October 23, 2013

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

October 21, 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? 

October 14, 2013


Birthing Woman                                                 Lucy Pierce

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 ,
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,
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,

Lucy Pierce © 2013

October 5, 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