Friday, February 5, 2016

The Hermit





                             










                                for J9

36 years before her death
a Legend wrote that she would be 
a Legend

her silent longings plumbed the depths of nothingness
she granted and guaranteed her own Self space & silence
pulling on a disguise of sackcloth, barrier of aloneness
aloof inside the walls
buffered by miles unpeopled
enclosing her sex in ragged wool and wildly hacked hair
delicacy of feature belied by smut & char
her normally pristine love of self subverted by her desire for distance

distance from the welling throngs to welcome inspiration
listening for the words of her Mother on the wind
she wore a mask
no mask to those who knew her only by her voice
she searched beneath her skin and among the molecules of blood
between the interstices of muscle & bone for that connection
felt so strongly
always fleeing like mirage in blazing dusty desert
self knowledge ‘scaping like a footpad in the night, bedecked in soot
need only close the eyes to disappear

rebuked by Dawn she wends her way, eyes crusted with unwonted slumber
her dreams came to fool and cajole
and then to have the very Dawn say it' s all lies!

once more climb on the bus, never meeting any eyes
turned inward; they never heard her anyway
she knew the city was only temporary
her home among the darksome buildings where trees, supplanted
pushed back to mountain fastnesses
called her name in the twilight mornings mist
the city attempted to delude her but, not fooled
she pushed her way past throngs on crowded streets, seeking Light
they let her go, not knowing what they lost in her unheralded passage
the brilliance in her eyes’ enigmatic gaze

she inhabits the souls of street sweepers, window washers
children carrying water buckets or petrol cans, beggars
and market day women down from the hills with their wares
any whose lives are lived at the edge

she could never find her way, if she opened the door to their lives
and their hurts and their passions
her words came out of the ether, her prayers the only conversation
what she was told by the goddess made her electric
made her kin to the pinpoint flaming shards in endless night skies
made her cry out to all creation in ecstatic agony

she tried to die, was unsuccessful
burnt and broken, still pursuing the Mother of her dreams
through every drug and most subversions, cultural explorations
beyond the known boundaries of the universe
she crashed and roared downstream
eyes wide at last  
she walked into the mountain sunset always a stranger
laughter begging entrance, her soul's door flung open
the Goddess of the Night entered on solemn feet
lay down with her and told her
She would be the Light in the interminable darkness
a candle to guide her to the break of day

she lived inside the sea, the sky, was buried in the earth
gave her songs into the air to breathe 
always maintaining her magical identity
the Muse and Muse’s tragic victim



© 2013 pamela twining





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