Great Grandmother Tree

I chose the path
Even though it had
Already been burned
The many saplings blackened,
The leaves churned asunder
Into charcoaled ash.

The path remained
This ancient many footed
Pathway
Hooves, claws, and footsteps
Trod the ever hardening clay

So this path
Surely,
Through even forest fire
Would remain.
And I wept at the sight of my
Mother’s robes
Lit as such,
Aflame,
Did the many birds that fled,
And the undercurrent there that treads,
Weep such as I?

This heart of mine that feels
Every separate life
As if it were my own?
And oh, the grief which with
Our own Mother weeps.
My heart stepping there
Was filled.

To see her many creations
Rendering the other’s to ash,
For none other than
Selfishness
She knows she made
us of better things
But we ever always choose
To decimate
Leave sorrow
And charcoaled land in our wake

We two legged striders
Hell bent to make a name for ourselves
When we were made in the image of Love,
By Her hands,
through Her womb,

And now in the wild places,
Far removed from man,
Here She lays her sorrow-filled head.
On the gently tindered bows
She weeps
In misery.
That those which
She loved so tenderly
Could become
So savage.
So as not to see
their own monsters
Looking back from
Their own eyes

Oh, but see
I’ve been given the gift
To see my own.
And for years I ran in horror,
Until I stopped.
And reached out past the darkness,
And felt a sad and lonely demon
Cowering there,
Desperate for love,
Sprung from my own heart.
So, naturally I loved him.
And he was healed.

So, now
How dreadful are we truly?
How desperately inclined,
If each part both dark and light
Can be healed with Love.
Are we the shining fallen Angel’s
Masterfully created in the womb
Of the Divine?

Awake,
Remember,
Your weeping Mother,
Remember love,
And be filled.

I found the oldest most gnarled
Grandmother tree in the woods
While walking after fire,
And bowed my head on her limbs
And wept,
For my mother,
For the fire,
For the devastation,
And for this life.
I gave her my own broken heart.
To be cleansed.
For Her ways are ancient,
And She’s seen many fallen
heroes before.
Her roots sink deep in knowing.
As her arms reach far and wide in longing,
As my heart does
For love.

I gave her my tears,
And she held me in understanding,
Forgiveness,
And together,
We each,
A little
Were healed.
In our shared grief
To be separate
To be the same
And
To be Born
Of this burning world.

-Angel Marie Russell

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