Alone on the Mountain

Feeling a bit frazzled and waiting for the plumber to arrive, I reached for one of my favorite books: Seasons of the Witch by Patricia Monaghan.  It opened right up to this poem:

Hera Alone, on the Mountain

From this height I can see
everything.  I watch the day
recede, I watch the light
fade into red, I watch
the brown leaves fall to earth.
It is time to strip to the bone.
Time to measure the worth
of each moment, to catch
the last ones left before night.
Soon enough red fades to gray.
Soon enough we cease to be.

Look there: An eagle rises
as the first star gleams.
Now listen: Far away
an owl's deep moaning song
cuts through the chilling air.
I am standing here alone.
Standing, head back, breasts bare
to the wind.  I belong
to the earth now, the sky,
to myself and to my dreams,
with no masks left, no disguises.

You who would love me now
beware.  I am all fire
and blood.  I have no time
for those who cannot feel
the way through flesh to soul.
My life is now half-gone.
But each night left is whole.
Each day can now reveal
how life is most sublime
when fastened to desire.
From here, all time is now.

Isn't that perfect?   How apt to where I long to stand.  How I want to say "I belong to the earth now, the sky, to myself and to my dreams, with no masks left, no disguises."  How I would love to warn people "You who would love me now beware.  I am all fire and blood.  I have no time for those who cannot feel the way through flesh to soul."  My soul is yearning to be stripped bare, to open wide to life.  And I'm trying -- sweet gods, am I trying! -- but it's so hard.  And it hurts so much.  I don't have a choice but to move forward, but I'm not sure of the way.  I need to have faith in the path, that it will take me there.

Wow, that was a tad overwrought, but it's an accurate reflection of where I'm standing, so I'm going to leave it be!