Sometimes ,
When my deepest knowing drips honey in the most pained inner roars in me
-Like a tree’s thick sap ,
My palms unfurl , head tilts back
as my throat whispers a longed and thirsty hallelujah,
This body rests - solidly still,
Rooted and receptive, to this inner anointing,
Whilst this nectar slips its way
down my spine and up my throat-
Touching my forehead- alike a goddesse’s hand ~ baptising my spirit , into the wisdom of the galaxies.
my gaze turns inwards- where I am met in the core of my hive’s wisdom.
@Copyright Maria Kefalogianni- from my upcoming for ever unravelling poetry book🙏☺️
ALL, of my poems fly through me complete - In divine inspiration- . I can NOT write a poem at will. I am surrendered to the death/ rebirth of this life, which includes poetry. Paradicslly the deeper we let go the deeper we get baptised into and as creation, itself.
In this divine process , I become the flower and my poems become the bees , who I receive and let them pollinate ,little me.
The human touched by creator in this in- between / liminal place is the sweetest nectar gifted by existence .Words will never suffice to capture the sweetness of this sap.
In this process I m becoming ONE- with the sacredness of the bees
The art of creation , and the creator ( what ever as humans we feel this is).
As I reflect on this I am beckoned once again by the infinity of the potency of our inner creation.
How this place in ourselves CAN be untouched by all weathering and produce honey despite all winters rain . How does the bee know when to arrive for pollination. It is exactly the same way our psyche knows deeply when the arrival of this sacred union comes ,inside our own selves.
Follow me on substack for a deeper elaborate part of this inspired writing
image by @karen nell McKean -
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