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