The Book Of The Lynx And Amethyst

In my scripture the creation myth is a soft cat and a magpie, both taking turns rousing in the sleeping girl,
and the cat is animus and the magpie is anima.

In my scripture the creator is Ena and Ena is all,
Ena is fe(male) and neither and both,
Round and angular, soft and hard, open and ready.
Neither. Sexless and soft hands, calloused hands.
Looks at me with eyes of a magpie, smiles at me with the teeth of a cat.
Ena is the learning maker,
and she, he, neither, both, twin tongues, no tongues says:
Teach me.
And the words we speak to each other are those of impatient understating and frustrations.
We create worlds we don’t understand on the tips of our tongues,
in the bath, in my daydreams, in the spaces on the train.
And no one even knows the cosmos is being changed around us.

In my religion the temples are clusters of mugs,
towers half empty, towers where new life stirs.
Every stepping stone is a dirty spoon I have licked like a blessing.
The basket of donation is full of coffee grounds, milk and teabags.
Rivers run of sugar and honey,
and lipstick marks across the door.
Everything here decorated randomly in chaos whims, I am not a quiet priestess, pilgrims carry the towers up the stairs to me,
Ena tells me to drink water,
drink water,
then coffee.
It is in the commandments.

In my religion there is a broom on the wall so I can always remember that I start with brushing everything clean,
out the door.
The rituals are of water and fire in the morning;
the rituals are my hands in the earth,
my mouth around air.
They are silver around my neck, brass in my pillow, and a amethyst heart.
There are concrete hands on my face, there are things brewed in small bottles and drunk with reverence.
The rituals are always changing;
new seasons are blowing in and Ena changes like the leaves.
Ena is balance and sometimes there is fury in the steps we take together, sometimes there is calm.
Sometimes the temples get so high the pilgrim’s can´t even reach them anymore.
Ena says it´s okay,
it´s okay.
Fire and water in the morning,
fingertips in earth, lips around air.

Ena tells me;
Put your forehead to the ground, you are the universe, the maker, the religion, the scripture and you are the hymns.
Now pray.


Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s