Perfect Storm

The loads shifted

on two container ships

in high winter winds.

Nearby I’ve been praising Oya,

Goddess of storms and breath!

O Uncontainable!

Our boxes will never hold You!

We can never tie You down,

never defend ourselves from You!

You run stormy in our lonely veins.

Take these poor men so far from home

to Your dark breast of plenty.

Rebirth them in Your womb of night,

each soul a star!

I reach my arms in solidarity with them.

Storms, wind, and sea, and death

are not our enemies.

We open to Your gynergy, fierce Mother,

raging against injustice, against greed:

a circle of spirits opening to the Center,

gathering power for Love,

from deep within ourselves

where Oya reigns!

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018