A Truth Once Known

I fear this may be a little disjointed, perhaps two poems in one. I wanted to bring in some of the symbols of the priestesses who offer me challenge and invitation: Mary Magdalene, Eve, Hildegard of Bingen, Marie Laveau.


Meeting the High Priestess

How do you enter? How will you come?
Will you pass through the gates in perfect love and perfect trust?
Will you push back the veil of your own free will?
Do you have clean hands and a pure heart?

Contemplate roundness: circle and arc and sphere.
She holds out the apple, the egg and the skull,
the pregnant belly of the moon,
the round face of the grail,
the spiraling ends of the scroll,
the coiling round of the python.

Speak your Truth, and enter, and the Mysteries will be revealed.
Will the Truth set you free, or will it bind you,
with your dawning knowledge, to responsibility?

For ignorance is no longer bliss,
and a Truth once known
cannot be unknown again.

TOMORROW’S PROMPT: The Fool, still heady with the mysteries of today, will meet the Emperor tomorrow. Will he be a challenger or an ally? Or both, perhaps. The Emperor makes the laws, sets the boundaries, holds you accountable. He can be willful and demanding, tyrannical when he is unevolved. But when he is truly doing his work, he creates a balance and a structure within which the Fool can experience a sense of safety. He’s the Apollo to your Dionysus, the Roman to your Greek, the outline to your ramble. What poem will you make of him or his laws and boundaries?

Gratitude List:
1. Dead nettle. Have I mentioned dead nettles lately? Fields of purple glisten in the morning dew.
2. Glory clouds on the way home from work, sunrays streaming down. Clouds. All Clouds.
3. Fried egg on toast.
4. Sun on rain-wet leaves in the woods.
5. A pair of Canada geese have chosen to make the pond their home for now. They have created an artful nest at the edge of the pond, and Mama is sitting on it.

May we walk in Beauty!

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3 thoughts on “A Truth Once Known

  1. Uncomfortable Archetype
    a found poem

    If I can create order out of chaos—
    categorizing systematic shape and form,
    organizing applied reason
    coordinating a plan,
    the jaguar cloud of speech will reach me.
    I will listen to hopeful, softening,
    lightening up in order to be approachable.

    I turn green feathers upside down,
    strain upward now, strain to grow,
    to be heard or seen.
    Holding necessary burdens
    in the crook of my arms:
    a load of firewood for the house,
    toys for the kids,
    a new tree for the garden.

    I am pausing to chase my breath.
    It’s been a long hard day of building,
    and at the same time, of trying
    to keep those green feathers
    from growing too obvious.

    Tenderness is not something
    I am comfortable with.
    Hard work, logic, deep thinking, yes;
    but not this tickling at the base of my skull,
    where I can’t quite get a grasp on it.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. On Tue, Apr 4, 2017 at 9:46 PM Mockingbird Chronicles wrote:

    > Beth Weaver-Kreider posted: “I fear this may be a little disjointed, > perhaps two poems in one. I wanted to bring in some of the symbols of the > priestesses who offer me challenge and invitation: Mary Magdalene, Eve, > Hildegard of Bingen, Marie Laveau. Meeting the High Priestess ” >

    Like

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