In-visioning inspired by Sara Sophia Eisenman and all the roses.
I see a path lit by many (safe) candles surrounded by gardens tended with love. I see fireflies and hear the crickets chirp. I hear the owl far off and the quick retreat of the scurrying mouse. There’s a bit of a breeze tugging at my veil and tickling my nose. This path has been walked many times before by feet nimble, solemn, and swift. There is a bell in the distance, not of urgency, but of soft welcoming home. It tolls for the sisters that have come before and have yet to arrive.
We each hold a piece of magic in our hearts and know with a sense of peace where each step falls, as it should, purposed, knowing, and whole. The path is embraced by trees covering, and moss tickles the tips of our toes. We are together and a part of a whole, women wise, sisters of love, full of grace and a knowledge of healing deep and ancient wounds.
They come to us from cities, broken with despair worn like a cape, their eyes haunted from the war they’ve felt more than seen, they have died more than they have lived. And we, the ones that came before them, walk the path together in remembrance for those that never made it home safe.
The gardens smell of roses, lilacs, gardenias, rosemary and sage. The plants, they talk to us and they heal us through knowing hands that tend them urging them to bloom in love, just as the sisters that came before tend to the broken hearted sisters that ever and always search and come.
And we welcome them home as they are, in pieces or whole, aligned or undone, invisible, or seen for they are as we have always been and we, the woken with eyes that see, have found a way out of darkness, we mark the stillness and mark of the path as we walk while the bell calls us home.
As we arrive the marble columns surround a languid pool and all that enter there are healed, cleansed of all the pain that came before, and we walk each step taking us closer to our own purpose, filling us with light and with love, we continue the walk up the hill out of the trees and cricket clicks to a mighty cliff where the temple lay. And She, our mother, the cave of the undying, the womb of our mother Earth, welcomes us as we come to pay homage for the blessing of this our life, full of triumph, and oceans of tears. And we, the lost and broken sisters of the world, finally know what each of our hearts have always longed to know. And the drums begin to call our brothers, their chants fill the creeping wood and they surround us in protection as we fill the womb and the world with our magic, our creation, our chalices of light as our Mother weeps tears of healing in the form of light rain. And our Father rumbles thunderous his cry mighty and strong.
Our sister song begins in unison, the melody to the drum and the chant, and healing settles on all the broken parts within us and without unto the World. And we awaken to the divinity within us; the energy beneath the flesh. And in that moment we become one with Her and with Him. It is not a fantasy, but the world I carry within. ❤
I love you sisters and brothers.
All things are possible through love.