Oh too beautiful 2010 I love you, don’t go!!! The Chinese Tiger year that swept me to far-distant shores and balloon carts, cut coconuts and rice paddies emerald green full of frogs, night orchestra bizarre, flying through the clouds and whizzing through Balinese villages on the back of a motorbike, splashing water on my face from the holy well and looking up to see beyond the grime of my own mind, into the infinite lightly with a twist of a golden key and so many kind smiles surround me.
The billowing incense as my sisters and I stepped through the magic circle to Temple, blessings abundant in beauty kissed by Aphrodite and naked until the blossoms pink and white dress us priestesses -worshippers of the old ways, the mysteries we find together and bind once more to the light. Before Lilith I fall in faith, my broken chalice an offering to the darkness, the pain I have not shunned, the deep underworld I have blindly wandered in so long waiting for the time of my final sacrifice and in three days and nights rising with a lion’s eyes, slowly padding away from the ruinous land i had believed was my only home, my prison. Moving with Her into the vast desert of space, keeping her pace which I now understand to be my own. She pulls the thorns from my paws and runs her long fingers through my mane, whispering my name. Her words once more pulse scarlet and quicken my blood : “Remember who you are…..” Je suis la reine de rien still and more; to be seen and to disappear is our destiny, we creatures so alike in behaviour to a virus poorly caught in an old string net, struggling like little fish of various colours and similar design.
I celebrate a decade without television and nurture my aversions like a perverse brood of illegitimate and raggedy children. A sea of swirling purple paints gold the precious lives of my unborn children, the spirit family that hungers for a home in a human skin. I sink into reverie in an unguarded moment, my mind a gnarl of Victorian petticoats heavy in the acqua profunda – I must undress if I am not to drown in past fancies. The red Turkish glasses hold rose buds now the whiskey’s gone and the red blooms in the rain. the sky has cried my tears and the gardens grow lush and wild once more I lick the droplets from the faery chalice and look up to see a face peering at me from inside the house – strange days indeed. So every tram I miss is not mine and every silver cord i travel takes me far from the madding crowd. My chariot flashes antiquated black plumage: with a flourish and a dip my arrival is marked by Shadows on my bedroom wall -a mass of alien tendrils shimmy the peacock feathers: he laughs at my vanity as I tilt the mirrors with an unabashed gaze, mesmerized by something I never can quite find – but then perhaps it has been the mystery all along which seduces me and not the seeing itself.