The Throne is Broken

The throne is broken
The fancy hat no longer fancy
The bone has been taken back into the earth
The vulture has cracked

A single thread, so finely woven
Gleams in the sunlight
Do you see?

I ask: Where have the frogs gone, during the drought?

I walk on, invited by the valley
Past debris, ruins
I pray to find my way
Walk on walk out
And round and round
Back up again
Make a stop at my home
Offer gifts, receive
Find the door, the path

A gate, a passage
Round and open
Enter a new cycle, a new round
Rhythm in my step even as the sun is setting

Meet friends along the way
Their voices comfort my journey
A hug on the pathway

I tread here
Turning corners
Looking in looking out
I notice the colour of the flowers, the season
The theme, the chakra,
Make meaning, flow like a river
Yet circling in on something
I reach it
I pause
I sit
I let go of all striving


Let come

Thoughts fly in like birds on the evening breeze as the sun sets
A single hadeeda’s cry sounds heavy across the valley, deliberate

The being dies the moment the flame leaves
The rest is decay already
Feasting on the carcass ‘til the bones are picked clean
Dry and white
Bleached by the sun
Then I sometimes return to collect them

It is done
I rise, to part
The way home is still long
I trace the passages in, now going out
Circumference, the sudden movements
Periphery to centre
Small beady eyes look out at me from the dense thicket, curious
Watching my every move

I see the exit, yet one more turn
One more passage to complete

This is a challenging practice
A generous practice
A reciprocal practice
It propels life forward
Everything balances out

We don’t hope for miracles
We rely on them