Who I am

Her cry’s can be heard in the evening or in the morning; it comes with out warning like a child scorn, a soul torn. Searching forth for a mends.
It howls the loudest in winters chill as if the cold air calling for cleanse. Blowing away what remains on the surface, so it can pierce the scars below to peal at the residue build up in ones life.
An in the quiet breeze and silent tears of her hot breath, carries sounds of woman mourning a child’s death. It is her burning away the layers of a forgotten past. So it can bring the healing in.
This my friend is Mothers Earth,
The Wind.


Deanne
2-14-04

Shadows Of Time

As I sit in the sun clouded mist staring out the window within the attic of my mind. Reflections of my true being seem to flutter like moths against the window pane, seeking the liquid light to fulfill their beings and transform them into butterfly’s and send them soaring into the glory of Gods infinite flower garden some where beyond sight.

This has become my own sacred place, storing away the many pages, the many chapters of this single life filled with lifetimes of an unconceivable journey. Now I was here staring out this window one last time, for soon I will have cleaned and cleared away all that once remained of woman I no longer no, for she no longer lives here anymore. Glancing over my shoulder I watch the stream of sun light glitter as it dances across the cobwebs lying amidst.

My thoughts reflecting on the building of memories and the tearing down of conditionings and sorting through the attic of my past within the scattered cob webs along the corridors of my mind, searching for that special trunk that expels the karma from our soul and sets our journey into a forgotten pathway, the journey we incarnated into human form and believed we would complete.
It is there in the corner with a small stream of light shining in upon it. As if too illuminate the trunk and pierce through the gray dimmed attic. Kneeling into the dusty floorboards of time, I slowly open the trunk to see what treasures or discoveries I may embark in. Yet find nothing more than ancient scrolls and human skins. Pulling one of the skins worn many life times before and shaking the dust off, as too shake memories of lessons learned of inhaling life and exhaling death.

So many skins, so many life times hoping this time I would inhale death and exhale life, life into the sleeping goddess the ancient soul living in a body only you have come to no. To awaken the Divine goddess would mean to awaken yourself into a reality that are only found out side this trunk by the scattered echo's of your dreams that call out to you in hopes you would follow the voice to where the goddess lay.

Deanne
2-12-2004