Digging deep into her rich, musty moist darkness
Searching for my roots,
I encounter the memory of my ancient grandmothers,
Their hands reaching to clasp mine in remembrance of what once was.
Buried by the lies and layers of heavy domination and violence,
Sitting in sacred cave by liquid fire,
Pouring stars into teacups,
Laughing amongst themselves,
They patiently wait
To see who will come through the mysterious vulva/opening of birth and death, though, both illusions in the great Round, we are beckoned into initiation, dancing with Form and Space.
They look at me, full of life, glistening cosmic eyes of the YoniVerse that know no violence against women and children, no rape of womanheart, womanmind, womanlotus and sacred womanearth…
Hearts full of earthy love, joy and wisdom.
And yet, their diamond tears stream down ancient earth-carved craggy creeks in cheeks
They tell me we have been foolish to think
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