You are a supreme and generative creator.
You have spent years, and lifetimes, refining
the treasures within you. It is time, now,
to cast those treasures outside of you.
What have you been waiting for?
More money, time, support, knowledge?
Activate and release Your Work first,
then, those things you were awaiting
will appear. They will chase you down
and insist that you have and enjoy them.
You have died the death of linear logic.
Your feminine resurrection now summons
you to luscious life, born through your hips and lips.
Will you sway? Will you say? Will you allow
your season of free expression? Will you
add your nectar-fragrance to the air we breathe?
Or will you tuck it away, in an attic, for another time?
Your words, your curves, your underwater nerves,
are begging to surface, to be see, known and heard
by the hard angles, and the soft angels, that indwell
this place we chose to call home. Fluff the pillows,
set loose the power, that burns between your breasts.
That heat, that light, is not for your protective sleep.
It is for the risk of daily dawn. Mother, daughter,
sister, lover, matriarch, queen, goddess, that You Are.
Wait? I think not. Those days have set.
Would you think the sun or moon "polite" if they withheld
their luminosity? You are no less, and no different,
from those icons in the sky. And the world will remain in disarray
unless and until we stop this waiting. And, instead, start beaming
the beauty and wisdom and comfort and harmony that is ours to beam.
You have spent years, and lifetimes, refining
the treasures within you. It is time, now,
to cast those treasures outside of you.
What have you been waiting for?
More money, time, support, knowledge?
Activate and release Your Work first,
then, those things you were awaiting
will appear. They will chase you down
and insist that you have and enjoy them.
You have died the death of linear logic.
Your feminine resurrection now summons
you to luscious life, born through your hips and lips.
Will you sway? Will you say? Will you allow
your season of free expression? Will you
add your nectar-fragrance to the air we breathe?
Or will you tuck it away, in an attic, for another time?
Your words, your curves, your underwater nerves,
are begging to surface, to be see, known and heard
by the hard angles, and the soft angels, that indwell
this place we chose to call home. Fluff the pillows,
set loose the power, that burns between your breasts.
That heat, that light, is not for your protective sleep.
It is for the risk of daily dawn. Mother, daughter,
sister, lover, matriarch, queen, goddess, that You Are.
Wait? I think not. Those days have set.
Would you think the sun or moon "polite" if they withheld
their luminosity? You are no less, and no different,
from those icons in the sky. And the world will remain in disarray
unless and until we stop this waiting. And, instead, start beaming
the beauty and wisdom and comfort and harmony that is ours to beam.
