Pieta

I sit with all crucified pain across My lap,

the mountains the contours of My compassion.

I Am Sacred Heart, Broken Heart,

crescent cradle rocking sorrow, martyred love,

Myself the Crucified One, One with all suffering

(all species and all souls abused, in need of healing.)

Each underground nuclear blast is a spear thrust in My side,

all disrespect and waste My crown of thorns.

(Shall I forgive them when they all know what they do,

and do it anyway, over and over again?)

Mother Mary, I Am Gaia, Mother Earth, Crista!

Star of the azure Sea,

I Am the Oceanic Womb containing Spirit,

beloved, Self-Fertilizing Mother of All.

Like Eve, I Am not allowed to age and die

(not allowed to be 'part of god.')

The circuit of our energy is broken.

We are not allowed to become Crones

(wrinkly old wise ones, witches all!)

We are forbidden to act

to move the cycle toward rebirth.

My rosary, My litany, My names, My prayers, My praises

are older than Christianity (Winged Isis forgotten.)

Mer and Mare were sacred aspects of My power.

I Am not allowed My memories, yet they flood Me.

They stampede through My dreams,

powerful horses, night-mares, waves of the ocean.

There was a time when Virgin meant One-in-Myself!

My shawl, My shell, My shrine

sheltered hope before time.

(I was primal Cave Bear,

furred womb-bearer, fierce Mother,

twin-breasted crescent nurturer, suckler of respect.)

Then, the moon was not just beneath My feet.

I was the Moon, guide of womben, My lost daughters!

Cave of Creation, I was the Source.

The stone will be rolled away from My silent mouth.

I will rise with a quaking of continents,

arise in a whirl of wind,

to stand radiant, resurrected,

My mantle the blue of space lit with stars,

My crescent arms reclaiming

the full moon cycle of My power.

I Am Ever-Virgin, Black Madonna, Holy Ghost!

The repressed cycle is turning!

I Am Mystery!

My time is coming, and will not be denied!

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018