I am the curves of a labyrinthine spiral, dipping my hips in the way only I can. If you inhale my scent, you will smell vervain and meadowsweet, with a hint of lavender. I wind my arms in this dance, hands fluttering above my head, almost drunk with my own power, my power-from-within that is mine and mine alone. Between my thighs, the dolmen arch, heavy with its own perfume and laden with the greatest power of all: Creation. Mine the darkness, mine the light, mine the satisfaction that creation will never cease, that creativity will never die. I am a spiritual being having a human experience… I have knowledge to share with this Universe. I speak, and the Universe hears me; the Universe speaks, and I hear Her call. I am never silent, not fully, yet in the silence I am fully myself and utterly whole. I wear stars in my hair, the earth on my feet, salt on my sacral chakra and oh, I taste it whenever you kiss me. I see you as the Universe made you. I see you in energy, pulsating, technicolor, bright. I feel you, your every worry and your every loving thought. You speak to me without even opening your mouth. Your heartbeat is like a drumbeat to me and if you knew how I dance within at hearing it, you would marvel and perhaps you would smile. You have no idea how I adore you… Despite the fact that we do not really know each other, not in the way society would have us know each other. I love you with the fire of molten lava and it burns me utterly. And you are not the only love in my heart. It tears me apart day by day to know that I am part of a small faction that loves so utterly and without discrimination… I despise knowing that the majority of folk surrounding me do not know the complete feeling to be had from allowing all of the chaff of shallow thinking to fall away and loving the entire world, upon sight and upon intuition, without end. We are not all awakened to that sort of light. But I, I am the woman with the changing eyes, a little broken from humanity’s cruelty, and yet the peace within is much greater than the utter calamity without. I consider myself fortunate. Because to me you, and your friend, and the world, are poetry. Quiet, yet constant and shining poetry. The most beautiful in the world. Not even the greatest poets could capture it on paper, not even the greatest artists could put it on a canvas, not fully. But if we allow ourselves to recognize it, we are living it each day. We see it, feel it, taste it, touch it, breathe it. But we don’t know how to truly drink it in. We do the best that we can.
But I, I am one woman who knows better than the best that we can do. There is so much more. And I am the dragon circling the world, the wolves biting the tails of foxes, the richness of packed, wet earth, the sweet honeysuckle flavor of forest spring water, the darling down of the owlet and the cthonic growl of what lies deep down underneath us all. I am the moss upon the rocks and upon the bases of trees, I am the sunlit waters at the edge of the lake and the sand perpetual upon beaches and smooth upon the bottom of the sea. I am the witching herbs and the nine woods and the bonfires round which my sisters and brothers dance and the feasts they consume for ritual and pleasure.
I am entertwined with the heartbeats of millions of other human beings, of the owls and nightengales, of the foxes, of the bears, of the wolves, of the coyotes, of every being, trees and plants and flowers. I find myself tangled in many roots, especially in my dreams, where walking above the tree line is a deep and sweet pleasure. In certain trance states, meditative and submitting to my inner world, I can feel the spin of spirals and I can feel their pull. It is like getting drunk, except exquisite and heated like lust. The fire deep within fans and I can smell the sap of a pine tree waving under my nose. Waking, in wake-time, in the outer world, I can still smell it if I concentrate hard enough. This journey is a marvel.
So I, my dear, I am no damsel, I am not wilting flower, no shrinking violet. I am not in distress and I never will be again. Saddened by the world around me, certainly, but not in any dire trouble that I need anyone else to rescue me from. I do not need your sword, your armor, your gallant. I have my own, and it is all forged in the depths of hell and so stronger than the strongest of steel. I am my own vault, my own helm, my own breastplate, my own gauntlets, my own bravado. It is all part of who I am, and I do not need to be given the world, for I contain the world within my Self.