Gilgal

Roll back the shame of my slavery.
I have carried my reproach for years,
Wandering in my self-imposed exile
Refusing to lay my burdens down
And be still beneath the scalpel of your discipline.
But here at last, my freedom is at hand
Roll back the shame of my slavery.

It was the stories that awoke me –
Stories of love and self-discovery
Stories of vibrancy and life.

I listen and within me
Stirs the part of me that is story, but not my story
Our story
That of woman, women, flesh and blood,
Spirit trapped but not without certainty of coming freedom.

In the ensuing stillness
Heart cries, “Breathe!”
Soul whispers, “Drink.”
Spirit commands, “Shine.”

I am not a story alone,
But tied to all the stories that were and are and soon will be.
It makes me stronger, wiser,
More able to be that which is within me.

I find I am alive.

The heart of love
is too slippery to hold.
It refuses to be tamed,
defying capture.
Instead, it draws all those who seek it
out into the unknown
following elusive paths
led on by hints and whispers
ever hoping for one
full, untainted moment in
the heart of love.

Clouds,
like fading brush strokes,
come off the mountains
to line the darkening sky.

Could it be
I see the hills
slowly losing their souls,
blown free
by dusk and twilight?

sweet soul
weepy, beautiful mess
beating heart
falling tears
more broken than I knew
tender heart child
I'm sorry I abandoned you

I would ask the sand,
“Don’t you ever tire of the waves
with their endless coming and going,
drowning you with their advance,
drenching you,
before abandoning you to the harsh wind and bare sky,
leaving behind only their refuse
and the endless promise of return?”

I would ask the sand,
“Don’t you love the waves
with their faithful return each morning, each evening,
washing you clean,
refreshing your parched shores,
drawing men and creatures to share in your joy,
renewing your purpose as play place and guardian of the sea?”