Your beckon swirls, orangey on black, millions of tiny copper BB’s, firefly tails on fire in the dark. You welcome me return; like falling asleep, you sweetly draw me in. You knew me first and never forget. You beyond name--may I call you Great Mother?
I hear you, sound pervading, floating a space, forming an ear, piercing the crickets, forging a prototype--a sacred response, a universal prayer, ancestral path home.
It is not yet my time, you know. Baby green, not ripe, awaken by ear, drawn in by sight, I tingle knowing. If I follow you now, I do not smile into consciousness this tiny strip of life, this discrete enigmatic gift I find here wholly mine. I think I need help; I, overwhelmed, but not really. This I know. I, apparently separate but connected to all, have made a choice for this tiny strip. I open to the attic room so cozy made warm by Daddy’s ingenuity and Mommy’s love. My two brothers asleep-asprawl and I, together enliven sturdy triangle never to be forsaken. The baby star spangle-dangles right angle from his nursery downstairs. Still I float anchorless in the immensity.
Creeping down the wooden ladder, creep, squeak--quietly, all asleep. Into Mommy and Daddy’s room. There in the big bed asleep they rest, my protectors, my mentors. Shush, not to wake them. By Mommy’s side on the floor I curl-- into a cocoon, lattice woven of silken love and sweet-smelling tenderness. I breathe in slowly the rest of life.
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