Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Tree of Life

Roots deeper than any thought by Plato, Socrates, or Aristotle
but then again, they weren't so wise
the idea of an unchanging, disconnected divinity sounds absurd, immoral
an ocean of challenges could be levied, if pretentiousness won the day
so let it stand that the great Greek philosophers weren't so deep
at least not as deep as Sappho
exploring the intimate intimately
queerly open to the deep depths of love
oh, that sensuous depth was bottomless
Roots deeper than any poem by Sappho
Growing down into the wild depths of the earth
exploring every rock, every fossil
slipping, with great fingers, into unearthed stores of cool water
to quench her mighty thirst
widening ever further to provide the strength of a house built on a rock
it's not only people that need security
it's not only prophets who possess this wisdom
it's not only the religious who seek divine nurturance
Web of roots whose grasp is as strong and committed
as a mother's arms cradling her first-born infant
Scared, excited, joyful, grateful, connected, holy, hopeful
Trunk that bears her weight with grace
Dancing, twisting, shifting
Sacred circles growing onward, upward
Branches reaching out to embrace the world
but also to hold it back
she's no self-sacrificial Giving Tree
Shel's tree had no boundaries, no sense of when to say when
insatiable selflessness was whittled down by insatiable selfishness
her body was broken, her blood spilled
do not do this, in remembrance of her
in remembrance of her, she finds a different way to commune
Her open arms, swing out to touch the face of the universe
at times, beckoning all things into her embrace
at times, keeping all things out of her embrace
at all times, honoring the dignity and worth of her own life
Leaves continuously sprouting, swaying, changing, falling, and sprouting
Courageously celebrating the seasons in all their pain and glory
Glowing fire of fall
Stark clarity of winter
New birth of spring
Abundant life of summer
She is older than the seasons
Deep lines adorn her sturdy, weathered skin
Lines leading up to her ancient, gnarled fingers that have
stretched, unmoving, toward thousands of porcelain heavens,
unbeheld by others' eyes
Living embodiment of “still waters run deep,”
she vigilantly absorbs all that surrounds her
and part of her being resonates with
that which has been
that which is now
that which shall be
Brutally honest, her soul bares all
and reflects the true self
of each that pauses to gaze upon her triumphant branches
but she has no soapbox to step down from
no trophies to display
no ribbons round her neck
yet proud and courageous, she stands firm
and eternity dwells in her being

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