The Mystic

27 Jul 2019

She wears the earth
like her own body
and her hair is crowned 
with stars.
The odours of the woodland
where faded butterflies seek shade
on a sweltering summers day
hang
sweet and heavy
in her lungs.
She hears the hum
within the deepest silence,
as the patterns
ebb and flow,
intimately entwined
with
all that exists
as it dances through her.

Unique and fiercely independent,
yet without borders,
no boundaries.
Transparent,
even fully clothed, 
she is naked when Neptune visits.
She feels the pulse of Mars
in her veins
as an agitated stranger passes by,
and courageously she
coaxes and cajoles
her Venus to soothe him.

She sees the empty space
that teems with life,
and feels the reverberation
of its vibrant buzz
penetrating every
conceivable void,
each cavity in resonance.
She feels it rattle through her bones.
Each membrane dances in response,
a shapeshifter is she. 
Nursing the cosmos
in the pit of her belly,
pregnant with probability,
potentiality.
Which version of
infinite possibility
shall she birth today?
Light curls,
vital,
up her spine,
each vertebra is formed
from the wisdom of the ages,
and of times as yet unknown.
She gazes all around her, and smiles inwardly,
as she sees nothing
but herself reflected back.
She feels, she Truly feels,
and with every Breath
she Knows.

 

- Words & Digital Art by Peta Morton

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