Poetry

Body
Dancer
You are the cradle
which nestles my soul
in constant longing.
Let me blend with
your subtle grace
so that I too
may know the joy
of besotted bliss, of
tender undoing,
transformative lust
for newness and
wondering.
Torn with creation
and settled within
earthly myth
you and I,
I and you,
formed in the space
between birth
and death,
are the fragile
and the eternal
intertwined in
intricate dance
for the radiance
of the Beloved

Mind
Mind
Together we carve up
the infinite space
into pieces.
We pretend that now
is not real
and all of the
yesterdays
we’ve known
are the truth
of what makes us.
Entrap me
in your vivid wonder.
I want to swim
in your cascading
preambles to creation,
to frolic in
the still polls
of your inner knowing,
to hear the truths
you whisper to me
in the quiet spaces
of still time and
broken moments.
Allow me to bridle
your power
to transform nothing
into word
to carve space
into form
to transmute chaos
into understanding

Soul
Orchid
Photo Credit: John Fortuin, © 2008
You nourish
the fire
deep within
the monument
of being, where
stillness abides
and death
is freeing.
You bide your time
while we frolic
in the chaos
waiting patiently
for your time
to remind us
of what we are.
When all is done
body lies still
mind lies quiet
You find us there
in the ashes
shivering like
newborn petals
yearning for
light
when we
no longer know
who we are
all pretenses gone
all veils cast away
all masks long buried
then we know
our identity is yours
and yours alone:
the eternal
the only one
which
ever
was
is, or
will be
 
 
The Seeker
Embers
Poetry seeks in the darkness.
It slithers though back alleys
looking for lost songs
for wandering souls
for fading beauties
for ones who once
blazed with the
glory of ego and skill
then found them to be hollow,
mismatched
and devoid of gravity.
It finds the spark in them
still glowing within
the dying ember
of longing.
It stirs the flame
in the dark and hollow
in the damp and deep.
It whispers a melody
of freedom from
defiance and dread.
It seeps in
through the cracks of
the heart’s desire for
something it cannot name.
‘Awaken and see’
it cries
‘let me show you the reason:
It is not to understand.
It is to see
to bless
to transmute
and to pass on
something more exquisite
than what was found.’

Fire
Fire-heart
The fire within you
was lit
long before you
were here
and will be here
for many eons after
 it is the fire created by
the light which
escaped Pandora’s
sacred box,
it is the fire that was lit
in the belly of Eve
upon swallowing
the wisdom of
the Goddess
it is the desire to
bear the exquisite
burden of being,
in order to know
evolution’s intelligence
to live in a
separate chamber of
the divine heart
where we create ourselves
again and again
it names you
blessed one
it speaks to you in
the astral tongue
of movement
and transformation
seeking the
deepest rhythm of Gaia
and creating flesh
in its image

 
Wandering Ones
Autum
We have wandered
in the relentless night
slept curled
within the mists
of sorrow
we have known
unbroken wildness
and been
bound by the vines
of earthly longing
we have clawed
our way through
the thickets of
knowledge, only
to find the ruins
of wisdom
we surrender to
the vestiges of
inner veracity
we lie naked
before You
like virgin flowers
seeking to know
their own majesty,
to open
fully to the
Beloved’s gaze
so that they
may see themselves
           Unfolding
                             Unflinching    
                                Untamed
the last of our illusions
strewn like diamonds
on a black mirror
tossed like pennies
in the fountain of hope
for none’s sake
but that
of desire itself
for no reason
but that
of beauty itself
You lead us to
the waters
of feral bliss
unmanifest splendor
we drink of this
light with the
thirst of a
mad woman
lost in the desert
and we know
there is no place
we can ever go
where You will
not find us 

All above poems © Christine Fortuin (aka Rhea Jamil), 2012

Song of the End
Galaxy
Mother of Twilight
tear us away
from the
density of time.
Initiate us
into the ever,
the all,
the breath
of the infinite.
Baptize us with starlight.
Wrap our souls
in the shroud
of rapture
and sound.
Create in us
everything which
has been lost
and all
which is unknowable.
Let us speak
in the toung
of grace,
in which all
vibrations are
one
eternal
song.

Christine Fortuin, © 2011

(This poem is appearing in the 2013 We’moon datebook)

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