I was born of the Earth, as much as of any human mother, and yet it was Her bosom that suckled and nourished me as I grew. And into Her arms I still run for refuge. The human who gave birth to me had been too distracted by a need to compress as much pain and suffering into a single-point in space and time to ever be there for me. Let alone nurture me. But Mother was there.
And though I know Shee was with me always, it was high up in an Alpine Fir where I first heard Her sing. Out amongst the branches, amongst the pine cones and the bugs, there was Her voice singing, and whispering to me truths that no one else cared speak. And so I listened, and I learned, for many long and happy years.
I visit Her still, out there among the worms and the ferns, where Her primordial wisdom speaks in whispers, imparting a gentle knowing through Her subtle showing… that tips Her hat in such splendid ways; if only one is watching, and listening, and feeling.
Deep into Her darkness I often wander, alone for hours, yet never lonely, just once again that little girl with twigs in her hair.
Of course now you come,
high there on your horse.
Its taken you further, further than you ever thought you should go.
Could, of course Could
because that was the way, until it weren’t.
Until someone asked you to stay
Oh way-ward fucking heart… tear me mine, and mine again
and when you whisper… like time caught up in cotton sheets just to make them fine
well, go on and damn these tears of mine that fall,
fall e’er forever for I have erred so many, many times.
And you here now, put nail to coffin,
put pliers to nut.
You my passion, my intersection,
oh… the reception I never did truly trust
and so I did rust here on my dirty little hinges
creaking instead of speaking,
a head outta time.