And so after the silence of lifetimes, She pours forth
What’s in her Heart, and feels free finally just to Be.
Behind these secret walls which She herself has erected,
She emerges into the light of her own Life, waiting patiently for Her to arrive.
She sees not what has been created by Others to contain her Spirit
But the space beyond, echoing in her bones to emerge Free.
Are you done, my child, with that which no longer Serves?
But to allow the new and the old to dance into that which you are Becoming.
When innocence and ancient blood mix within One being
It emanates that which is the matrix of Creation out into the world.
Free of fear, She flies forth into the unknown landscape,
Into the very Heart of her own Wild Spirit, lost unto Her until now.
Are you alive?, She asked of me once, knowing the answer
To be one of great complexity known only to the Great Wanderer that is Her Soul.
Freedom knows only what it has yet to Be.
Being knows only what is has already Become.
Round in the circle of life She becomes polished like a stone
Of eminent beauty and useless character, until She awakes.
When she emerges from the Lake of Tragedy which has once been her home,
She realizes that the waters have only fed her Spirit with greater Strength.
Nothing becomes whole without succumbing to ash first
For the Emergence relies upon the embers of destruction.
The Resurrection was never meant as a destination,
But as a place of journey beyond Her eye to see.