Her Fury

 

Her fury is a ripple
in the ocean of peace.

Her anger is joy.

Whether you are man or woman,

both man and woman, or

you rest in the sexless splendor

at the center of the rose

with Adam and Lilith swimming

in a bright black seed,

honor the Motherhood within you.

She has become your breath

so that you may offer healing songs.

She is the hollow thread of night

that runs through your spine,

a serpent of lightning.
Ravenous for your ashes and bones,

she demands sudden awakening
so that your astonishment

may be the force that whirls her.

Give birth to your own flesh

the way a flame engenders a candle.

Let the golden sun of her silence

rise in your belly

and the full moon of her wisdom

gaze from your brow

even while you sleep.

A tear of ecstasy in one eye,

a tear of sorrow in the other,

see through the veil of this world

into her terrible sweet face

which is your face.

Every moment on earth is a mirror
made for this seeing.
Between out-breath and in, the sky

is cloudless and self-radiant.
Like bubbles in wine
worlds sparkle out of emptiness
for no reason but play.
Rest here and heal
both rich and poor,
the violent and the voiceless.

Speak like a wordless flame

for those who have forgotten
who they are.

On the hinge of your heartbeat swings

the gate to her garden.
Dissolve the land of the past,
the ocean of the future,
through the ineffable lucidity
of your opening.

Painting by Frida Kahlo