She quietly whispers inside me, gently powerful, strong and without hesitation
she guides me to myself, nurturing she helps me remember I am safe
She is part of me and of all that is, she connects me to the whole
She is mother, virgin, crone and goddess, she is my womanly strength
I hear her and all is well, the pulsing heart of all, lives also in me
But when I lose her, forget my centre and rush onwards into fear, I am separated
Estranged from the universe, floating anchorless, gorged with terror
My cells cry out to be loved, my mind reels with the dread of rejection.
Between fearful dreams and large, strong steps away from this trepidation, I live
Balancing myself like a tight rope walker without a safety net,
My uterus with lesions carved out by the pain of my wildness spurned by patriarchy
is what I am sacrificing in becoming a wise crone with a direct link to her soft purring
So, in being forced to accept my womblessness, this destiny of mine
I call upon the allay, who will fill that space so it can breathe again and smile
Will it be the bees, eagle, mountain lion or even the great oak
that take their stance deep in my newly vacated centre?
I hear her whispering again, a shiver of recognition as I listen to her murmur
‘No my love, its me…the lady, I have always been here, I am your core,
you searched for me in every flower you touched and tree you hugged
I have been waiting lifetimes for you to listen and now my sweet, its time.
Cathy Skipper 