fellow kin.

Knowing that my whole life might have passed,

without the gift of this sharing.

Because passing now are the years

of always wrestling with the lack,

and with the thought that there was something

that I was not,

that I somehow should have  been.

Too afraid to share the most true,

for fear of not being enough.

Too timid to gift the simplicity of my centre,

too complex even to see that gentle kernel,

so many layers of deceit wound around my heart.

And then making  that slow and gentle love

in the long dark nights

with She who loathes,

until I find that now, joy of joys,

I begin to see that I move more and more
from that centre point,

owning the wellspring within.

The dance rises, the image swells,

the creation moves itself

from that place that I value most within myself,

that fine and delicate gateway to beyond.

And I create not because I am good or not good,

but because I am alive.

The pure delight of sharing what feels most true,

that which belongs to the essence of this life-hood.

And I know now, sometimes timidly

and sometimes beyond a shadow of a doubt

that all that I need in this life,

I carry within me,

though still there are shrouds that fall

and rest in wait in the darkness,

still the stones and debris that stem the flow

of that ancient soul river,

that is myself from so long before I came to be me.

And I see now that age is in fact the blessing,

that it is the very falling away

of what I once had valued

that strips me bare of what has withheld me from myself

and as I shed and diminish in some ways

in others I ripen.

The medicine building in my bones,

the dream more textured with meaning,

the richness of the song,

finding its roots

twining back to the very pure beginning

when I was once awake

and deeply inside

the song of the universe.

Lucy Pierce © 2013