Wishing I would've called you more, prima. Wishing I didn't live so far away. Wishing you were still here.
Something pulsates in my body, a luminous thin thing that grows thicker every day. Its presence never leaves me. I am never alone. That which abides: my vigilance, my thousand sleepless serpent eyes blinking in the night, forever open. And I am not afraid. - Gloria Anzaldúa (Lesbian Chicana Scholar)
Near the path through the woods I've seen it: a trail of white candles.
I could find it again, I could follow its light deep into shadows.
Didn't I stand there once? Didn't I choose to go back
down the cleared path, the familiar? Narcissus, you said. Wasn't this
the flower whose sudden enchantments led Persephone down to Hades?
You remeber the way she was changed when she came every spring, having seen
the withering branches, the chasms, and how she had to return there
helplessly, having eaten the seed of desire. What was it
I saw you were offering me without meaning to, there in the sunlight
while the flowers beckoned and shone in their flickering season?
Institutionalized religion fears trafficking with the spirit world and stigmatized it as witchcraft. It has strict taboos against this kind of inner knowledge. It fears the Shadow, the unsavory aspects of ourselves. BUT even more it fears the supra-human. The god in ourselves.
